#Alien Knife Fight

[tikurrdurr]

art fart

[sjsmith56]

To Die For - Chapter 9, Finding Jade

Summary: Jade’s father continues his assault on her until he is shot. Bucky fights two cult members while Ma treats Jade. After Jade is taken to hospital they learn the extent of the cult’s influence.

Length: 4.4K

Characters: Bucky, Jade, Ma, Steve, medical personnel.

Warnings: Deliberate assault by father against daughter, death by gunshot wound, description of abuse, knife fight causing injury.

Author notes: Even with the violence this is one of my favourite chapters as it shows Bucky in action. It reveals the extent of his love for Jade and the open affection between him and Ma.

<<Chapter 8

🏥

As her father approached her with the knife Jade began to panic, trying to pull herself out of the strong hands of the two men who held her impassively.  They lowered her to the floor and one held her legs down as the other sat on her left arm while stretching out the right.  Without hesitation her father inserted the tip of the knife into her right arm and pressed the blade into it.  The pain, the white hot pain, seared itself into her brain.  It was much worse than what she had experienced in the dreams from Bucky's memories and she screamed both in her mind and with her voice.  As he told her more of his warped plans her father cut into the artery and she felt the blood spurting over her face.  There was nothing left in her, nothing but despair and disbelief that a man would do this to anyone much less his daughter. 

She never even registered the sound of a rifle, or the spray of blood that bloomed at the back of her father's head.  The look of surprise on his face would always stay with her but as he fell forward onto her she became aware that the two men who had held her down were suddenly fighting hand to hand with someone.  She tried to look but whoever it was moved too fast for her to concentrate.  Then two soft hands were under her arms,  pulling her away from under her father's body and off to the side and she heard her mother's voice.

"That bastard," she cried, looking over Jade from above.  "He hurt my baby.  I had to kill him, he was hurting you.  Hold on baby, I have to put a tourniquet on you, fast."

She raised her head and had a better look at the fighting now.  It was Bucky in a knife fight with both men.  He had a knife in each hand and was whirling and twirling the knives as if he were a circus performer.  His skill was incredible and as hurt as she was she felt awe and pride that it was her man, her love that was fighting for her.  Her vision started greying out and she felt fuzzy in her mind until a sharp pain on her arm drew her attention back to her mother who had ripped her shirt off to use as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding in her arm.  The sharp pain was her twisting the shirt tight to stop the artery from bleeding her out.  Running to a bathroom Ma grabbed a towel and brought it back to apply to the wound itself, protecting it from further trauma.  Together they both watched Bucky do an impossible horizontal roll in the air and slice one of the men's Achilles' tendon with his outstretched knife in hand.   That man went down screaming in agony, holding his leg with both of his hands.  The other man succeeded in planting his knife in Bucky's shoulder as he fell to the floor but he just ignored it and actually pulled it out, throwing it away, before flipping back up and attacking the remaining fighter.  The man on the floor tried to pick it up but Steve and Clint had arrived by then and aimed their guns at him.

"Steve," yelled Ma, seeing him at the door.  "She needs a hospital now!  He cut her brachial artery."

Steve nodded and used his comms to call Sam, who came crashing through the doors of the balcony within seconds.  He picked Jade up and ran out the doors flying up into the sky.  Steve came around and pulled his jacket off so Ma was covered.  Together they watched Bucky and the second man continue to fight.

"Shouldn't you stop him?" asked Ma.

"No," said Steve.  "He won't kill him, just hurt him really bad.  Actually, he's kind of playing with him right how.  He just needs to get it out of his system and I have no problem with it.  We have control of the estate.  Excuse my language but these fucking people didn't think what they did was wrong.  Is that a mummy on a throne?"

He pointed at the mummy of Elder Abraham and Ma gasped.  "He's dead?" she exclaimed.  "John's been using a dead man to take people's money and live like a king.  Why did he need Jade?"

Bucky climbed up the second man's body wrapping his thighs around the man's head and neck putting him into a choke hold and held him until he was unconscious and fell onto the floor.  Then he released the unconscious fighter, shoving him away, and sat there on his knees getting his bearings back.  He was barely winded, looked around and when he didn't see Jade he started to panic.

"Sam has taken her to the hospital," said Ma.  "Her dad cut her arm open and hit the artery.  Why would he do that?"

Bucky stood up and put his arms around Ma.  "I don't know," he said quietly, whatever fury that had been fuelling him in the fight obviously gone.  "Let's go to what passes for a hospital here and find out what Jade has to say."

"Take one of the cult vehicles," said Steve.  "They have a full garage of electric vehicles.  They lived like kings while people were struggling.  I'm going to see the sheriff and find out why he let this shit show go on."

I want something good to die for

To make it beautiful to live.

Go With The Flow by Queens of the Stone Age

In one of the rooms of the residence they passed on the way to the garage there was an open closet full of women's clothing of various sizes.  Bucky pulled a tunic out of one of them and gave it to Ma, turning his back so she could put it on.  She told him to grab a T-shirt for Jade, size small, to replace the one that was covered in blood.

"You're such a gentleman," she said.  "I'm not like Jade, I actually wear a bra.  She never would."

"I noticed that," he said.  "It was a bit disconcerting at first.  Not that I mind.  I can't believe I just said that to her mom."

She patted his hand.  "You're a good man," she said.  "You might have noticed we aren't embarrassed by talking about sex.  I grew up in a strict religious household, and married a religious man.  But it brought nothing but shame and fear into my life.  After I was cast out and found Jade I made the decision her upbringing would be the opposite of mine.  Free of shame over the greatest gift God ever gave us.  Jade decided the same for Ben."

"He is a very direct boy," said Bucky.  "Takes some getting used to but I like him."

"Good, he likes you, too," said Ma.  "When you and Jade get married you adopt him."

He smiled, slightly embarrassed.  "I still have to ask her.  Come on, let's go try out one of the electric vehicles."

They found what they were looking for in a garage with six vehicles.  A row of electronic keys were on hooks in front of the vehicles.  Ma unplugged the cord as Bucky took the first set of keys and opened the door for Ma.  He sat in, adjusted the seat and started it.  The lack of an engine sound was disconcerting at first but when he pressed the pedal and it moved he was impressed.  They drove to the hospital where Sam was arguing over payment.

"They're treating her but they want payment before they let her go," he said.  "What a world we live in."

Ma reached inside her jeans pocket and took out the little bar of gold.  It was slightly smaller than the shape it started out as Bucky had taken some to make Jade's ring.  She held it up to the clerk who pulled out a scale and weighed it saying it would more than cover the expenses.  How did she want the change?

"In gold," replied Ma, with a bit of disgust in her voice. 

"You're money is no good here," said another woman coming out from a mirrored office behind the clerk.

It was the front person for Dr. Wells who had given Bucky a vial of broad spectrum antibiotics after he took out the two traffickers during their provision run.  She picked up the bar of gold and gave it back to Ma.

"Is it true you killed that Langford fellow?" she asked.  "He was a real piece of work."

"I killed him," said Ma.  "He was carving my daughter's arm up.  He was my ex to boot."

"I don't know how many of their kids we had to treat for injuries because of their discipline," the woman said with revulsion.  "Our sheriff sure didn't seem interested in dealing with him.  Is it true he was living like a king?"

Ma nodded while Bucky just stood and observed the interaction.  He didn't know the woman was involved in the hospital.  She looked up at him.

"We're trying to make a go of it here," she said.  "But it's hard to compete with the black market to get equipment and supplies.  The trades we make on market days are what keeps us going.  You've always brought us quality materials, Bucky, and taking on those two traffickers that day impressed the shit out of Dr. Wells, after I told him.  He treated your girlfriend.  Room 4B, just down to the left.  Thank you for your service, and say thanks to the Avengers for taking care of that cult."

He nodded and the three of them sought out room 4B.  Ma went in first and stuck her head out to say Jade was decent.  She was pale and sitting partially reclining on a bed.  She was in a hospital gown, hooked up to an IV, and her right arm was heavily bandaged from the elbow to the shoulder. 

"They gave me some of the good stuff so I'm feeling a little loopy," she said, slightly slurring her words.  "I'm going to have a nasty scar.  He was trying to cut my implant out but was in the wrong arm.  Sam, thank you for getting me here so fast.  Someday I would love to go up with you when my life isn't in danger."

"You're welcome," he said.  "I just flew.  I'm not the one who actually rescued you."

He looked at Ma and Bucky.  "I killed your Dad, Jade," said Ma.  "Not that he ever was much of a father.  I don't know what happened to him."

"Power," said Bucky.  "Some men get a taste of power and it's intoxicating to them.  But what he did to you..."

"You don't know the half of it," said Jade.  "It wasn't Abraham who wanted me to have his child.  It was dear old Dad.  He was the real Abraham, the evil behind it all.  I saw his mind.  He believed our child would have the ability to control the Others and with that he wanted to turn the whole world into a bigger version of the Children of Adam, with him at the head.  Fuck, my father was a madman."

"But your mother wasn't," said Bucky.  "She raised you right."

"So right that I tried to use the Winter Soldier to kill my father and Abraham," said Jade, her eyes starting to tear up.  "Didn't work.  He wouldn't do anything because Abraham was already dead.  He's probably still sitting in my mind somewhere waiting to be activated."

Bucky said the activation words in Russian but nothing happened.  "He's not there," said Bucky.  "That should have brought him out."

"My instructions to him were that after he completed his mission he was to disappear and never take another mission again," replied Jade.  "Maybe that's what happened when he saw both of them dead.  They want me to stay here for the night but I would rather go home.  Do you think you can talk them into it?"

"I'll see what I can do," said Bucky, leaning forward to kiss her tenderly on the lips.

Sam walked out with him.  "You know, there is a lot of good barter stuff in that compound and gold, "said Sam.  "Would do a lot of good to help people around here, including this hospital."

"Why don't you find the equivalent of a judge around here and see if you can make it happen," said Bucky. 

He found Dr. Wells at a desk filling in paper work and introduced himself.  The doctor, a middle aged man, stood up and shook Bucky's hand. 

"Jade's injury was quite severe," said Dr. Wells.  "I would like to keep her here tonight to make sure the sutures hold and to give her some blood, since she lost a fair amount.  She is O Positive, which I'm very low on so I'm hoping a donor shows up pretty quick."

"I'll talk to her mother," said Bucky.  "If she gets the blood can I take her home?  We do have Dr. Bruce Banner on our team.  He has been acting as an MD and knows his way around medical care.  We're also going to see if we can give you some of the cult's assets to help fund your hospital.  I wasn't expecting this level of care."

"Thank you," said Dr. Wells.  "We're trying."

Bucky had to go through the waiting room to get back to Jade's room and found almost everyone, including Ben, there.  He told them the hospital was low on blood and almost everyone agreed to donate on the spot.  Pulling Ben with him Bucky returned to Jade's bedside where her son gingerly hugged his mother, trying not to touch her injured arm.  He mentioned the need for blood and Ma joined the others to donate.  As they sat there Ben looked from Bucky to Jade.

"Looks like everyone is awkward around me again," he joked.  "I'm going to find Peter and bug him."

He kissed his mother again and left the two alone.  Bucky sat on the bed and held Jade's hand. 

"You're disappointed in me," she stated. "I fucked up."

"Yeah," he said.  "There's so much I could say that wouldn't help matters so I won't say anything except I'm glad we got to you before he hurt you too much."

"From your memories I felt the pain you felt when you fell," she said.  "I thought I could handle anything else but when he stuck that knife in me I wanted to die.  Oh Bucky, I wanted to die right then but I couldn't because if I'm going to die for something it's going to be for something worthwhile."

He gently pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair as she laid her head against his chest.

"I would die for you," he whispered.  "In a second, I would make that choice.  Jade... you know how I feel about you.  Would you...."

They were interrupted by a nurse bringing in a unit of O positive blood.  "Thanks to your friends out there we've built up our stocks a bit," she said.  "One unit of blood for you and then you can go home and take it easy, doctor's orders."

As she left Steve and Clint came in, Clint massaging his arm.  "It's not fair they won't take super soldier blood just because they don't know what's in it," he said.  "You big tough guys should always have to give blood.  How are you doing, Jade?"

"I've been better but I'm alive and relatively unharmed," she replied.  "What happens to the cult?"

"Well, I went to see the sheriff," said Steve, "and he has resigned after a quick petition was signed.  Seems the good townspeople felt he was being too easily influenced to look the other way.  One of his deputies, who started the petition, is taking over.  He has already arrested the two men who held you down and will be making more arrests of others associated with them including some traffickers.  Town council is making human trafficking illegal.  In the meantime they are seizing all assets and may be assigning them to cover the social costs the cult has brought with them.  Bucky, they have something they want us to look at.  They wondered if you and I would go over to the compound.  I said we would."

As he and Steve walked out of the hospital Steve looked at him.  "Did you ask her?"

"What, ask her what?" said Bucky.

"Marriage," replied his friend.

"Was interrupted by the nurse and then you guys," he replied.  "I'll get back to it.  Probably a good idea to let her get her head straight.  Oh, the Soldier isn't there.  She told him after he killed her father and Abraham he could disappear and never do another mission.  I tested it out with the words, no reaction."

The two men jumped into the electric vehicle Bucky had driven over.  Even Steve was impressed by its performance and lack of engine noise. 

"Howard would have loved this," said Steve.  "Right up his alley."

They pulled up to the compound which was swarming with people, police and parents looking for their lost children.  Both men curled their lips at the last realization that the cult didn't just buy people, they stole them.  The new sheriff nodded to his deputy to let them pass through. 

"Hi, Ed Peters, acting Sheriff," he said as he stuck his hand out to both men.  "Welcome to the shit show.  You're the closest thing we have to federal authorities here.  Could I show you some things?"

He led them into the residence then to a stairwell that led downstairs.  At the bottom was another door and they entered what looked to be a lab.  The smell was horrendous and the sheriff gave each of them a mask and a pair of latex gloves. 

"I went on a World War II history trip to Europe when I was in high school," he said.  "We went and visited gravesites and memorials but the places that always stuck with me were the concentration camps with their displays of experimentation on the Jews.  It gave me nightmares.  I think I'm going to have a similar reaction to this chamber of horrors."

On the tables arranged around the room were various bodies of the Others, at least they assumed were the Others.  It looked like all were in various stages of autopsy.  There was a door at the end of the room and he opened it to a cooler filled with about a dozen bodies of the Others.

"How did they get them?" asked Steve.  "Have you talked to any of them?"

"No one's talking," said the sheriff, "but I know when people are hiding something.  They were studying these aliens, trying to find out what makes them tick."

"How did they manage to get them away from their hives without being attacked?" asked Bucky.  "We were trying to lure just one away and when it was out of sight their sentries came looking for them.  We know they had plans to use the Others to control humans, to make them turn to the cult."

"That's messed up," said Peters.  "I know you have Bruce Banner around.  Do you think he would be up to having a look and figuring out what they were doing?"

"I think Wanda and Ma should get into their heads," said Steve.  "Do you have the people identified who were working in here?"

The sheriff nodded and Steve said he would bring people who could question them.  Pressing his comms he asked if Ma, Wanda and Bruce could come over to the residence.  The sheriff said he would send a squad car for them.  Then he led them to the garage.  Bucky told him about using the electric vehicle and he waved them off saying it was fine.  They walked through the garage and opened another door to a second garage full of motorcycles.  Both Steve and Bucky gasped at the sight of them.  They ran their hands over the handlebars and seats, kneeling down to look at the engines.  At one point they both looked at each other and smiled.

"These were already classics in World War II," said Steve.  "If the internet was still running you could probably auction these off and make a lot of money."

"Here's the thing," said the sheriff.  "Town council wants to do something for you Avengers.  You saved our asses a few times dealing with the Others and today with the cult.  If you want a bike, take a bike.  As for the other Avengers, we're still coming up with thank you gifts, and they are gifts, for each one."

"We don't do what we do for this," said Steve, gesturing at the bikes.  "Thank you but really, we can't...."

Bucky shrugged and said Steve was in charge.  "But if I did choose it would be the Norton," he said in a stage whisper.  "Steve would likely take the old Harley. Just saying."

Steve shook his head, smiling and the sheriff laughed.  Bruce, Ma, Wanda and Peter had just arrived in the squad car.  While Bucky took Bruce and Peter down to the basement lab, Wanda and Ma were taken to where the other cult members who were waiting to be interviewed.  Some looked at them curiously but others were quite hostile.

"They all have something to hide," said Wanda to Ma via thought.

"I see John's influence in this," she replied.  "It should have ended when I killed him.  There is another who is prolonging the illusion."

"Let's see if I can conjure a spell that will stop that person," promised Wanda.

Wanda faced all of the people and began an incantation while forming a red ball in her hands.  Then she released the red ball over to them where it exploded like a firework and rained glowing red particles over them.  Most of the people watched curiously as it fell on them and dissipated but one man jumped up, batting away invisible creatures that he said were biting him.  A deputy brought him out of the group and Wanda touched his face.

"Why were you cutting into the Others?" she demanded.

"To learn how their brains work so we could control them," he stammered, terrified.

"What did you learn?"

"That if we mimic the sound the queen makes they will listen to us," he replied, trying to take his eyes away from Wanda's.

"What is the sound?"

"It's recorded on the computers in the lab," he admitted.  "Password is Prophet26, with a capital P."

"Before I release you I am going to remove your ability from you," said Wanda.  "You will never be able to control people again.  At your trial you will tell the whole truth of what happened here in this building."

She removed her hand and he stumbled backwards, fear written on his face.  The others in the room looked like they had just awakened from a deep nap.  Ma scanned them and turned to Wanda.

"They were all duped," Ma said, then turned to them.  "John Langford had you under mind control but he is dead and Elder Abraham has been dead for years.  If you wish to see justice tell the police and any other authorities what you saw and remember.  You were all duped but you need to take responsibility for what you did in their names."

They both went down to the lab to give Bruce and the others the report of what they found.  As they put their masks and gloves on Wanda gagged.

"Enough of this," she said.  "I'm going to make a spell that we don't smell this.  I sure hope it doesn't get into my clothes."

She conjured up the spell and then took a breath, happy at the result.  "Prophet26 is the password for the computers," she told the others.  "They learned how to mimic the sound the queen makes and were planning to use it to control the Others."

Bruce inputted the password on a computer and searched for the audio files.  When they brought one up the men couldn't hear it but both Wanda and Ma begged them to turn it off.

"It's telepathic," said Wanda.  "It's a horrible sound.  I didn't understand anything.  Didn't you say Jade heard the queen?"

"Yes, she did," said Ma.  "I've heard the other ones, the drones I guess you would call them, but only Jade has heard the queen and understood it.  She needs to hear this."

They played another file and it was just as incomprehensible to them.  After much searching a flash drive was found and the sound files transferred onto it.  Steve instructed the police on the scene to leave the lab as is so that they could come back in the morning.

"It's almost 11 pm," he said.  "I don't want to stay in this building tonight but we should stay here, in Albuquerque.  It's too late to fly back in the dark.  Let's see if we can get some accommodation.  Bucky, Ma, take that flash drive to Jade, see if she understands it."

After speaking with the sheriff Steve was able to arrange accommodation for everyone.  Bucky and Ma said they would stay at the hospital, sleeping on the floor of Jade's room if they had to.  When they arrived back at the hospital they found the other Avengers had already been taken to their billets.  Ben was curled up on a chair in his mother's room with a blanket, lightly snoring.  Jade was also asleep.

"We received word you were both coming back here so one of you can sleep on the other bed and the other can have this recliner," said the nurse softly.  "It's not the best but it will do for one night."

Bucky sat on the recliner and extended it.  With a smile Ma put a blanket on him and a pillow behind his head.  On an impulse she kissed his forehead.

"I haven't been tucked in since I was a kid," he whispered, smiling.  "Feels kind of nice."

"I'm feeling very motherly towards you right now," she whispered back. "Even if you're more than 50 years older than me.

Jade stirred and the two stopped talking.  Ma quietly got on the other bed and pulled a blanket over herself.  She thought about what the day had brought them and wondered what the next day would bring.

Chapter 10>>

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[greenglowinspooks]

Honestly I think the fics where Danny’s a Kryptonian have a lot of potential, so here’s me throwing my hat into the ring

Danny was born a human. He was born to two loving (though slightly neglectful) human parents in the painfully mundane state of Illinois.

Then, he died, but he didn’t do it right. He became a Halfa; too alive to be a ghost, but too dead to be human.

Then, through strange, uncontrollable circumstances, that changed as well.

He had been heavily injured, missing a large percentage of body mass, and was at the cusp of either dying fully or just fading from existence.

(Perhaps it was an ordinary fight. Perhaps it was the GiW, or his parents. Perhaps it was a simple accident. That didn’t matter now.)

He fled, phasing through the ground, trying to bury himself as deep as possible.

(Perhaps he didn’t want to be unmasked in death. Perhaps that was already too late, and he just wanted his body be able to rest in peace.)

Unfortunately for him, he was in Metropolis, and ended up in a secret genetics lab below the earth.

Danny detransformed, completely exhausted, falling onto a table covered in different labeled specimen containers. He closed his eyes, and prepared himself for what would happen next.

And… nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Danny sat up, brushing off the foul-smelling liquid from the specimen jars, petri dishes, and assorted vials.

He felt…fine.

No, better than fine. He felt normal. Healthy.

He felt like he wasn’t missing most of his internal organs anymore.

Danny looked down at his stomach, and saw that the wounds that were killing him had completely disappeared.

(The blood blossoms, if there had been any, were still there, but they no longer hurt. At most, they itched a little, or maybe just tickled a bit.)

He wanted to question what in the hell had just happened, but he didn’t want to jinx it. He just quietly changed back to Phantom, going invisible and phasing out of wherever he had found himself in, ignoring the loud alarm system that had begun to blare when he broke the samples on that table.

Life mostly went back to normal after that.

If, like Danny, you ignored all the physical changes in a valiant effort to remain in denial that something was horribly wrong.

His skin was tougher, now; he didn’t get scrapes or cuts, even when he accidentally fumbled a knife while trying to cook. His ghost form was stronger, too; he was barely knocked down by his old rogues anymore.

He could fly, even in his human form. Though, admittedly, the flight was much different. It was like using a muscle he hadn’t known existed beforehand. He didn’t just ignore gravity or wind resistance, though he felt more graceful in the air now than he ever did as Phantom.

There were more powers popping up, lasers and cold breath, x-ray vision and super strength. His lungs and heart were larger, and he could handle temperatures much easier. He didn’t have to transform to handle the pressure and cold of space anymore.

His reaction time had improved, becoming much faster than ever before. His senses were much stronger, and he had even seemed to gain a sense of electric fields, like a shark.

The only thing that separated him from a Kryptonian was that he had developed electrokenesis, which he had never seen any of them use on TV.

So, surely, he was fine.

Everything was normal, he hadn’t been transformed by alien DNA in a sketchy lab, he had just had a really weird and specific metagene activation.

—

Clark Kent, Kal-El, was panicking.

It had been around a month and a half since a particularly brutal fight between Intergang and an unknown assailant, and it seemed that Intergang was determined to draw out whoever had scorned them.

Their method of doing this, of course, was trying to level the city.

He and Jon were doing their best to stop them, but with both Kon and Zor-El away on their own business, it was difficult.

And by difficult, he meant almost impossible.

Slowly but surely he was driving them back, but not without massive amounts of damage to the city, especially with only Jon on dedicated rescuing duty.

He was distracted, trying to draw a group away from a heavily occupied building, when a projectile hit him in the back of the head.

The world spun for a moment, and then it went black.

(It was, probably, then, some sort of Kryptonite-metal alloy. Intergang at its finest.)

He woke slowly, forcing his eyes open. He felt like he had been hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Clark jolted up, preparing for the worst.

To his shock, though, the city hadn’t been reduced to rubble while he was out.

Jon seemed to still be working on evacuation, either unaware that he had went down or forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Then, a lightning-quick figure flew into view, and Clark’s mind went blank.

He thought, for a moment, that Kara was back. But, no, that wasn’t right, she was supposed to be off-planet for another week or so.

Besides, this new figure didn’t move like her. They were lankier and more slender, and they flew quicker than any member of his family.

Their powerset was different, too; they focused mainly on using blasts of ice and electricity to drive enemies back, only occasionally using their strength or lasers—ones which came from their hands instead of their eyes.

He had woken up at the tail end of the fight, it seemed. The remaining Intergang members were fleeing from the mysterious metahuman.

They stayed in the sky, motionless, watching them leave.

As if they could sense him staring, they turned.

They were small, still clearly young. Probably around Kon’s age, or maybe even younger.

Instead of the colorful clothing he had inherited from his family, the stranger wore black and white clothes which looked similar to a hazmat suit, their face covered by some sort of gas mask.

Interestingly enough, instead of the S-shape crest that he was so used to seeing, the stranger wore the letter D on his chest.

Kal’s heart sped up.

From up in the sky, he heard the stranger’s heart, on the left instead of the right, speed up in return.

But before he could say a word to them, they sped off, disappearing into the deep blue sky.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles - Stealing the Plot for Drama || Jamil Viper

The book you've been looking forward to turns out to be a piece of crap, and you have the bad luck of getting pulled into it as the villainess. So you decide to steal the main character's show, just for sport.

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It’s your birthday, and you’re over the moon. You’ve been frugal, cutting out fancy coffee and takeout for weeks, all to splurge on this one, glorious, limited-edition novel from your favorite author. The packaging is pristine, the book jacket glimmering like a beacon of literary greatness. Today is the day. You’ve built this moment up for weeks—you’re practically vibrating as you sign for the delivery.

You tear into the package like it’s Christmas morning, clutching the book to your chest, grinning ear to ear. You settle in with a cup of tea, your coziest blanket, and crack open the book, fully expecting your soul to ascend to a higher plane of literary enlightenment.

It takes precisely three pages for your entire existence to collapse. This is bad. So bad, you can feel your spirit shriveling. Your entire life is a lie.

The book is like a train wreck—every sentence is a mangled piece of steel, but you can’t look away. Tears start forming in your eyes, not from emotional depth, but from sheer despair. It’s like the author forgot how to write in between winning their last award and releasing this... dumpster fire of a novel. But you’re not a quitter. You’ve made it this far—you’re not going down without a fight.

You turn the page with trembling hands, determined to push through.

The plot is standard—heroine is a saintess (yawn), love interest is the Duke of the North (ugh, of course), and the second male lead is the Prince (because originality is apparently dead). But then the villainess shows up. Finally, some promise. You grip the book a little tighter—maybe this will be it! The saving grace! The villainess is the queen of high society, beloved and powerful, absolute girlboss vibes. She runs everything with an iron fist and sharp wit, but then…

Then it happens.

The heroine’s hair comes loose. The villainess, in a rare moment of kindness, gently points out that her hair is falling out of its bun. And what happens? Does she get thanked for her thoughtfulness? No. No. The heroine goes, “You must be jealous of me,” and everyone agrees.

What. The. Hell.

You blink once, then twice. Is this…is this supposed to be a serious plot point? The villainess, this badass social queen, gets ostracized for suggesting a quick touch-up? Is this a joke? You flip back a few pages. Surely, there’s a mistake. Maybe you missed something. You didn’t miss anything. This book missed you with anything resembling logic.

So now, this powerful woman, once the queen of high society, is branded as jealous and bitter. She’s exiled from everything she’s ever known, her entire life crumbling because the heroine’s fragile ego couldn’t handle a little advice. And she’s not even the worst part. No, because guess what?

The only person who stays with her through it all? Her fiancé, Jamil Viper. Jamil, a baron she helped rise to the position of Duke, the man she loved, is by her side while everyone else abandons her. The romance potential is there. It’s right there. You’re practically shaking the book at this point.

And what does the author do with this beautiful setup? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The villainess, broken and misunderstood, alienates herself from Jamil. She pushes him away. And then—just to really twist the knife—she dies alone.

You drop the book onto your lap, staring at the ceiling. Infinite romance potential, wasted. You can feel your soul leaving your body. Jamil could’ve saved her. They could’ve had it all. But no. She dies alone, unloved, in the most tragic yet pointless way possible.

And that’s when it happens.

Something absurd. Something so stupid, it feels like divine punishment for buying this book. Maybe it's the way your body tenses in sheer disbelief at the plot; maybe the universe decides to play its cruel hand, but you feel a sharp pain in your chest.

Suddenly, the room spins, and your vision goes black. As the world fades around you, your final thought isn’t about your family, your friends, or the countless dreams you had for the future. No.

Your last thought is:

“Really??? On my goddamn birthday?”

And then, you die.

You wake up, stretch, and feel… odd. You glance at your hands and freeze. Your nails aren’t chipped? Your cuticles are trimmed? In this economy? You sniff the air. Lavender? Something’s very wrong here. You sit up and take in your surroundings. Ornate tapestries, a bed so massive it could host a small nation, and a freaking chandelier.

Oh no.

First thought: Have I been kidnapped? But hold up—what kind of kidnapper does their victim’s manicure? You wave your polished hand around like it's suddenly sprouted five extra fingers. This is definitely not normal.

And then your gaze lands on the giant, gilded mirror at the side of the room. You stumble towards it, ready to face the worst, and when you see your reflection, the realization knocks the wind right out of you.

“Fuck my life… I’m the villainess.”

Panic mode: activated. But then you pause, staring at your impossibly gorgeous reflection. No need to lose your shit just yet. You've read enough of these novel-turned-isekai tales to know the drill. It’s bad, yes, but it could be worse.

You’re not the heroine, which means less plot armor, but you are rich. Villainess rich. The kind of rich where you don’t even know how much a loaf of bread costs anymore. There’s power in that, right?

Alright, you just need to avoid the male leads like they have the dragon pox or something equally contagious and unattractive. If they even sneeze in your direction, you’re running faster than a Black Friday shopper in a sale.

Best course of action? Stick to your fiancé, Jamil Viper. He clearly liked the original villainess in the book, and you’re betting you can use that connection to survive this ridiculous plot.

Oh, and because this novel’s plotline literally killed you, you’re taking the queen of high society title back. Out of spite. It’s petty, but who cares? You're gonna be shady, throw aristocratic shade like you’re handing out party favors, and maybe casually humiliate the heroine for fun. She can't be that saintly.

But before anything else? Shopping.

You are now rich in a fantasy world, and you are not going to waste this opportunity. First order of business? Find a dress so stunning it could make a commoner drop dead on the spot. The kind of outfit that makes peasants weep and enemies tremble.

As you stride to the wardrobe, you can't help but feel a little smug. Sure, you're the villainess, but damn, you're gonna be a well-dressed one.

Your first shopping spree as a villainess. And not just that—there are maids! You stare at them wide-eyed as they begin dressing you in silks and satins, and you can’t help but think, “Holy shit, I have maids now.”

They fuss over you with a precision that can only be described as obsessive, tieing ribbons, adjusting jewelry, and brushing your hair like it’s a rare silk. You check yourself in the mirror, and honestly? Damn. The heroine's got nothing on you.

You twirl, and every inch of you screams hot and dangerous. It's like the universe is apologizing for killing you off with that god-awful book by giving you this absolute glow-up. You’re feeling unstoppable, like you could bench-press societal expectations and then strut away in heels.

But then your butler approaches, bowing as if you’re some untouchable deity. “My Lady, your fiancé, Lord Jamil Viper, has arrived to see you.”

Wait, what? Jamil is here? THE Jamil?? The only person with an ounce of brain cells in that trash fire of a novel? The one man who actually made sense? Please let him be hot.

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself. God, I hope he looks exactly like he was described.

When the doors open, you nearly pass out on the spot. Correction. He’s hotter. Infinitely hotter. If Jamil Viper was a fire hazard in the book, in person, he’s a full-on inferno. You’re almost thankful you died just so you could see him. He greets you, and his voice? Sexier than advertised. You’ve hit the isekai jackpot.

Without a second thought, you grin, loop your arm through his, and drag him toward the carriage. You’re already imagining the two of you showing up to the next ball in matching outfits, causing hearts to break and jaws to drop. Jamil is a little confused by your sudden enthusiasm, but like a champ, he just goes along with it.

As the carriage rolls down the cobbled streets, you casually drop, “By the way, I’m done moping about being ostracized by high society. I want revenge on the heroine.”

His eyes darken, and there’s an unmistakable gleam in them. He leans back, smirking. “Good. I hate the Prince anyway. The number of problems he caused me while I was trying to rise through the ranks? I’d love nothing more than to ruin them both.”

And you? You’re in. Oh, you’re so in. Why not? Why not when Jamil Viper looks so attractive while plotting the downfall of others?

He pauses his scheming for just a second, looking at you with a rare softness. “Thank you… for recognizing my talents. I wouldn’t have had the chance to even think about insulting a prince if you weren’t by my side.”

Your heart does a little flip, and you take his hand in yours, a silent promise forming in your mind. You’re going to make the original villainess proud. You’re going to destroy the heroine.

For what this book did.

And also because, well… revenge is sexy when Jamil Viper’s involved.

You both stride into the store, ready to make a statement. But, of course, because the universe is a petty comedian, there she is—the heroine, acting like she’s never seen a price tag before. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept such an extravagant gift!” she gushes loudly enough for the entire store to hear.

Meanwhile, the Duke—Mr. "I-have-no-emotions"—is doing his signature act: standing there, looking aloof, but you can tell he’s mentally calculating how impressed everyone is supposed to be.

Jamil doesn’t even need to speak. You both share a glance, a silent conversation filled with mutual disdain. "These people suck." It's not even a question. It's a fact.

“I’ll take everything here,” you say suddenly, your voice loud enough to cut through the heroine’s overly sweet prattling. The shopkeeper’s eyes widen as they hurriedly approach, unsure if they heard you correctly.

“Everything?” they stammer.

You nod casually, like buying an entire store’s worth of clothing is a daily occurrence. “Yes, everything.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see the Duke’s facade slip for just a moment—his cold mask cracking ever so slightly as he glances at you. The heroine looks like she’s about to choke on her own words. You flash them a bright, borderline condescending smile. "Oh, I hope I didn’t interrupt something. You were saying?"

Jamil steps closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he coolly adds, “Also, we’d like matching outfits. Something… striking.” His tone is as indifferent as ever, but you can feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.

The heroine looks utterly flustered, her hands fidgeting as she glances between you and the Duke, who is doing his best to act unbothered. But you can tell he’s silently fuming, his pride taking a serious hit.

Jamil leans in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “A power couple move? Bold. I approve.”

You grin. “I thought we’d show them how it’s really done.”

A short while later, you and Jamil emerge from the dressing rooms in outfits that would make gods weep with envy. You glance at yourselves in the mirror, and wow. You two don’t just look good—you look devastatingly unstoppable. The kind of couple people would kill to look like in their wildest dreams.

The heroine looks on with wide eyes, clearly trying to mask her jealousy, while the Duke’s cold expression cracks further, his irritation almost palpable. He probably thought he was the only one who could pull off the whole “I’m-rich-and-powerful” vibe. Sorry, buddy. You’re just not in the same league.

Jamil gives you a rare, genuine smile, one that’s laced with quiet triumph. “Not bad,” he says casually, though his eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary.

As you step out of the store—victory sealed—you take Jamil’s hand without thinking, your mind already moving on to your next move. “Now,” you say, eyes focused on the road ahead, “about that revenge plan. I’m thinking we start by—”

But as you plot and scheme, you don’t notice that Jamil isn’t looking at the road. His gaze is on you—quiet, intense, and filled with something deeper.

"Whatever it is," he murmurs, "I'm in."

Power couple goals, indeed.

The ball is here, and, like any self-respecting villainess, you’re not about to let the opportunity for chaos slip by. If you’re going to be stuck in the plot of a novel, might as well make it entertaining, right?

As your maids fuss over your dress, they spill some of the hottest gossip yet. Apparently, the prince? The one who’s always preening like a peacock and acting like he’s too good for everyone?

Yeah, he got caught trying to serenade his tutor’s cat—and failed. He’s tone-deaf, and worse, the tutor is furious because the cat’s been hiding in her curtains for days, traumatized. You nearly choke on air.

“Oh, this is going to be a biblical shitstorm,” you murmur, your eyes practically sparkling as you imagine the carnage that’s about to go down tonight.

By the time you meet Jamil outside, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. And speaking of Jamil—holy hell. He’s standing by the carriage in a sleek, dark suit, looking all brooding and mysterious like he was custom-made to steal hearts.

"Wow," you say, openly staring at him. "You’re killing me right now. How are you real?"

Jamil shifts, tugging at his collar like he’s trying to downplay how good he looks. “Stop,” he mutters, his face ever-so-slightly flushed, but the tiny smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

“No, seriously,” you press, circling him with an exaggerated critical eye. “Is this what ‘stunning’ looks like in person? I need to know because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“You’re impossible.” He shakes his head but doesn’t make eye contact, probably because he knows he’ll crack. But he’s smiling, and that’s all the confirmation you need.

When you arrive at the ballroom, it doesn’t take long before you spot Kalim. He’s practically bouncing with excitement, waving as if you weren’t already heading his way.

"You guys look amazing!" he cheers, pulling both of you into a hug before you can protest. He’s so enthusiastic, you almost forget you have a mission. Almost.

You lower your voice conspiratorially. "Kalim, did you hear about the prince?"

He blinks. “No? What happened?”

Jamil side-eyes you like he knows exactly where this is going, but he doesn’t stop you. He’s in on this. “Well, apparently, our dear prince has been… spending some quality time trying to serenade his tutor’s cat.”

There’s a pause, then Kalim’s eyes widen in shock. “WAIT, REALLY?”

You and Jamil barely manage to suppress your laughter. Kalim just broadcasted that to half the ballroom. Mission success.

From there, you and Jamil strategically split up to mingle with the nobles, making sure the gossip spreads like wildfire. Every time someone asks, you pretend to hesitate, then whisper it to them like it’s the juiciest secret in the world. By the time the prince arrives, the entire ballroom is buzzing with whispers.

You grab two drinks and take your spot in a corner where you have the perfect view of the incoming storm. Jamil joins you, leaning casually against the wall, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. “I’d say we did well,” he says softly, as you hand him one of the drinks.

“Too well,” you say, grinning wickedly. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

The prince enters, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone is staring at him like he just walked in with toilet paper stuck to his shoe. The imperial family follows behind him, sensing that something is off, but they keep up appearances, declaring the ball open.

Then, the dancing begins. And oh, the rejection. The prince approaches lady after lady, only to be turned down one by one, each with some flimsy excuse. You’re cackling into your drink at this point, nearly spilling it as you watch the absolute carnage unfold.

And then—oh, this is the best part—the heroine finally arrives, blissfully unaware of the prince’s latest scandal. She’s practically glowing as the prince, desperate and clearly not understanding the situation, asks her to dance. She accepts with a delighted smile, preening at all the attention she thinks they’re getting.

The whispers intensify.

Jamil watches, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I’m impressed," he murmurs. "That spread faster than I expected."

"Never underestimate the power of pettiness," you reply, clinking your glasses together.

Across the room, the king’s aide is whispering something to him, and the poor man looks like he’s just aged ten years. He shoots a glance at the prince and then at the heroine, his expression screaming “I can’t believe I have to deal with this.”

Then comes the final nail in the coffin. After the dance, a group of younger noblewomen approaches the heroine, and she’s clearly expecting them to fawn over her for dancing with the prince. But instead, they absolutely rip into her. “How could you dance with him after what he did?” one of them demands, while another makes a snide comment about the cat.

The heroine, bless her heart, has no idea what they’re talking about and stumbles over her words, trying to defend herself. But she just makes it worse. Within minutes, she’s in tears, running from the ballroom in a dramatic scene worthy of an award.

The Duke—her Duke—chases after her, looking like he’s reconsidering all his life choices.

You’re laughing so hard now that you’re practically leaning on Jamil for support. "This is better than I could’ve ever hoped for," you gasp, wiping away a tear.

Jamil chuckles softly, his gaze focused entirely on you. “Glad you’re having fun.”

“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” you reply between giggles, clutching his arm. "But seriously, this is gold!"

Jamil smiles, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he watches you. "Whatever you want to do, I’m in." His voice is quiet, but there’s a sincerity in it that makes your heart skip a beat.

And you know, with him by your side, this is only the beginning.

The quiet clatter of quills and the shuffle of paper fill the room as you and Jamil work side by side. It's supposed to be a normal afternoon—just the two of you getting through the absolutely thrilling task of making plans to merge your estates after your marriage.

Riveting stuff. But there’s a certain coziness to it, like you’ve finally settled into this life together. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you glance at Jamil, whose attention is currently fixed on a particularly dense contract.

He glances up, noticing your stare. “Do you want some tea?” he asks casually, already reaching for the bell to summon the butler.

You nod, and in moments, the butler arrives, bowing politely before leaving to retrieve the tea. But as the tray comes in, Jamil pauses, scanning the selection like he’s some kind of beverage connoisseur. He frowns—frowns—and turns to the butler. “Get the other blend. The one she likes."

The butler stutters for a second, then hurries off to fix the apparent blasphemy of tea serving. You’re too amused to even process how sweet the whole thing is.

“Did you really just send him back to get another blend?”

Jamil shrugs, not meeting your eyes, focused instead on stirring the exact amount of sugar and milk you always put in your cup. “You prefer it this way,” he says, his tone nonchalant, but there’s a softness to his expression.

And you’re just sitting there, heart doing weird flips because—he noticed. He’s been watching you, memorizing the tiny details like how you take your tea. Your chest warms as you realize just how deeply he pays attention to you, even in the most mundane things.

“You’re so—” you start, but then you stop yourself, realizing you’re dangerously close to getting all gooey and sappy. “Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He shoots you a deadpan look, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. “You’re welcome.”

You laugh, sipping the tea he prepared exactly how you like it, the moment stretching out in peaceful harmony. That is until—

THUD.

You nearly spill your tea as Jamil suddenly launches himself away from his desk, eyes wide in utter horror, looking as though someone just told him he’s been forced to join a Kalim-led dance troupe.

“What—what happened?” you ask, a little alarmed.

He doesn’t answer, instead standing stiffly a good five feet from his chair, eyes fixated on something on the floor. You glance over, curious, and there it is—a massive spider, just chilling on his desk like it’s there to collect taxes.

You stare. He stares. The spider doesn’t move, but the tension in the room could cut steel.

"That thing could eat me," Jamil mutters under his breath, still rooted to the spot like a cat who just saw a cucumber.

You take a deep breath, rolling up your sleeves with all the confidence of someone who has faced worse, like nobles who talk about land taxes at dinner parties. “Alright, let’s do this,” you mumble to yourself.

Grabbing a piece of paper, you march toward the eight-legged horror with all the grace of someone about to tackle a dragon. There’s no elegance, no finesse. You scoop up the spider—your hands a bit shaky—and march over to the window, tossing it outside with a not-so-dignified “Go in peace, demon.”

There’s a beat of silence as you wipe your brow, feeling like you’ve just saved the world. When you turn around, Jamil is staring at you like you’ve just descended from the heavens, all in slow motion, with angelic choir music playing in the background.

“What?” you ask, still catching your breath.

“I was going to handle it,” he says, but the way his voice wavers betrays the fact that he absolutely was not. He glances away, still avoiding the spot where the spider used to be.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure you were. I bet you were gonna make friends with it too.”

He opens his mouth to argue but then just chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

You walk over and bump his shoulder lightly. “And you’re lucky to have me. Spider exterminator extraordinaire.”

Jamil finally lets out a real laugh, the sound filling the room in a way that feels warm and right. When you both settle back into your paperwork, there’s an undeniable sense of something more growing between you, a feeling that neither of you says out loud, but is there nonetheless.

You look over at him again, your heart feeling too big for your chest. He meets your gaze and smiles, the unspoken affection hanging between you like a comfortable silence. Whatever’s coming next in your future, you know one thing for sure—there’s no one you’d rather handle paperwork (or spiders) with than him.

It was a fine day for chaos, and you had a brilliant, absolutely ridiculous idea: a dance competition. The heroine was boasting loudly again, this time about her “dazzling” ballroom skills, fluttering around like a pigeon trying to impress the Duke. You leaned over to Jamil, raising a brow.

“I bet I can make her regret that,” you whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Jamil sighed, eyes flicking over to the heroine, who was twirling like she was the queen of the ball already. “You really want to stir this up?” he asked, his voice dripping with his usual calm exasperation.

“Absolutely. It’ll be hilarious,” you said with a grin. “Just trust me.”

“Those are usually your most dangerous words,” he muttered, but the little twitch at the corner of his lips told you he was more than ready to see how this would play out.

You sauntered up to the heroine, who was mid-spin, nearly knocking over a servant carrying a tray of wine glasses. “Oh my, such grace!” you exclaimed, voice layered with just the right amount of false admiration. “You must be the best dancer here. How about we make it a little more interesting?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, clearly sensing a trap but too vain to back down. “What are you proposing?” she asked, puffing up like a puffin in a tutu.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, just a little friendly dance-off. You, me, the floor. We’ll let the crowd decide who’s the real star of the ball.”

The Duke, standing behind her, snorted, clearly thinking there was no way his precious heroine could lose. You could practically hear his thoughts: What could go wrong?

Jamil, now standing at the edge of the growing crowd, looked at you with an expression that screamed Why are you like this? You shot him a quick wink.

The heroine smiled smugly, already envisioning her inevitable triumph. “Fine,” she declared, loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. “But don’t cry when you lose.”

Oh, sweetheart, you thought, grinning like a Cheshire cat. You have no idea what’s coming.

The music swelled. The crowd parted, forming a perfect circle around the two of you. The heroine began her routine, performing a series of twirls and steps that were technically fine but lacked any real flair. She was all stiff arms and forced elegance, like a bird trying to pretend it was an elegant swan but failing spectacularly.

“Wow, she’s… uh, something,” you heard Jamil mutter from the sidelines, barely able to contain his laughter.

When it was your turn, you decided to dial it up to eleven. You started off slow, a simple waltz that quickly escalated into an absurd series of moves that defied both logic and physics.

At one point, you grabbed a nearby tablecloth, twirling it like a cape as if you were part ballroom dancer, part magician. The crowd was gasping and laughing all at once. You even threw in a couple of exaggerated backflips—just for dramatic effect, of course.

Jamil, still trying to remain composed, was leaning against a pillar, shaking his head with a mix of pride and disbelief. “This is insane,” he muttered, but you caught the faintest smile playing at his lips. He was definitely entertained.

The finale? You did a sliding split across the marble floor, popping up dramatically at the end to a round of thunderous applause. The heroine, meanwhile, looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Her face was pale, and her jaw had dropped halfway through your performance and never quite recovered.

“Not bad for a warm-up,” you said casually, dusting off your sleeves. “Want to go again?”

The heroine stammered something unintelligible, while the Duke shot you both a venomous glare. You, however, were far too busy basking in the crowd’s cheers to care.

Jamil approached, his expression unreadable as he handed you a glass of wine. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, though there was a mirth in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“I know,” you replied with a smirk, taking the glass from him. “But you love it.”

He let out a small, reluctant chuckle. “Unfortunately.”

As you took a sip, the heroine stormed off, dragging the Duke behind her, muttering something about “cheating” and “unfair advantages.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“You realize you’ve just made yourself the villain of the entire evening, right?” Jamil remarked, glancing around at the nobles, who were still talking animatedly about your performance.

“Good,” you replied, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Villains always have more fun.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow. “And what are you planning to do next?”

You gave him a sly smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll challenge her to a sword fight next?”

Jamil’s eyes widened. “Please don’t.”

You just laughed, leaning into him. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He sighed but didn’t push you away, clearly resigned to whatever madness you had planned next. As the two of you walked away from the scene, hand-in-hand, the nobles whispered behind you, wondering just how deep your relationship ran, how formidable of a pair you truly were.

But all Jamil cared about in that moment was that you were smiling beside him, radiating with confidence and joy. He didn’t care if the heroine hated you or if the Duke was sulking somewhere in the corner. As long as he had you, the rest of the world could fall into chaos.

And honestly, with you around, it probably would.

You gave Jamil a quick glance, noticing the soft, adoring look in his eyes, and nudged him playfully. “Hey, stop looking at me like I’m your entire world.”

“Too late,” he shot back, the smallest smile on his lips.

“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he added, leaning in just a little closer, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, taking his hand. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

The plan had been perfectly crafted. You and Jamil had spent hours scheming, laughing at the thought of humiliating the Duke during the archery and horseback competition.

Your excitement grew with every passing minute as you imagined his arrogant face faltering. But when the Duke not only kept his composure but nailed each target while galloping on horseback, you felt your competitive spirit surge.

There was no way you were going to let him win. Not today.

So, of course, you went all in—because why wouldn’t you? Leaning into your impulsive nature, you urged your horse into a full-speed sprint, adrenaline surging through your veins.

And then, because you’re apparently half-crazy, you decided standing on your saddle while your horse bolted forward would be the best course of action.

The world slowed as you drew your bow, the wind whipping through your hair. You could hear the crowd’s gasps, see the Duke's smug expression turning into something more surprised, and feel Jamil's tense gaze on you. In that moment, you released the arrow.

Bullseye.

The crowd erupted into shock and awe, but you were too busy grinning like a complete idiot to care. You dismounted with all the grace of someone who just pulled off a dangerous trick, your steps light as you practically skipped over to Jamil.

"Did you see that?" you beamed, heart still racing. "I totally nailed it—"

But instead of matching your excitement, Jamil’s expression was stormy. His usually composed features were twisted in a way you hadn’t seen before—part fear, part anger, and all worry. Without warning, he grabbed your shoulders, his fingers digging in just a little too tight.

"What the hell were you thinking?” His voice was sharp, laced with panic. “Are you out of your mind? You could’ve gotten hurt, or worse!”

You blinked, surprised. “I… I was trying to win?"

“Trying to win?! You were trying to break your neck!” His grip tightened as he almost shook you, frustration evident in every word. “That wasn’t worth it. Nothing is worth risking your life like that!”

It dawned on you then that he wasn’t just mad—he was terrified. You reached up slowly, cupping his face with both hands, and his expression softened, though the storm in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the wind knocked out of you by just how much he cared. “I got carried away. But hey—” You grinned a little, trying to lighten the mood. “I looked cool, right?”

Jamil groaned, exasperated, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his grip on your shoulders relaxed. His forehead dropped against yours, and for a moment, the world around you melted away. It was just the two of you, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

“I know,” you whispered back, closing your eyes. “But you love me for it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his hands slid down to your arms, his touch lingering as if grounding himself after the scare. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, his breath steadying as he leaned into you. It was such a sweet, unspoken moment, and you felt your heart swell.

All around you, whispers started to spread like wildfire among the nobles.

"Oh, they're perfect together."

“They’re like something out of a romance novel.”

Meanwhile, the Duke—who had watched the whole display—stood fuming, while the heroine, eyes narrowed, looked like she was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way Jamil was holding onto you, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“Let’s go,” Jamil finally whispered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was softer now, more relaxed, though still tinged with concern. “No more dangerous tricks. Promise me.”

You smiled softly and nodded. “No more. I promise.”

He huffed, clearly not entirely convinced, but he let it go. You leaned against him for a moment, basking in the warmth of his presence, completely oblivious to the fact that half the noble court was watching the two of you with admiration—or that the other half was stewing in jealousy.

As you both walked away, hand in hand, it was clear that whatever plan you and Jamil had originally devised, the real victory was this: him, you, and the world falling away as the two of you found something far more precious than winning a competition.

The nobleman’s sneer was so potent you could practically taste it in the air. “Ah, yes,” he drawled, looking down his nose at Jamil. “Nouveau riche, how quaint. No matter how much money you accumulate, you’ll never have the refinement or bloodline of true nobility.”

Jamil stood there, bored as ever, giving the man about as much attention as one would to a pesky fly. But you? You were vibrating with the sheer intensity of your rage. And then you heard it—her.

The heroine chimed in, her voice drenched in faux sincerity. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? The Duke has been managing the North so well—keeping everything running smoothly for years. Not everyone has the skills required for such a delicate task.”

Your eye twitched. Oh no. Oh no.

Jamil had been single-handedly keeping the kingdom’s economy afloat, using his brilliance to ensure food and resources flowed into the North during the harsh winters. He had done more in the span of a few years than these fools had done in their entire blood-soaked lineages. And this… this… buffoon had the nerve to look down on him?

The Duke, sensing the incoming storm, began discreetly tugging at the heroine’s sleeve, but she was as oblivious as ever. The prince, bless his spineless little heart, looked like he was ready to faint from second-hand embarrassment.

And that was your breaking point.

You stepped forward, a smile that could only be described as a harbinger of doom plastered across your face. “Oh, dear,” you cooed, your voice as sweet as poison. “Did I hear you correctly? You think the Duke is managing the North?”

The heroine blinked, clearly not catching the danger. “Well, of course! He’s—”

“Managing to exist in the North without Jamil’s trade routes, maybe,” you interrupted sharply, turning your gaze to the Duke, who now looked like he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. “You should be on your knees, thanking Jamil for saving your people from starvation every winter. But no, please, continue on about how ‘delicate’ your situation is. Maybe you’ll convince yourself one day.”

“How dare you,” you snapped, your voice rising as you turned to the heroine. “And you. Sitting here, all wide-eyed and clueless, nodding along like you understand the gravity of the situation. You wouldn’t last a week managing a pantry, let alone a region.”

You didn’t give her a chance to reply before turning your sights on the nobleman. “And you,” you started, eyes narrowing as you stepped closer, “talking down to Jamil like you’ve ever lifted a finger to actually do something useful. Do you think your bloodline is going to rescue you when your estate crumbles from your own incompetence? If you spent half as much time working on something productive instead of sneering at people better than you, maybe you wouldn’t be such a leech on society.”

The nobleman’s face went red with anger, but before he could sputter a reply, you had already turned to the prince.

“And as for you,” you said, fixing him with a look of pure disdain. “What exactly is your contribution to this little scene, hm? Standing there, wringing your hands like a wet sponge. Do you have any idea what Jamil has done for your kingdom, or are you too busy polishing your tiara to notice?”

The prince opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was glorious.

You turned back to Jamil, who was watching you with an amused but unreadable expression. “We’re done here,” you said, grabbing his arm and marching out of the room without a backward glance.

The carriage ride back was thick with silence, the weight of your outburst pressing down on you. Jamil hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his eyes on you, sharp and calculating. You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, guilt creeping up your spine.

“I— I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t defend yourself,” you started, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush. “I just couldn’t stand the way they were talking about you—”

Before you could finish, Jamil’s hand gently tilted your chin up, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative—no, it was a kiss that made your heart race and your mind go blank.

When he pulled away, you were breathless. “I found it hot,” he murmured, smirking.

You blinked, utterly thrown off by the confession. “What?”

He kissed you again, slower this time, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered.

You let out a shaky laugh, still trying to process everything. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice full of emotion.

Jamil’s eyes softened, and without another word, Jamil swept you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly in a bridal carry as the carriage pulled up to your manor. He carried you inside, past the stunned servants, and straight to the bedroom, where the door closed with a soft click behind you.

As he laid you gently on the bed, you could only smile up at him, the weight of everything melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

And for once, the world beyond the two of you didn’t matter at all.

The scandal erupted at the royal ball like a badly timed burp during a quiet opera.

The heroine—bless her, she meant well, but her foot was permanently lodged in her mouth—had done the unthinkable. You and Jamil watched from across the ballroom as she stood before the fae delegation, attempting to “honor” their centuries-old traditions.

But instead of the elegant gesture of goodwill she was supposed to offer, she made a noise that can only be described as an awkward impersonation of a dying goose and proceeded to bow backwards.

That alone wasn’t even the worst part.

“Oh no,” Jamil whispered under his breath, eyes wide with disbelief as he took in the scene. “She’s about to—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the heroine reached into her dress and produced… a bouquet of mushrooms. Not just any mushrooms. The fae’s sacred mushrooms, rumored to be foraged under the light of a blood moon and infused with mystical properties.

She shoved them at the fae emissary like a child offering wilted flowers to a stranger, and then—oh gods, why—she patted his head.

Dead silence fell across the ballroom.

The emissary, who had remained calm despite the bowing fiasco, now stared down at the mushrooms with a look of profound insult and horror. His fellow fae were vibrating, their wings fluttering ominously, as though on the verge of launching an interdimensional war over a bouquet of fungi.

You snorted, barely containing your laughter. “She’s done it now.”

Jamil, ever the diplomat, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know what those mushrooms symbolize to the fae?”

“No, but I’m assuming it’s not ‘Congratulations on your promotion’ or ‘Get well soon’?”

“Death,” Jamil muttered, casting a glance at you that screamed please don’t laugh. “She just handed them a bouquet that says, ‘I wish for your demise and the utter destruction of your family line.’”

At that, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. A small laugh escaped before you slapped your hand over your mouth, trying—and failing—to keep your composure. Jamil shot you a warning glare, but even he looked like he might break. The absurdity of it all was too much.

The fae emissary spoke, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “This is an outrage. We demand recompense for this offense.”

The king and prince rushed over, trying to smooth things over with promises of reparations, apologies, anything to keep the fae from turning the court into a smoking crater. But the damage was done. The fae delegation was livid, and rightfully so. There were whispers of broken treaties, wars brewing, diplomatic chaos that would take decades to resolve.

And who did they turn to for help?

You and Jamil, of course.

Later that evening, as you lounged comfortably in your private manor, feet propped up on an ottoman, there was a frantic knock on the door. You exchanged a look with Jamil, who was reclining next to you, casually sipping his tea as though the kingdom wasn’t on the brink of a magical apocalypse.

The door swung open, and the king, the prince, and a handful of stressed-out nobles barged in, their faces pale with desperation.

“You two!” the prince bellowed, his voice barely keeping it together. “You’ve dealt with the fae before! Fix this!”

Jamil didn’t even look up from his tea. “No.”

The prince blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jamil sipped again, then casually set his cup down on the table. “I said no. I’m done. We’re done.”

You nodded, not even bothering to hide your amusement. “I think the heroine has this under control. She’s doing great.”

“She insulted the fae. She gave them a bouquet of death mushrooms!” the prince cried, waving his arms dramatically like a man in the throes of a panic-induced breakdown. “They’re going to declare war!”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you quipped, grinning.

The king, who had remained uncharacteristically silent, took a step forward, his eyes pleading. “Please, for the sake of the kingdom…”

Jamil sighed deeply, finally turning his attention to the royal mess in your doorway. “We’ve dealt with more than enough idiocy for one lifetime. How about this? You let the heroine finish what she started. If she can bungle her way into this disaster, surely she can find a way out.”

The prince spluttered, incredulous. “But you—”

“Nope,” you interrupted, standing up and stretching lazily. “We’re officially on vacation. Jamil, pack the bags.”

Jamil stood with a casual grace that belied the utter chaos unfolding behind him. “Already done.”

The king’s jaw dropped. “Vacation?! Now?! The kingdom is on the verge of collapse!”

You grabbed your coat and slung it over your shoulder with a smirk. “Well then, I’d suggest you start learning how to negotiate with the fae. Maybe start by not giving them death mushrooms.”

With that, you and Jamil strolled out of the manor, leaving the baffled royals standing in your doorway like confused children. The sound of the prince’s sputtering protests faded behind you as you made your way down the garden path, the night air cool and refreshing against your skin.

Jamil chuckled beside you, his hand slipping into yours as you walked. “Do you think they’ll manage?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you said with a laugh. “But we deserve this. Let them figure it out for once.”

“And maybe…” you paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “Maybe we should make it official while we’re at it.”

Jamil stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you, his brows lifting in surprise. “You mean… get married?”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Why not? We’ll be far away from prying eyes, just the two of us, in the summer hours. It sounds perfect.”

For a moment, the world stood still. Then Jamil’s lips curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen. “I think that sounds perfect too.”

And so, you and Jamil left the court and its catastrophes behind, fleeing to the countryside like two fugitives on the run from royal idiocy. The villa you’d chosen was perfect—nestled in the hills, far away from the fae, the heroine, and the ridiculous drama that followed her like a bad smell.

The first morning, as you lay in bed next to Jamil, sunlight streaming through the open windows, he turned to you with a grin.

“So, what now? Do we just… hide out here forever?”

You shrugged, pulling him closer. “Why not? We can start a goat farm. I’ll name all the goats after the people we hate.”

Jamil laughed, burying his face in your neck. “A herd of royal goats. Perfect.”

And somewhere, in the distance, the kingdom probably crumbled. The heroine probably insulted more magical creatures. But for once, it wasn’t your problem.

You and Jamil had found peace in the countryside.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d throw a wedding in between all the goat naming.

The days that followed were blissfully quiet, each one blending into the next in a haze of sun-soaked afternoons and peaceful nights. You and Jamil fell into an easy rhythm—waking with the sun, wandering through the countryside, sharing meals beneath the open sky. It was simple, and that simplicity was a balm to both your souls.

The court sent letters, of course—pleading, begging for your return. But each one went unanswered. The Fae situation had likely escalated, the heroine’s blunder growing more disastrous by the day, but it wasn’t your problem anymore. Let them sort out the mess. You and Jamil had something far more important now—a life of your own making.

One evening, as you sat together on the porch of the villa, watching the sunset, Jamil leaned over and whispered, “Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “That we’re never coming back?”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes.”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, your voice light, but filled with certainty. “But by then, we’ll be long gone.”

And you were. Far from the court, from the games of power and politics, from the endless demands and expectations. You had found your own path, one where the only thing that mattered was each other.

In the end, the kingdom survived. The heroine, somehow, managed to blunder her way through the Fae negotiations, though the details remained hazy in the few letters you received from old acquaintances. The Duke, as always, remained by her side, a constant fixture in a world you no longer had to care about.

But as for you and Jamil? You stayed in the countryside, living in the warmth of each day, far from the reach of courtly drama. And when the summer finally faded into autumn, you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.

Together, you had built a life out of love, quiet and unassuming, but richer than anything the court could have ever offered. And in the end, that was more than enough

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

The next one is Floyd!

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Aromatic

Sex Pollen!Eddie Brock|Venom x Spider-Girl!Reader

Summary: After a failed fight with a local villain, Venom and the Reader find themselves overwhelmed by some gas that was sprayed on them.

CW: choking, oral f!receiving, p in v, creampie, breeding kink,

a/n: so sorry this took so long, I’ve been stressed out here lately! I’m leaving the villain ambiguous so you can decide who it is as you read :)

~~~

Cold Autumn air cut through your suite like a knife. Swinging around the city as the sun went down, checking for any sign of mischief. Catching a glimpse of one of your partners in an alleyway. Deciding to check-in on him and see what was going on.

You crawled slowly down the wall behind him. Sneaking up to see if maybe there was something he was hiding.

"I know you're there," his deep voice rumbled in your ears.

Venom. An alien symbiote. Vigilante by night. Not entirely sure who his human vestige was underneath. Always curious, but never willing to ask.

You hopped off the wall with a sigh. Landing directly behind him, "Your senses are getting better."

"I can always smell you coming," he chuckled with a grin on his face. Your cheeks flushed under your mask. There always was a hint of flirtation between the two of you. You jokingly sniffed your armpit, “Do I really smell that bad?”

Venom scoffed, “Of course not.” A small sting of embarrassment on his tone. Like something deep inside him did not want to offend you.

You felt your senses go into overdrive. Whipping your head around in the direction you were being called to. Leading your gaze into the small view of the streets you had from the alleyway. Hearing the familiar laugh of the villain you had been tracking for weeks now.

“Come on,” you instructed him as you thwipped a web up, pulling yourself higher. Landing on top of the building surrounding you. Staring at the new machine they created. A giant vessel holding some colorful liquid on its back. Giant legs hoisting it up as it rampaged down the streets. Clamping down on cars and throwing them into buildings.

You and Venom diving down head first into the battle. Venom stopping the newly thrown car mid air before it struck a mother and her child. Your webs wrapping themselves around the arms of the machine, pulling and pinning them backwards. The villain shooting a dreadful look at you.

“So this is what you’ve been up to? Thought you were just scared to see me,” you mocked as you shot webs against the arms, pinning it to the ground.

“Pesky bug!” They shouted at you, fingers rapidly pressing buttons on the board of the machine. Watching as a canon extended from the back of it. Feeling your senses tingle every end of your nerves.

“VENOM! WATCH OUT!” You called out as you swung over to your partner. Attempting to shield him from whatever attack was coming from the villain. Your body moving without thinking to his defense.

Gas poured from the cone-shaped end. Surprising you that a missile of some kind didn’t fire out. Thick smog filled the entire street you were in. Fogging up your vision and burning your nose.

You both coughed as the dust coated the insides of your noses and throats.

"What the hell was that?!" Venom growled, noticing the villain had disappeared in front of you.

"I have no idea," you coughed out, "I don't feel any different. Not noticing any physical changes."

"Maybe it was just a distraction," Venom groaned frustrated that you had let them get away. Slamming his giant fist into the nearby concrete. Quiet cursed grumbled under his breath as he jumped back to the ground. You followed closely behind, shooting a web and sliding down it. Feeling a ting in your heart for him.

Walking over and flattening your hand against his back, “We’ll get them next time.”

The monster sighed.

Your chest jumped. The growl on his voice vibrating through your entire body. You swallowed heavy as you awkwardly removed your hand from him. His white eyes looking over his shoulder at you. Widening when they met yours.

“I’ve got to go,” Venom forced his head forward. Rushing off from you. Somewhere you were unsure of. An abrupt end to your nightly routine.

You headed home. Swinging along the large glass buildings in your city. Jumping down a hidden part of the alley next to your apartment. Grabbing your bag you had hid and changing clothes.

Your body went through the familiar motions as you walked up to your apartment. A haze around your vision, your mind somewhere else entirely. Unsure why you felt what you were, but focusing on the one thing that cleared up your fog.

Venom.

Your large alien partner in crime. Well— stopping crime. Ever since you had parted ways after your failed face off today, he was the only thing you could focus on. How gentle he always was with you, his deep voice, how effortlessly flirty he was with you during your endeavors, his tongue—

Oh God.

You felt every last vein in your body run hot. Tingling spreading from between your thighs throughout your body. Fumbling as you tried to get your key in the lock, hunching over at the deep sensation taking over your body. Your breath hitched in your throat.

- click -

Fuck, finally.

You stormed into your apartment. Arms wrapped around your chest. Your clothes feeling extra tight. Sweat bubbled along your body. You fanned yourself with your hands. Rushing into your kitchen to open the freezer. Cool air persisting your sudden sweats. Nothing was cooling you off.

You stumbled down your hallway as your core throbbed, an unspeakable feeling seizing your figure. Grabbing the box fan from the closet. Hurrying into the living room and plugging it in. Slumping against your couch directly in front of the fan. Growing agitated at the feeling swirling deep inside you. Unsure how to calm it.

A loud knock at your door made you sit completely up.

Why didn't your spider-sense warn you?

Walking over to look through the peephole. A man with a beard wearing a black leather jacket stood before your door. Not someone you had recognized before. Something inside you begged for you to open the door.

"Hello?"

The man awkwardly smiled at you. A hint of sweat on his forehead. "Uh- Yeah, hi," his eyes darted around the stairwell.

"Can I help you?"

"I think you can actually," he sighed, seeming like there was something he wanted to say. You could see his tongue moving around in his mouth as if he was feeling out the words before saying them.

Suddenly, black ooze began morphing around his arm. Quickly taking the shape of Venom's head in front of you. "We need to come in now," Venom insisted. Your body instinctively moved out of the way allowing them inside.

"How did you find where I live?"

"Do you feel it too?"

You blushed. Completely overtaken by the smell of him. The musky cologne mixed with the sweat on his skin. How his plump lips begged you to plant yours against them. The way his dark eyes stared into yours.

When you suddenly realized. He was feeling the same way you had been all afternoon. The deep burning inside you. The way your body ached and craved another. One that you could not put a finger on until now. It was him.

"Yes," you breathlessly said. Following close behind him.

"I told you so," Venom hissed in the man's face. He held up a hand, pushing him away from his face. "I'm Eddie by the way," he smiled at you, "We've kinda knew each other through some costumes before now." You returned his smile. Feeling a connection to him beyond understanding. Almost like you had known him forever.

“So— uh… guess we need to talk about this? It had to be whatever that psycho sprayed us with earlier. I’m not exactly sure what the side effects are, but I’ve been feeling—“

“Aroused?” Venom blatantly asked, embarrassing his human half. Eddie reached out attempting to cover Venom’s mouth. Pink decorating his cheeks at the aliens lack of social skills. Both of you sharing in your color filled facing.

“Sorry about him—“

“No— No I think he’s right,” you walked over to Eddie and Venom. Locking eyes with Eddie. Both of your bodies instinctively meeting each other. His hands splaying around your lower back, your arms wrapping around his neck. A warmth rising between you. Spreading throughout your body from where his hands met your skin.

“Have you been feeling it too, Eddie?”

His tongue came out to wet his lip. Dark eyes examining your face, pupils blown in lust. A sigh of a “yes” falling from him as he leaned in to plant his lips on yours. Tenderly you kissed back and forth. Tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Soft groans sharing between kisses. Taste of your shared saliva filling your senses.

Eddie’s kisses turned hungry. One hand roaming up your body to tangle in your hair, deepening your connected mouths. He led you backwards, the back of your legs hitting the couch. Bending as you sat back, Eddie’s arms pinned on either side of your head. Your lips parting as you stared at each other. Black pupils stared into yours. Feeling yourself grow lost in his presence. Needing him all over you.

“You smell delicious,” Venom’s deep voice huffed into your ear from behind. Turning your head to meet his gaze. Not even noticing he had crept up behind you while his host hovered over you. A tentacle of ooze wrapping around your neck and pinning you back against the couch. Ripping the air out of your lungs with his strength. Eddie’s lips kissed along your jawline, “Tell us if you want to stop.” You nodded in acknowledgment.

Your eyes squinted shut as their touches stimulated you. Eddie trailed down your body, knees hitting your floor. Fingers traced the waist of your shorts, playing with the elastic. Deep blue eyes stared up at your arched neck. Pressure left your neck as Venom retreated. Taking a deep breath that had been escaping you. Leaning your gaze forward to meet his eyes.

"May I?" Eddie hooked his finger around your waistband.

"Please-"

Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. The sensation of his hands barely touching your skin sending shivers through you. He admired the darkened fabric of your panties as your core leaked for him. A goofy grin coming across his face. His hot breath fanned at your clothed entry. He leaned forward planting an open mouth kiss against you. Your hips lunged forward at the sudden contact. His hands gripped your thighs firmly holding you in place. "I'll make you feel good," he promised breathlessly. Eyes fixated on the faint image of your pussy in front of him. The smell of your arousal sending him over the edge. Animal like urges taking over. A strong hand ripped your panties off in one swipe. Eddie's brows raised in shock. Looking up at you with an awkward smile, a faint "sorry" escaping him.

Dipping in, his tongue swiping up your entrance. Your breath growing shaky, head falling onto the back of the couch. Trying your best to let him take control. Dying to grind into his face and ride his tongue. One of your hands tangled in his hair, lacing your fingers through it. A grunt vibrated through you when you pulled his hair a little harder than intended. One of his fingers circled your entrance, coating it in your juices before sliding it inside. Curving it with each slow and long thrust. Eddie's name a loud moan from you.

It rang in their ears. Venom inside Eddie's mind telling him to keep going until he had you a squirming mess. Fueling the fire that burned inside Eddie. His hard-on throbbing and begging to be inside you. Whatever had taken over the two of you stinging his skin. Your taste on his tongue turning him on even more.

Your orgasm was approaching at a rapid pace. Your legs were shaking with the magic Eddie worked on you. You were panting, eyes squinted shut in pure ecstasy. You felt Eddie rocking back and forth differently than before. Looking down to see him humping into your couch while still going down on you. Hot breath hitting your core as he continued sucking on your sensitive nub. Your eyes met, holding together. Eddie's brows contorted slightly, wanting nothing more than to be inside you. You could feel the coil inside you about to unwind. One more curve of Eddie's finger had it washing over you. A loud moan escaping you as you gripped his head for support. Forcing yourself further onto his face.

"That's it," Eddie cooed.

You sighed, your body relaxing into the sofa. Your hole still gripping around his finger post orgasm. Slowly, he removed his finger from you. Huffing as he rested his head against your quivering thigh, a wide grin on his face. Admiring how your chest rose and fell with every harsh breath you took. He held his finger up in front of his face staring at how your orgasm coated his finger. Pushing it between his lips and cleaning it off. Lingering in the taste of you.

"Eddie..."

"Yes?"

"Please, I need you to fuck me," you begged. He sighed heavily. Rising to his feet in front of you. Dropping his jacket from his shoulders, then pulling his shirt off. Undoing his belt and dropping it into the floor. Scooping you up into his arms effortlessly. Strength clearly from his symbiotic partner. "I thought you'd never ask," Eddie smiled at you, kissing your lips. Taking you down the hall where he assumed your bedroom was. Pretending the monster in his mind was not leading him to the area strongest of your scent. That's how Venom had taken him here to begin with. When they both were overcome with a desire they could not relieve themselves. The symbiote begged Eddie to allow him to go to you. You were what they desired.

Eddie sat you onto your feet, hands grazing up your sides as his forehead rested against yours. Lips locking with yours. Tongue exploring your mouth. Hands groped your chest. Pinching at your sensitive nipples through the fabric. Hands finding their way under your shirt, dancing up your back to the clasp of your bra. Fingers effortlessly undoing it. Pulling your shirt and bra off in one clean motion. Lips attaching to the soft skin of your chest. Sucking purple marks into them as his fingers rolled your nipples.

"Your skin is so soft," he moaned into you.

You moaned, grinding your knee into his erection. Hands circling his waist, dipping into the band of his jeans. Playing with his boxer-briefs underneath. Undoing the button and zipper. Hand delving down and wrapping around his thinly clothed cock. Eddie's hips rutted at your touch. Smiling into your skin.

Suddenly you felt yourself get thrown back onto your bed. Nude body on complete display for them. Eddie's wide eyes stared at you. Venom had grown impatient. Deciding he could no longer wait to be inside you.

"I want her now, Eddie," Venom growled in his face.

Eddie dropped his jeans and boxers. Hard cock springing free. You felt your mouth watering at the sight. Spreading your legs, inviting them in. That burn inside you igniting again. He stepped in front of you on the edge of the bed. Hand gripping his erection, pumping it. His brows furrowed, "Not what I need." His head tilted to the side as he eyed your body.

His toned body leaned on top of yours. Muscles flexing as he held himself up, other hand guiding himself at your entrance. Circling your folds with the tip. "Fuck, Eddie," you moaned. Forcing yourself down on him just enough to take his head in. Eddie groaned at the feeling, "Ah- Y/N, goddammit."

Eddie planted a strong kiss against yours lips as he sheathed himself inside you. Rolling his hips, allowing you to adjust to him. An instant relief overtaking you both. Exactly what you needed.

You felt ooze touching every inch of your body. Venom wrapped himself around you, wanting to feel as close to you as Eddie was. Stimulating your sensitive body, pinching at your hardened nipples, wrapping around your wrists and interlocking with your fingers. Far more intimate than you thought he was capable of. "Pretty thing," his voice boomed inside your ears.

Eddie continued his thrusts inside you. Face contorted at the relief he felt. Your insides cooling the burn he had been feeling. Walls coaxing him further inside you, practically sucking him in. Needing him all over you. Loving the attention Venom was giving you. The symbiote finding his way down to your clit. Circling it.

Your back arched. Moaning loudly at the feeling. Overstimulation taking over your senses. Losing yourself as Eddie's cock hit the spongey spot inside you that had you seeing stars. Breath hitching in your throat as your eyes rolled back into your head. Your cunt contorted around his member as they got you closer to your edge.

"I could fuck you forever," Eddie groaned as he leaned down closer to you. Lips tangling together as your wrapped your arms and legs around him. Pulling your bodies flush together. Venom spreading across both your bodies. Connecting you more than you had ever been with anyone else. You began meeting Eddie's thrusts with your own. Needing him to fill you up.

"Want us to breed you?" Venom licked his lips, "Dirty girl..."

You and Eddie's eyes locked. Lust blown pupils staring into each other. Both your mouths hung open, sharing the same air. He cocked an eyebrow at you, asking the same question that Venom had.

"Cum inside me, Eddie," you moaned, breath escaping you as he thrusted harder into you.

Hips snapped into you. Harsh and sloppy thrusts. Venom continued circling your sensitivity in an attempt to get you both to finish at the same time.

"Come on, Eddie," Venom snarled, "Fill her cunt up."

Eddie's face rested in the crook of your neck as he searched for both your highs. Grunting with each snap of his hips. "Yo-You have the per-perfect pussy," Eddie praised you as he felt your walls begin to tighten around him.

You came undone around him. Walls spasming around his cock. Pushing him over his own edge. Eddie shot hot up inside you, coating your walls with his seed. Pushing himself as deep inside you as he could get. His body twitched with each rope he shot into you. Lips kissing your skin.

Eddie slumped his body onto yours unable to remove himself from your warmth. Savoring the feeling of you wrapped around him. Your hands rubbed his back, nails scratching at his skin. Hesitantly, Eddie rolled off of you. Pulling himself out. The mixture of juices inside you spilling out. Venom forcing it all back inside you.

You rested against his chest. The fire inside you finally subsiding. Both of your chests heaved with deep breaths. Bodies having been worked.

"You can stay here," you sighed.

"We would love that," Eddie kissed your head.

~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! It feels so nice to return to the character who originally got me writing so much on this blog. I've missed these two so much. My inbox is always open for requests. If you want to be tagged in the future let me know! //

{tags}

@heif ~ @its-in-the-woods ~ @denisedixon ~ @crazymuffin1 ~ @gruffle1 ~ @atthediscowithoutpanic ~ @glader13 ~ @frenchkimbo ~ @wuuuuman ~ @vexties ~ @f4ngedgirl ~ @megangovier ~ @globinsmerchant ~

[hurtspideyparker]

Thinking about restless spirit Tony Stark who just can't move on to the after life.

The first thing he does once he realizes he's an apparition is check on Pepper and Morgan. True to their word, they're okay. He watches them for a bit but feels this deep unrest pulling him away from the quaint home he yearns for.

There's a deep wrongness within him, some unfinished business that draws him back to New York.

He fears for a moment that it's Peter- but no, it can't be him. He'll be in Massachusetts right now, attending MIT as a freshman. There isn't a doubt in Tony's mind that his little genius is already making his mark.

Still, he follows the pull of his spirit to some dingy Queens' apartment he's never been to before.

It's deep in the night yet the apartment is empty. He looks around a bit, his body phasing through anything he attempts to touch.

It's small and dirty. There's old coffee cups on the desk, alongside a couple GED manuals. Great, the universe thinks he has unfinished business with some broke high school dropout.

He's pondering how he must have screwed up this kid's life; was it the Avengers, Stark Industries? Maybe his old playboy lifestyle is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

His contemplation is cut short by the sound of the window cracking open.

It strikes Tony for a moment that maybe he's stuck on Earth to be a guardian angel, Iron Man living on as some invisible protector against whatever creep is sneaking into people's windows. It doesn't make much sense considering the whole non-corporeal thing, but he still stiffens like he's ready for a fight.

He sees a man- no, a thing? A creature maybe, or an alien. Even in death Tony can't escape being one of Earth's mightiest heroes.

The creature is shrouded in darkness, something slick and bald crawling inside the room with terrifying grace and silence. It shuts the window with a soft kssssh as the seal is formed.

And then it pulls off its mask.

There, with the click of a table lamp, glows the face of Peter Parker.

He's definitely older now; sturdier shoulders, a rugged set of his jaw, hair tamed to something semi-professional. Still present, though, are those gentle brown eyes.

Nothing makes sense right now. Why is his kid here, in this apartment? Surely May wouldn't allow this. How many tenant laws does this place break? Where are his little sidekick friends? And on what planet would Peter Parker ever need a GED?

Tony's getting angry now, watching Peter move around the tiny space. He changes out of his costume and into pajamas. That spider suit isn't Tony's suit, it looks like cheap craft store fabric.

The kid opens a small freezer and pulls out the singular bag of peas that reside in there, pressing it against his ribs while he goes to pop some bread into a toaster.

Tony takes note of every glimpse he gains into Peter's life. Empty cabinets when he reaches for a jar of peanut butter. A fridge housing nothing but condiments and energy drinks when he goes to grab jam. A drawer with two spoons, no forks, and a paring knife which he pulls out and sticks into the strawberry jam jar just as the toast pops.

This is all so wrong.

Tony's outrage is coming to a rolling boil. Peter deserves the world- he was gonna give him the world. He couldn't wait to send Peter to MIT and show him off as his protégé. Tony was gonna fund his projects, tease him about pretty girls, maybe even see him step back from Spider-Man and act like a normal college kid. He wanted to see him flourish and grow up. It was all he could think about when Peter turned to dust between his fingers; he should be goofing off with his friends at a mathletes meeting, or building Legos, not fighting an intergalactic war.

Tony couldn't even conceive how much went wrong to end up here.

Alone. Broke. No school. He didn't even have his Stark suit to protect him. Everything that made him him has been stripped, leaving him in this shallow box with scuffed paint and hollow cabinets.

Tony can feel the violent rage burn deep in his spirit as he thinks about it.

This is why he's here. He can't let his boy live like this, wasting his potential to be some villain's punching bag. Where is everyone? Does no one care enough to stop this? The fury that builds in Tony is dangerous, wondering why a dead man is the only one who cares about the teen's life right now.

Without thinking Tony's hand reaches for the GED textbook, a mocking piece of work that laughs in his face, and throws it at the stupid little kitchenette that's mere feet from the bed.

It sails across the room with surprising speed before it's met with a thunk against Peter's palm, hand reaching out to catch it from the air before it collided with the toaster.

Oh.

Peter sets the book down and immediately picks up his web shooters, eyes darting furiously to every corner of the tiny apartment.

"Who's there?"

Tony steps a little closer but Peter's eyes just look right past him.

"C'mon Pete, c'mon. I'm here, I'm right here."

Tony looks for something else to grab. He swats at a hopefully empty coffee cup on the wooden desk, but his hand just passes right through it.

"Shit," the hope Tony felt waivers slightly and he tries again.

Nothing.

Peter is searching his apartment now, making sure the window is secure and feeling around every crevice, bookshelves, under the bed, in the top corners of the room. Searching for something nefarious, tech maybe.

Tony hits the cup, again and again, frustration building up and up and up till-

The cup flies across the room, Tony and Peter's eyes track its movements as it bounces against the ground and rolls to a stop.

"Shit," Peter breathes out.

Tony walks up to Peter now, standing before him.

"Figure it out. Think kid, you've met aliens, gods, magicians, surely ghosts aren't too far fetched."

Peter closes his eyes. His posture straightens, Tony watches him take a deep breath in as the hairs on his bare arms stand on end.

Peter's eyes blink open, and they're looking directly at Tony.

Tony smirks, "that's it."

Peter turns around and picks the cup off the ground, running to his desk with it and ripping a piece of lined paper out of a notebook and scribbling furiously on it.

Tony walks over as Peter places the cup in the center of the paper.

On the left is the word YES in bold print, NO on the right.

"Okay, okay okay. So, move the cup if, if you wanna talk. Um, is there someone in the room right now?"

Tony reaches for the cup, an intense glare as his fingertips graze it gently. It shifts minutely towards the YES.

"Shit! Shit. Sorry, whew. Okay. Are you friendly?"

Tony moves it to YES again.

"Are you a, um. Person? Like not an alien?"

YES.

"Are you wearing tech, invisibility suit or your molecules are uncalibrated or maybe it's a portal thing like, multiverse shit is happening again, a mirror universe! Oh, maybe a..."

Tony let's a frustrated sign. The kid is too practical, logical. He needs to think like a non-genius.

"... could be. Or, or maybe you're just a ghost-"

Tony perks up and immediately swats the cup, causing it to fly off the desk towards the YES.

"Oh. Oh that's... kinda normal. Or maybe really weird? I mean... I certainly have some ghosts in my past."

Peter picks the cup up and puts it back on the desk.

"Do I know you?"

YES.

"You said you were friendly, and I'm not getting any danger tingles from you. I'm gonna start with people I know are dead, cuz I just really hope you're not a... new ghost. Um. M-May?"

The boy's voice cracks on the word and Tony freezes. May is dead? Tony starts to fear that things are a lot more wrong than he previously thought.

Peter's breath catches and Tony realizes he's waiting, dying for an answer, and quickly pokes the cup towards NO.

Peter's shoulders sag.

"Uncle Ben?"

NO.

"T- Mr. Stark?"

Tony grins, "now we're getting somewhere!"

YES.

Tony is going to have his work cut out for him, but being here with Peter just feels right.

Peter breaks out into a matching smile.

"Wow, okay. I think I'm gonna need more paper," he says as the boy gets to work making a more complex system than YES and NO.

Tony watches on proudly, reminiscing about all the great Peter was and all the great he still is, despite his situation. Whatever this is, they'll figure it out.

Together.

[natalievoncatte]

“Today?” Kara said, “really?”

There was a silence in the house, as a pall had fallen over it. Everyone was gathered for the festivities and the turkey in the oven was filling the house with a delightful scent that made Lena’s mouth water. Thanksgiving was supposed to be the one day that Lena could forget about her waistline and just indulge herself. She’d been “helping” Eliza along with Alex and Kelly and Nia while the boys and Kara were out back tossing a football and pretending that she and J’onn didn’t have an outrageous advantage over Brainy and James.

Now Kara was standing in the living room as the news broke in over the football game and announced that a rampaging alien was tearing apart Rio de Janiero.

“Guys,” Kara said solemnly, “I have to go.”

Lena’s heart sank. She knew better than to protest. Kara had already glumly removed her glasses and was about to go grab her suit. Lena reached out and curled a hand around her bicep.

“Please be careful, darling.”

Lena could feel eyes on her back, Eliza and Alex and Nia all watching, silently urging one of them to just finally make a damned move. Lena *lived with her*, for God’s sake, and had since she sold her penthouse. They shared breakfasts and Kara gave her foot rubs and still they were stuck in this maddening limbo without defining what and who they were and it seemed neither dared to ask.

Lena knew what she wanted the answer to be, and how it ached inside her.

Kara glumly trudged down the stairs in full Supergirl regalia, regal and imposing as ever and just as beautiful. Since she’d revealed her identity to the world she’d been freed from the constraints of having to disguise herself, and a few months ago had buzzed the left side of her head, having trimmed the rest to shoulder length, and Lena longed to run her fingers over the fuzz.

She’d also altered her suit again. It no longer had sleeves. Every time Lena saw her, it felt like her soul was going to escape her body.

Kara came over and put her hands on Lena’s arms.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

Lena gulped down her anxiety.

“I can hear your heart, you know.”

“Just be careful. Please.”

Kara started to turn. Maybe it was the audience, maybe she was just tired of being mired in this thick tension between them. Maybe it was the wine. She grabbed Kara’s arm again and sprang forward to brush her lips against Kara’s cheek, dangerously close to Kara’s mouth.

“For luck.”

Kara’s eyes flew open wide and she gaped at Lena.

“I’ll be b-back,” she said, and swept out the door, cape billowing majestically.

God how Lena hated that cape, sometimes. It blocked the view.

What had been a festive gathering grew quiet. Everyone gathered around the television to see what was going on, save Eliza who politely excused herself to the kitchen, hiding tears that everyone politely ignored.

Lena joined her. She was making the gravy.

“A life of fighting isn’t what I wanted for her,” she said.

“Me either.”

They were alone in the kitchen and Eliza was whisking a roux as she waited for the raw flour smell to cook off.

“Lena, do you have feelings for my daughter?”

Lena swallowed hard, grabbing a knife to chop carrots for glazing so that she’d have something to occupy your hands.

Eliza’s voice was soft, something wistful in her eyes. “You must know how she feels about you.”

Lena had to stop to avoid slicing open her finger, almost feeling the touch of the blade. She cleared her throat.

“I do,” she admitted. “I very much do. If I’m going to be honest with myself, I’ve been in love with her for years.”

Eliza nodded, utterly unsurprised. “Kara is very hesitant about delicate things. When she first started living with us, she used to rip doorknobs off and break things at random while she learned to control her powers. She’s probably told you about Streaky.”

“She has.”

Eliza began pouring stock into the pot, her whisk making soft scraping sounds.

“She’s still that way about everything. Afraid if she pushes too hard, she’ll break something.”

Lena nodded. It was at that moment that Alex stormed into the kitchen. “She’s back.”

Immediately, Lena rushed out into the living room. Kara trudged through the door, and sighed.

“He got a few good hits in but he’s contained.”

Lena could only stare. Her suit was covered in scorch marks and even worse, Kara was bruised, her knuckles especially battered. She smiled weakly.

“I just need a minute to clean up.”

With a deep sigh, Kara turned and headed upstairs.

Lena could feel the eyes on her before she glanced back. Eliza motioned a silent “Go”, and Lena went.

She knocked at the bathroom door.

“Lena?” said Kara.

She always knew. Super-senses.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

Brief hesitation, then, “yes.”

Lena stepped inside and closed the door. Kara was washing her hands, the injuries already vanishing. Lena didn’t care. She took Kara’s hands anyway, gently washing them under warm water.

She then fumbled at the clasps and unhooked Kara’s cape, and folded it. It was surprisingly heavy, made of a dense material from her long lost home. Setting it aside, she rested her hand against Kara’s deliciously broad back, silently waiting for permission.

“Go ahead,” Kara said in a shaky voice.

Lena freed the tab of the hidden zipper and pulled, baring Kara’s expansive muscular back, and peeled the suit away from her shoulders. Kara had nothing but a sports bra and boxer briefs on beneath. She finished shimmying out of the suit on her own.

Lena has seen Kara in bathing suits, or caught flashes of her changing, but this was different, somehow more intimate. There was a vulnerability, not just in the woman disrobing but in the goddess showing Lena her bruises. Lena gently touched a black and purple mark on Kara’s flank.

“This one hurt, didn’t it.”

“It always hurts. I can feel it, I just pretend I don’t.”

Lena looked up at her and met her gaze.

“Kara, may I kiss you?”

Kara blinked and Lena could actually feel her tremble.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Lena rose on her tiptoes and pressed their lips together very softly, with a deliberate slowness. When Kara kissed her back and pulled her into a delicate embrace, hands bracketed low on her hips, Lena felt like she could fly.

Kara was looking at her in wonder.

“Was that for more luck?”

Lena felt bold. She had seize the moment now, before she lost her nerve and they fell back into tense limbo.

“Kara Danvers, if you want to, you can get very lucky tonight.”

Her eyes were wide and Lena grinned.

“I umm, I…”

Lena trailed a finger down the center of Kara’s muscular chest.

“Dinner is almost ready, darling. Take your shower. Just remember to save room for dessert.”

Kara favored her with a delighted smile as Lena stepped out of the bathroom and padded down the stairs.

When she reached the ground floor, everyone was pointedly focused elsewhere, either on the football game or cooking, and Kelly and Nia were playing cards at the dining room table.

Alexa, though, handed her a beer. Lena took it with a shaking hand.

“Fucking finally,” Alex whispered. “Just don’t get too loud tonight, okay? Go down to the beach if you can’t control yourself.”

Lena’s eyes narrowed.

“I hate you.”

“Love ya too, sis-in-law,” said Alex.

“We’re not married yet.”

Alex tipped back her brew. “Six months, tops.”

Lena took a long pull on her beer and scowled.

(It ended up being four months)

[thewitchblue]

Recluse, Part One: The Encounter

"Duck!"

Nightwing heard in the distance. He turned around just in time to see a spinning bus being thrown his way attached to a web about to snap at the velocity of which the bus is being thrown at. He was fighting Bane with Batman, and some weird new villain called the green goblin.

Batman didn't appear to have heard you as he was still distracted with Bane, but Nightwing tackles Batman to the ground just in time to dodge the bus, which rams into both villains.

The heroes groaned and flinched as the goblin rose above with his glider while laughing at the destruction he was the root of. Bane, fortunately, was knocked out for the moment.

Much to the horror of the two heroes, the goblin throws bombs at the three heroes. However, you were fast. Faster than most other heroes. Before they could go off, you already threw the bombs into the sea using your webs.

You yelled a quick apology as you ran past the duo and swung to meet the goblin in the sky. He needed to go immediately.

You were new to town with spider-like abilities with their first official run in being now. They had no idea why you were here until they saw the new villains start popping up.

You hiss in pain as you tackle the glider the green goblin was trying to run away with. It sliced your side like a hot knife through butter. You groaned,

"This is not a good Tuesday!"

You quickly tried to hijack the glider as you two grappled and steered the thing. The two heroes could only watch in disbelief as you tied up the glider while crawling on top of it.

You grunted when the goblin attempted to push you off, sticking your feet quickly to the glider to keep the edge.

"Give up, Recluse! This is my city now."

He attempted again to push you off the glider, but you stayed firm. Surprisingly, your webs work long enough for you to finish hacking into the glider. Score! The fight is in your favour now!

"Harry, don't do this! Don't follow his example!"

You then noticed his stare straight ahead. You look back to see what the Goblin was smirking at. What was more important than fighting you?

Your eyes widen in horror as you see the glider quickly heading towards a building. If he's going down, he wants to drag you with him.

"Not tonight, Harry!"

You managed to tackle the goblin to the ground as his glider ran into a nearby building. This is definitely not a good Tuesday.

You huffed as you attempted to web the goblin's legs and arms together with mild success. The goblin, annoyingly, has superstrength that matches yours. The webs don't work especially great on him, and you forgot your stronger ones at home. You have organic webs, but you also have web fluid for different purposes such as electricity or antidotes when you have to bandage your wounds. He practically purrs,

"Oh, Recluse... I'm following his legacy. You stole his research."

He broke the webs just in time for you to throw a crane to squash him. He managed to dodge, but the building behind him fell on top of him.

You shuddered as the goblin laughter rang out as the dust settled. His arms were pinned down by the building, so he couldn't stand up. He'll be squashed like a grape.

He's a pain in the neck to fight every time, but it's getting really annoying chasing down these anomalies. You were alone on this mission, thankfully. Miguel would give you an earful over the damage.

Suddenly, your body dodged the glider that was coming back to him as he struggled against the building, which was pinning him down. With wide eyes, you watched the glider decapitate the goblin.

Batman narrowed his eyes as he watched you. Who are you, and where did you come from? Why are you in Gotham? What are you? Are you an alien or a meta? How did you know to dodge when you did?

With a sorrowful wail, you ran and tackled Bane like a truck when you noticed he's conscious and standing once more. You snapped the tube that was pumping his venom using your superstrength and pinned him to the ground. You're not sure what the venom does, but if it's a power source, you were willing to take it out of the equation.

You crawled around him and covered his entire body in webs, which caused him to fall to the ground after failing to hit you off him.

He struggled and flailed like a fish, but the webs held firm. You asked the two heroes behind you as you heaved him up,

"Can you two tell me what you do to him?"

The two heroes shared a look before they took the massive man from you and shuffled him to the policemen who gathered to witness the incredibly one-sided fight that just happened. They said they would take care of him, so you rushed to the corpse of your best friend.

You fell to your knees in front of the body with teary eyes. You whispered,

"Harry, what have you done?"

You took off the mask of the deceased and sobbed. You know he's not your Harry (your Harry never went evil), but it hurts so badly to see him fall each time you fight a green goblin.

You sobbed as you hugged his head to your chest. Oh, Harry. You love him deeply.

Nightwing placed a hand on your shoulder and gave you a comforting smile. You shakily sighed before apologising,

"I'm sorry. He's my problem, not yours. I'll be taking him with me."

He replied smoothly,

"It's okay. We appreciate the help. Will you be staying?"

You shook your head. The Spider Society needs you. Anomalies are popping up more and more often.

"I can't even if I wanted to. I might see you again or I might never see you for the rest of my life."

You shrugged and stood up. Blood soaked your suit, but still, you picked up Green Goblin's body with concerning ease in the eyes of the Bats.

"So, uh, goodbye. If there are any more of my bad guys, just ask for Recluse and I'll come swinging."

Batman placed a hand on your shoulder and stopped you. He eyed the corpse carefully. The cut was clean, almost perfect, in fact. The glider would have easily cut you in half if you didn't seemingly psychically dodge. Batman tried to smoothly say,

"At least let us bury him. It seems like he meant a lot to you."

You frowned. That would be a terrible idea. If Lizard ever came around and resurrected him, Gotham would be in for a much worse situation. At least in New York, you'll have more help.

"He should come with me. I want to be able to visit his grave regularly. Although we're neighbouring cities, I'm too broke for the flights, and swinging might lead to trouble for you guys. My villains are a bit more hard-core than yours."

Batman narrowed his eyes. He figured the villains would be harder, but he wanted to keep you around. He needed to study you in case you ever return.

"You might need us again. How about you come home with us and at least have breakfast with us. We appreciate the help."

Nightwing narrowed his eyes at Batman but seemed to catch the angle he was going for. Besides, Nightwing wouldn't mind having you around. He loves being a mentor.

Meanwhile, you were worried about the heroes dying tragically as the rest of your loved ones have. The curse that follows you is like a tumour you can't quite cut out.

"I'm sorry. I can't leave a corpse for the police to deal with. I have to bury him before something bad happens with his remains."

Batman frowned. You wouldn't be easy to trick. Why would something bad happen to the remains?

You moved the body to get a better grip on it, wincing as your blood seeps out of your suit. All of your injuries will be gone in a few minutes, but you'll need to stitch up your suit. Nightwing eyed the wound before saying,

"Let us heal your wounds then. We have to repay you somehow."

You pursed your lips but waved off his help. You gestured to the already healed wound and told them not to worry about it. They were really persistent. What's their deal? They don't even know you. Why are they so demanding?

Your body jerked away as you saw another hero suddenly at your side. He seemed to have injected you with something with a stoic expression on his face. His eyes looked slightly guilty, but they were still hardened with determination for something. As if he's trying to protect Nightwing and Batman or something to a similar resolve.

"What the fuck, man?! Miguel's going to be pissed!"

You hissed out as your hand pressed against the already healed puncture wound. The man would be far from happy about your spider sense not considering Red Robin as a threat. He's the "everything is a threat until proven otherwise" type of man, forever cautious and oftentimes proven correct.

The Bats needed to know you aren't a threat. You may be young, but you were still a danger to Gotham. A loose end that Batman couldn't afford to leave undone. You felt arms catch you as you groan before falling unconscious.

[writersdrug]

Mourning Dove

Chapter 3: Pursuit

Masterlist

Summary: König finds a lost lamb and guides it home, away from the wolves.

Warnings: Obsessive behavior, chasing, anxiety

The forest wasn’t full of surprises – at least, not to König. In fact, it was a comfortably predictable place. Trees grew and shed their leaves, animals frolicked in the early morning and landed in his traps at night. Mushrooms sprouted among the tree stumps behind his cabin, and the sun rose and fell. The only variance was in what he cooked for his meals or how many logs he put in the woodstove, and even then, there wasn’t much of a difference.

When the sickness had broken out across nations, he had hardly noticed it. If it wasn’t for his biweekly trip down the mountain, he wouldn’t have. He had barely made a mile from the forest’s border when he heard the animalistic, yet alien murmurs and howls from the town. After a day’s observation from the sanctuary of the woods, he understood what had become of the majority of the population. Necessities became luxuries, and trips were cut back to a once-a-month basis. He didn’t have the mental energy nor the patience to fight off hundreds of creatures every other week.

The infected stayed away from this neck of the woods – most of the time. There was the occasional straggler that somehow made it up the steep incline, but half the time, they were forced back down once they discovered the lack of fresh human sinew. The ones that pushed closer to his cabin were nothing he couldn’t handle. They were no different than animals in his opinion, just without any usable or edible bits; the bones were too weak and brittle, and the ligaments and fibers of their flesh too mushy. If anything, they provided target practice, even if he didn’t need it.

But, this was all typical. Expected.

What was unexpected, was you.

First, it was the smell of smoke lingering in the air. König certainly hadn’t lit his woodstove for a while now. Burnt, citrusy smoke hung unnaturally in the air at eleven in the morning, nearly burning his nostrils with the unbearably piney scent. Rather than climbing down his usual path, he followed it east, curious to see who was in his neck of the woods. The infected didn’t have the brains to start a fire anymore – literally – and he couldn’t remember the last time someone had come through this area. It wasn’t near any trails or known paths, so whoever was bold enough to venture out this way had him curious and on high alert.

Soon, he stumbled across the pillar of smoke climbing towards the sky. The hunter in him settled down when he realized that this person was rather daft – leaving a fire smoking like that was no different than handing someone a knife and asking them to stab you. It was foolish of someone to think they were alone in the woods, and equally as foolish to think those creatures wouldn’t scale the mountain for a crumb of human flesh.

Finally, nearly an hour away from his cabin (fancy he’d stumble upon you on the way home), there you were. Up against a small boulder, your back to the decline of the mountain; König wondered if you had frozen to death, with nothing but your cardigan draped across your body to fight the autumn chill.

You were curled up on a rather soggy patch of forest floor. There was nothing underneath you but wet leaves and cold dirt. Your cardigan was draped over you as much as it could as a makeshift blanket – hardly one at that. König would have assumed you were dead if it wasn’t for the tremor in your shoulders, and the fact that the fire’s embers were still smoking. You must have gotten cold enough during the night to try and keep the blaze going. A backpack was carelessly and ineffectively hidden beneath a pile of twigs and matted leaves, with a protein bar wrapper shoved into the side pocket. However small the gesture was, he appreciated the awareness of your environment.

There was a plethora of questions swimming in his head. How did you get this high up the mountain? Did you mean to make it this far? How had you survived the virus for so long? He didn’t mean to judge a book by its cover, but you were rather dense and careless with your own self preservation tactics. He doubted that you kept the fire burning to mask your scent from the infected… that was too much effort for someone who slept facing the boulder, instead of keeping their eyes on the open space ahead of them.

He watched you for a while, until the dying fire’s smoke was no more than a few tendrils, curling towards the sky and disappearing before they reached the tops of the trees. Every sound from within the woods had him swiveling his head, making sure nothing was tearing up the mountain to disturb your sleep. He shouldn’t care; in fact, it was very uncharacteristic of him to care about anyone but himself. Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen a real person in the last two months, let alone held a conversation with one. But he found himself watching you like a shepherd watching his lambs – because that’s all you were, wasn’t it? A lost lamb, doing your best to survive in the wild. How could he leave such an untainted, innocent thing to the wolves?

But enough of that. You were starting to stir awake.

You rolled over to stare at the dead embers, your face puffy from an unrestful sleep. Your eyes were full of resignment and uncertainty. König wanted to chide you for waking up so late into the morning – the daylight needed to be used for finding food and making distance, not sleeping. He watched as you sat up with a sigh and put your cardigan on. As you rose to your feet, he noticed the back of your jeans were damp from the wet ground you had spent the night on. He was becoming more and more frustrated with you; you and your poor survival skills, your wet pants, your weak shoes, and the leaves in your hair that you didn’t seem to care to pick out. He would gladly do it to satisfy the perfectionist in him, if it wasn’t such a domestic gesture.

He watched intently, like a good shepherd would, as you threw wet leaves onto the makeshift campfire. Good practice, if it wasn’t completely pointless at this time of day. You sheepishly looked around the clearing, before making your way into the denser thicket of trees. He didn’t realize what you were doing until he saw you fumbling with the waistline of your jeans.

It made him laugh internally. The fact that you were so cautious, as if some woodland creature might spy on you. He was the only one you needed to worry about, but he decided to spare your privacy. He’d be worried about how quickly you were ensnaring his territorial instincts, like you had already belonged to him, if he didn’t have the excuse of your obviously non-existent self-preservation to back his newfound obsession.

He waited until you had disappeared behind the boulder before abandoning his spot among the shrubbery. His footsteps were calculated and quiet as he approached your makeshift campsite. The air was thick with acrid smoke, piney and sharp from the fir needles that had burnt up in the fire. Remnants of you littered the area: your bag, of course, laid open and propped against the rock. You’d swept away most of the leaves and twigs from where you had lay on the ground, and there was a thin line you had drawn around the perimeter of your bed. It made him laugh, a soft huff escaping through his nostrils at the idea of you staking a claim here.

His thick fingers dipped into your bag, rummaging through the contents. Some weird, big straw… protein bars, batteries, and a pretty pathetic medical kit. He’d seen them before in the hunting store he used to frequent in town, placed near the cashier’s desk in an attempt to catch the eye of someone who didn’t know any better. That was you, wasn’t it? You didn’t know any better; you focused on bringing things that would keep you alive in the short run, but nothing to sustain you. Where were your tools? What would you do to hunt, or to gather wood, or to defend yourself? Were you mistaking fortunate circumstances for your own skill? Did you know how to use that little knife, kleines Lamm? Judging by the bandage wrappers stuffed into the side pocket of your backpack, it appeared that you didn’t.

In the outside pocket of the bag, he found a set of car keys. What had you planned to do with a car? He thought. The gas stations were all shut down, most likely out of gas from the hysteria when the infection had started. Foolish girl… didn’t you think of that? He mused. Did you think of anything at all? Or were you so recklessly desperate to survive, that you threw all caution to the wind?

He was back under the cover of the trees by the time you were finished. Cerulean irises watched from the shadows as you knelt by your bag, digging around through the contents until you pulled out a map. He stifled a laugh as you looked at the damn thing with a furrowed brow, then turned it upside-down, then once more to the left, until your face relaxed into a satisfied expression. You held the map loosely in one hand as you shouldered your bag, stomped on the ashes of the fire a bit, and made your way west.

König’s curiosity had him in a chokehold. The only reasonable thing he could think of was to follow you.

He kept a good distance from you, maybe a hundred yards down the mountain from where you walked. Your eyes were glossy and tired as you stared ahead. Occasionally, he observed as you glanced at the map, then the babbling creek, then back ahead. Boredom was clear as day on your face – what were you searching for? Where were you going? There was nothing out here, other than König’s cabin, and miles and miles of woods. Roze and Horangi had made sure he was planted in a safehouse, far beyond where roads and buildings began to smatter across the maps’ pages.

He found himself sizing you up a bit. He didn’t like how sluggishly you moved; it was understandably due to a lack of real food. Protein bars could only sustain you so much, especially if you were rationing yourself to one per day. You had potential to be a warm body, with enough hearty food and pampering – you deserved that. Who else to give it to you, but himself? He was worthy of it; he’d spend enough time alone, toiling over his own survival and keeping the forest decently clean and flourishing, hadn’t he? He earned the right to take care of you, to turn you into an ideal mate. It’s as if the forest had gifted you to him for all his hard work, and he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

His humanity told him to slow down, back off, and reminded him that you didn’t belong to him. His instinct promised to make you his.

It impressed König, how much distance you were able to cover before you stopped for a break. The boredom might have been helping you trudge along, because at least you were moving. Eventually, however, you had come to stop by a sharp bend of the river, sitting yourself at the base of a tree. König allowed himself to linger closer to you, planting himself behind a thicket of barberry bushes.

What am I doing? He forced him self to ask the question that he had neglected over the past several hours. He drank in your exhausted expression and muscles, watching you slump over as you rested your elbows on your knees. Both obsessing and protecting came to mind as he stared, noticing the tremor in your shoulders. The objective of the question slowly faded to the back of his mind as he reeled at the thought of warming you up. Plenty of blankets and furs back at the cabin… and a woodstove, too. There was a number of ways he could warm you up, protect you from the nipping cold and keep you from having to stuff your fingers in your armpits, like you were now.

It was already festering inside of him: his obsession with you. You, a little lost thing, unaware that you had trespassed into his part of the woods. An unfamiliar hunger settled in his muscle fibers, running underneath his skin along his veins. He struggled with the urge to come up behind you and take you by the scruff of your neck, then drag your limp, compliant body back to his home. It was unnatural, but strong. An instinct, perhaps, but why now? Why was this what caused his jaw to ache with a need to bite, mark, claim? Saliva pooled in between his teeth as he watched you tuck your hair behind your ears, checking your fingernails – completely oblivious to the eyes peering at you through thick leaves and shrubbery. It’s ok, kleines Lamm, he can forgive that. You just don’t know any better. That’s what he’s there for; I’ll kill every creature in these woods, so you can be free of anxiety and fear.

Of course, as he was piecing together the perfect picture of your life woven into his, the universe had to take him down a few notches. Life can’t be too easy, can it?

A voice broke through the trees, echoing in between the sturdy trunks until the sound reached König’s ears. He heard the timbre before you did. A name. Yours, perhaps? The voice was angry, bitter – what had you done, kleines Lamm? It had to be your name, considering you were the only other human he’d crossed paths with since the start of the spread. Now, two humans? It was the most interesting thing that to occur in the last five years.

The second time was closer. You heard it, he could tell; the way your body froze, and how your eyes widened, like prey when they realize they’re staring at death’s doors. You sat upright in a heartbeat, scanning the area around you and quickly shouldering your bag. König could practically smell the fear dripping from you, he could hear the adrenaline surging through your veins. It ignited a spark within himself as he saw the coils in your mind tightening, getting ready to sprint away from the danger. He leaned on his haunches, watching as you calculated where you planned to launch off to.

Finally, after the third and closest call of your name, you sprung into action, pushing yourself up onto your feet and tearing away from the river. You went north. Up. König wasn’t expecting that. He had assumed you’d go south, using the decline of the mountain to your advantage. You’re rather smart, he thought, as he began chasing after you. Maybe you thought your hunter would think you’d go south, too. Pride thrummed appreciatively in the back of his mind – you were able to ignore your instinct, in cases where it wouldn’t be helpful, and that was an excellent survival skill that not many possessed.

You were quick when you were desperate. As the mountain’s incline grew, you resorted to clawing your way upwards like an animal fingers digging into whatever tree bark or dirt they could latch onto. Where were you going? Did you plan to hide within the high altitudes and colder temperatures until your hunter had moved on? You were aimless. If you had a plan to begin with, it was now thrown to the wind to make room for your will to survive – or rather, escape.

You threw a glance over your shoulder, but König knew you wouldn’t see him. He was a ways behind you, taking the quiet path and laying low. The last thing he wanted was to spook you and have you cowering in fear, stuck like a deer in headlights - or send you in the wrong direction completely. You were already running rather carelessly; he had to hold back a cautionary shout when you started slipping on the wet leaves and stones. Your shoes were already falling apart, and he was bristling at the thought of you injuring yourself, in which case he wouldn’t hesitate to snatch you up and carry you home.

But, of course, when there’s a will, there’s a way.

Your next step was rather unfortunate, as your perishing shoe slipped on the sodden foliage decorating the forest floor. You hit the ground and punched the breath out of your own lungs, unintentionally wedging your arm between your chest and the forest floor. He didn’t miss the way you squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your teeth together, holding back the wail that threatened to expose your location – ah, did you hurt something? Reckless thing…

You slowly sat back on your heels, cradling your right arm to your chest. König saw the pain in your face as you stared at your arm – he so desperately wanted to know what you were thinking. Poor thing is probably exhausted and sore… you weren’t made for this kind of fear and pain. He wanted to grab you then and there, hold you to his chest, and take off with you back to his home. It was his instinct to protect you.

But that’s just the thing. It was instinct. You wouldn’t understand it. You would call that abduction, despite the fact that you didn’t have a place to be abducted from. You didn’t belong here, nor anywhere. How far were you from home? Did you even have one?

You would. He’d see to it himself.

Another cry of your name, much angrier than the last one (if that was possible). You didn’t hear it – you probably couldn’t over the pain you felt. A lamb, too focused on the sharp-shooting agony in its foot to realize the wolves were closing in on you. He couldn’t wait for you to pick yourself up.

He had to herd you back home.

He didn’t want you to see him – that might frighten you away. But, he would use your own hysteria against you. You’d forgive him, right? It was for your own good.

He let his instinct take over again. He charged up the mountain towards your position, letting the twigs snap under his weight and the leaves kick up around him.

Your head snapped up. Your eyes were glossy with tears, fixed at König’s general direction. Like one of Phidias’s masterpieces, you were chiseled marble, frozen statue-still as you listened for more.

Did you think he was one of the creatures? Kleines Lamm… I am so much better.

He sprung into action once again, and the sound was enough to release you from your fear. You scrambled to your feet and took off back up the mountain, clawing your way through the humus and leaves like prey running from the hunter. Don’t worry… he wasn’t the hunter. He was the watch hound, steering you to safety – even if he was using rather unethical methods. But you didn’t know any better.

He purposefully made a mess of sounds: heavy footfalls against the ground, rustling up leaves as he ran. Slamming his body against tree trunks and causing the wood to crack. He breathed heavily, almost snarling, lips curling into a wicked grin as he heard you whimpering in panic. You wouldn’t turn around to see what or who was chasing you – good girl, just run. Run home.

The voice didn’t call out again. That, or König had chased you far enough away where the sound of your name called in anger wouldn’t be heard. You slowed down a bit, breaths mixing with panicked whines as you swallowed lungfulls of air. When you veered a little too far from where König wanted you to be, he would drag himself to that side and stir up noise, effectively herding you back to the desired path. He could tell you were on the brink of passing out. Just a little further, and you could stumble upon his cabin, break into his home and collapse on his floor for him to find later. Sure, he might be mad at himself – he had always thought he preferred being alone, not having to deal with shit from another human again. His military days were over. But the loneliness was there, lingering in the back of his mind, now taking the reigns and driving this poor, frightened dove into his trap.

No; not a trap, he reminded himself, a shelter. A cave, to hide her from whatever haunts her.

Satisfaction and relief made their homes in his mind when he had herded you where he wanted you. He stopped his pursuit, bracing himself against a tree and panting heavily, watching as you continued your terror-induced scramble up the mountain. The cabin was a mile away, but he trusted you would recognize the signs of life and follow them to safety. Hopefully, the bastard he was protecting you from hadn’t traumatized you beyond socialization.

No, he knew he’d find you there. God knows how many days of protein bars and walking for miles on end would have you drooling at the sight of his cabin, however outdated it might be. It would be a surprise for his future self, seeing you all cozy and safe in his cabin when he returns to it in a day or two – but he knew he was lonely. He had to listen to himself all day, he couldn’t deny it. He would come to appreciate you, and hopefully, you’d realize that you need him: the perfect protector, mate, and provider.

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Taglist: @nic-stars @teenagellamaangel @zhuyingsworld @crypticme @konigswifeyforlifey @zlunia @gremlinmodetweeker

[peggyao3]

Here comes the Sun [2/2]

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: Feyd-Rautha is the center of attention for an entire planet, but it counts for nothing because his favorite concubine isn't paying attention during the fight. How dare she ruin his birthday?

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, mixed POVs, mutual pining, gore, cannibalism ❗ (just a lil), Baron being a homie, Feyd has that bratty vibe, God Complex Feyd, jealousy ❗, other concubines begone, arguments, insults, hate love relationship, enemies and lovers, porn with plot, marriage proposal, vaginal sex, knife kink, pain kink ❗, smut in chapter 2, semi-public sex ❗, angst with happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

A/N: Girly wears a revenge dress, talks shit with the Baron and gets abducted from the banquet prematurely by a boiled egg.

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter

Vladimir Harkonnen was wrong. His nephew’s mood is anything but entertaining tonight.

It amazes him how a man in his twenties, who has defeated Paul Artreides, the false messiah of Arrakis, can still act like a boy just hitting puberty when a woman isn’t groveling at his feet. Feyd-Rautha refuses to deliver the annual speech he is supposed to give on the grand balcony, so the undulating mass of merrymakers on the hundred meter wide avenue is left waiting. Thankfully, with spice being dealt shamelessly among the hundreds of thousands, the celebration will soon turn into orgy and bloodbath alike, and the absence of Giedi Prime’s beloved na-Baron will be swiftly forgotten.

Albeit now dressed in a traditional, sharp-cut suit made of thick, synthetic fibers, Feyd-Rautha's face is the same as in the arena, now battling a foe whose main attack is absence.

It is two hours into the banquet when she finally enters and immediately becomes the brightest star in the obsidian colored banquet hall. And it is not due to her radiant personality, though that too is not to be underestimated. It’s because of the golden fabric that flows off her hips and chest like the molten gold and orange that a fiery alien sun might disgorge in a coronal mass ejection.

While even the esteemed guests from other Houses have chosen to match their attire somewhat to House Harkonnen by choosing rich, dark colors like mulberry and midnight blue, she has gone for the most provocative opposite, shimmering like  glossy amber. Instead of a preserved mosquito however, her amber cocoon seals a jealous animal that scowls at Feyd-Rautha as soon as his frenetic eyes target her from across the hall.

Life seems to return to Vladimir’s sulking nephew and his icy rage turns into kindling enthusiasm. Finally he can make his move. Nothing is worse than being ignored.

Strings start playing, each sound a low vibration in their ear drums and under the soles of their feet. The na-Baron and his partner of choice are expected to do the first steps on the shiny parquet. Expectantly, he raises his chin and she would like nothing more than to wrap her arms around his striking figure, cup his jaws that, despite casting a distinct shadow down his neck, have a roundness to their shape that she wants to kiss over and over.

Feyd had wanted her to dance with him. Here she is. Perfectly punctual. All he needs to do is walk over and ask her, but in his eyes, having left him waiting is her first move. So asking another concubine to dance is his.

He thinks he's being clever and proudly watches her jaws clench and shoulders stiffen. The anger in her eyes tastes better than any meal he's had today - until she looks away. She isn't supposed to look away.

As long as the strings play the first piece, Feyd dances with a total of three of his concubines. During and after each dance, his piercing gaze latches onto her like spearguns fired from seething tar, but he only meets the back of her head, and after a while not even that. A supermassive black hole obscures his view.

Baron Harkonnen floats to the woman in yellow and activates a barely used switch on his control panel. His massive frame carefully lowers itself, so he is almost on the ground and she may converse with his face without putting a strain on her neck.

“You missed the main course,” the Baron informs her and she is quite aware. For the main course, she would have been expected to occupy the seat on the na-Baron’s left while his uncle as the head of House Harkonnen sits on Feyd’s right.

“What a shame. I suppose I did catch a migraine in the end.”

“Lady Metulli sat at Feyd’S side instead. I was under the impression she couldn’t quite stomach his appetite.”

The woman in the bright dress nods. She is well aware of Feyd’s table manners. Being his uncle’s nephew, he categorically rejects cutlery and prefers to dig into raw meats with his hands and suckle blood and grease off his fingers - or make her do it. Luckily, she wasn’t there to see Lady Metulli purse her lips around Feyd’s fingers.

With rumbling laughter, the Baron adds: “She didn’t want the pill I offered either.”

“What sort of pill was it?”

“Anti nausea, of course.”

“And where is Lady Metulli now?” She must have thought Baron Harkonnen was trying to slip her a poison pill.

“Throwing up in the bathroom.”

At that, her mouth twitches and then she begins to cackle. The Baron’s gravelly breath sends plumes of vapor from his hookah into the air and she nearly chokes on it, but the coughing somehow only amplifies her laughter. Bystanders keep a wary distance to the strange duo. 

Baron Harkonnen snaps his fingers and a servant scurries to the remaining buffet which was moved to a long, sleek table along the side of the hall. They return with a black metal bowl and one red apple. The woman happily accepts the apple and imagines it's Feyd-Rautha's balls when she violently bites a piece out of it.

In her radiant dress, she occupies the center of the banquet hall like a luminary and Baron Harkonnen is her colossal floating satellite who drags a train of black matter after himself in the shape of his overlong robes.

Currently, Feyd-Rautha is a pale, icy asteroid who bristles in the periphery of these two peculiar celestial bodies, orbiting them at a safe distance. His dance partners have been discarded and the designated parquet is swarmed by guests who are supposed to be celebrating his birthday. But as the day draws to a close, praise and attention slip through his fingers like slippery blade handles. Defenseless, he stands at the edge of the dance floor and feels very alone.

Feyd doesn't know what they're talking about, but he has never wanted to gut his uncle more than right now.

“You should try one of the livers.” Vladimir offers her from his bowl.

“You know I don’t eat human livers.” The nonchalance with which she speaks to Baron Harkonnen makes a nearby representative from House Ginaz snap the stem of their glass.

The Baron hums. If with approval or disapproval, she can’t tell, but he plunges his own hand back into the slippery bowl and fishes a liver out. 

Good for her, that she refused. Feyd's jaw flexes under bone-white skin, imagining all the ways he would break her fingers and his uncle's. Feyd would rather draw a much closer orbit around his favorite concubine, but he will not allow her to let him flare up and burn down with humiliation so publicly.

“It looks like my dear nephew is still waiting for a birthday gift from you.” The Baron glances over to his chosen heir and feels almost sorry for him.

“And he can wait until the twelfth of never,” she spits.

A small, inky smile takes shape amid the Baron’s doughy face. She is a Harkonnen if he has ever seen one. If Harkonnen had hair and an aversion to human flesh. Furiously, she sinks her teeth into the red apple and juice dribbles down her chin, making her a sightlier twin of the Baron whose many chins sport a trail of grease.

She would make a good niece in law.

Night rolls in and the smoggy sky over Giedi Prime is black like ink. No starlight makes it through the thick atmosphere. The buffets have been swept empty by Harkonnen gluttony and the hall waits for one last thing, the finale of Feyd-Rautha's holy birthday.

A gasp sweeps through the guests when the walls slide up into the ceiling and a gust of warm wind seizes them, making skirts rustle and hair waft. Avidly, they spill past the sleek concrete pillars and out on the extended balcony. The putrid stench of Giedi Prime’s industrial landscape rolls into the air-conditioned banquet hall.

It is exactly one hour before midnight when the first firework whistles into the sky, pulling a tail of silvery particles, and explodes with a low bang that eerily echoes off pyramids and power plants.

She too, slowly advances towards the balcony, her attention snared by the extraterrestrial spectacle. The fireworks come in dozens, then in hundreds, blossoming colorlessly in the sky like parasitic cells under a microscope. They're beautiful.

A gasp escapes her mouth, unheard over the booming fireworks, when two wiry arms capture her from behind and pull her against a solid chest. What took him so long? Her belly flips with butterflies as Feyd-Rautha abducts her unnoticed from the celebration, pulling her back back back until the grand view over Giedi Prime vanishes from their view and the festive banquet hall is replaced by corridors like black tunnels. Only the occasional flash of a firework lights up the path before them and the visage of the pale demon who drags her along.

This is not the concubine's corridor.

Hands against her ribs shove her into Feyd-Rautha’s private chambers. Before her eyes can adjust to the darkness, his fingers are in her hair, tearing without care so the hairdo comes apart. “You've ruined my birthday and you enjoyed it!”

“I didn’t enjoy a single fucking second of this day!” Acting nonchalant only works when he’s not on her and all over her with violent hands and seething eyes, when the air doesn’t smell like his perfume oil. Her chest heaves and she will not cry.

“Then I must have imagined you having the time of your life with my uncle.” 

She tries to jerk her head out of Feyd’s grip, but he holds tight and she winces, her scalp stinging. “At least he was nice to me.”

“Perhaps you should be with him then.” Feyd’s jaw quivers.

“Your jealousy is ridiculous.”

“My jealousy?!”

“Well I’m jealous of the other women you fuck. You’re jealous of me talking to your uncle!” The fireworks are nothing compared to their voices, booming like the occasional earthquakes that rattle Giedi Prime’s volcanic crust.

Feyd threateningly lifts a finger, dark eyes simmering. “I asked you to dance with me.”

“Yes, after insulting our relationship.” 

He walks her deeper into his bed chamber, shaking his head as if to deny the allegations but he can’t, not really. It isn’t fair of her, he thinks. The na-Baron of Giedi Prime has many concubines. It’s his birthright and politically profitable. That he has been bedding only one of them for almost a year concerns no one but him.

Her walk backwards is only halted when her thighs bump into the edge of his bed where they lay only two nights ago and she had felt special in his arms, on top of him, under the weight of his body. Now she only feels like a toy and she’s not only sick of it, she also mentally can’t keep going.

“You are the center of the world, but who is the center of yours?” Her fingers curl into his thick suit jacket and he feels the little tremors in her muscles.

A lingering thought infests him, that her first assertion is a heretic belief, not a truth. The people in the avenues celebrate for the sake of it, the guests in the hall would dance and feast for any politically appropriate occasion. Perhaps his position at world's pivot is only one for show, where he is strung up as a puppet. His importance is the figure he represents, not the man he is. 

Feyd would so love to be the center of someone’s world.

His concubine’s face is angled upwards and the far echo of a firework sends a flash of silver over her features. “Making me jealous will only push me away, you dumb creature.” 

Oh.

He does love her fury, and when she insults him, his heart thrums a little needier. But what he doesn’t love is the note of tears that throttles her lovely voice. His jaws clench, fingers twitching against her scalp. He could throw her on the bed and punish her for the ruined day or kiss her and forgive her, but there’s an ache in his stomach that makes him do neither of the two. “I just… Don’t twist the facts!”

“Maybe you don’t have a heart, but I do. I didn’t want you to have it, but you—” She swallows as her voice cracks. “And now you’re chewing it apart with your heartless mouth.” The following shocks her, but it bursts like a weight off her chest. “Be with someone else! I don’t want to be your concubine anymore.”

Feyd’s heart (yes, he has one), drops into a void and he feels sick to his stomach, falling into the hole that gapes where the ground has been pulled from under his feet.

She tears away from him, hair slipping free, but Feyd catches her elbow. And as she turns back around, he viscerally drops on one knee.

“Then be my wife.”

The last firework explodes in the sky and they are left with a silence so quiet, one might just hear the universe’s heartbeat pulsing against the dome of the skies. A breeze wafts in and brushes her golden skirts against Feyd’s bent knee and he waits, trembling. She can’t say no. He would rather die a humiliating death in front of a million worshipers.

“Your answer?”

She knows, being a wife means nothing. Wives are why concubines exist. Wife is the ultimate empty title that has nothing to do with love, at least not among the Great Houses. Does it mean anything to him? Her mind swims with years and years of manipulation and forced assimilation and finally, the held-back tears spill over her cheeks.

“My conditions,” she boldly speaks and takes a deep breath, not allowing herself to fall into mindless euphoria despite how madly her heart beats and her stomach flips with butterflies. With controlled leisureness, she sits down on the edge of Feyd’s bed and nudges the tip of her shoe against the kneeling na-Baron’s sternum. “No concubines. No pets. I will be your only one. I don’t care which rotten cravings decay in your mind, I will be the one to fulfill them.”

Feyd's lips part and he draws in a quick breath. “Yes,” he breathes and his heart lifts itself from the pit that had swallowed it and Feyd inches closer, head craned back. The free hand slides under her skirts, needily catching her ankle.

“There is no need for anyone else. Tell me what you want me to do for you, I’ll do it.”

“I want you to watch the next time I fight.” Feyd’s nose and cheek twitch as the memory of today sends a sliver of rage through his nerves. Within a heart’s beat, her hand curls around his jaws, thumb rubbing over the twitching muscle. “And I want you to accept my proposal,” he growls much more needily. Blood has rushed to his cock, making it strain against the suit trousers.

“First… Hand me your blade.”

A small, gravelly moan rolls over plush lips and he releases her elbow to unsheathe the kukri from its holster. She takes it with deft fingers and presses it against his willing throat, watching with satisfaction as his pointy Adam’s Apple jumps against the blade. “What are you doing, woman?” Feyd drawls, hips weakly rutting into the empty space between them, not angled right to hump her leg, though he'd like to.

“Swear that I’ll be your only.”

“I swear it.” Feyd drawls without hesitation, pupils blown wide. Agitated breath fans her arm. He can barely wait to consummate their betrothal, squirming like a fish ashore, held at arm’s length by her will.

The clock ticks and Feyd-Rautha's birthday is nearly over. Pleadingly, he cranes his neck, shuffling on his knee. He is so eager to be devoted and brought to heel, when will she say yes?!  “Will you be my wife? Please.”

A heavy breath and scrutiny in tearful eyes, then finally, she breaks into a watery smile. “Yes, I will be your wife.” Happily, she sobs into the palm of her hand and the blade at his throat trembles. Feyd gives her no time to cry in peace and hauls her to the floor by the skirts.

The pair goes down on shiny tiles that reflect the golden material of her dress, barely gold anymore in the ambience of his dark chambers. Fragmented speckles of light dance across the floor as Feyd sifts through the layers until he has them bunched around her hips. Her thighs part willingly, latching around his narrow waist. She pulls close what belongs to her, making the na-Baron come flush with her pelvis.

Feyd claims her as frantically as she does him, calloused hands sliding along her waist to finally unwrap the birthday present she’s denied him all day, the only thing that mattered.

“I hate this dress,” he purrs. “You look like the wrong sun.” 

“Cut it off me then.” She offers him his own blade, chest arching off the floor. “Would you rather have me wear black at our wedding?” Excitedly, her breath hitches.

“No.” In fact, he’d be offended if she did. “I’d rather have you wear nothing and paint you black from the inside.” A flash of gold pervades the night when it reflects on the raised blade. A precise slash across her chest makes the bodice come undone between her breasts. The bite of metal misses her skin by a hair’s width. “Handing me back my blade… Did I teach you nothing?” Feyd purrs, sliding the blunt side over her breasts.

“I have my own.” Her breath hitches when her nipples pebble against the knife. Swiftly, she unsheathes her own blade from the strap around her hips under the skirts. The curved tip catches the button of Feyd’s trousers and slices straight through it, cutting a new fly into the thick material. His freed cock bobs against the flat side of her blade, the tip grazing his taut balls in a fatal kiss.

Feyd-Rautha moans, falling over her body to palm at her breasts and slide his mouth against her throat. She doesn’t have enough time to withdraw the blade from between his thighs and the way he whimpers tells her she has caught the delicate flesh. “Feyd, you idiot. Do you wish for me to dismember you before our wedding night?”

She pulls the blade away and seconds later, Feyd’s cock grinds against her center, slicking himself up with her essence. The velvety head rests heavily on her belly as he grinds his balls against cunt, relishing the sting of the wound. Blood drips over her folds, tinting the slick of her arousal black.

Forgotten, her kukri clatters to the floor and one hand reaches for his cock, the other for the back of his thigh, urging him closer as she lines him up with her entrance, wet but unprepared. It’ll be an adequate sting to match that of her betrothed’s incised testicles. Obediently, he follows, piercing her open with his cock head. A long wail escapes her as her cunt yields under pressure, then a startled gasp when Feyd’s knife is wedged inside the tight space between her two front teeth, so she cannot close her mouth.

Her cunt clenches fearfully around the thick length as he makes himself at home with languid thrusts. If the blade slips, he might just split her gums and lip. She doesn’t dare shake her head no and her tongue retreats far back into the cavity of her mouth, whimpering as he fucks her slowly, taking fascination in the way peril makes her slicker and her walls grip him in a fluttering embrace.

“Every rotten craving,” he cites her slyly. “Fuck.” A rapt look overtakes his eyes when she slides her tongue against the bottom of the blade, featherlight. She’s learned it from him, his favored way of testing the edge of a blade.

“You stole my show today,” he rasps, allowing her to wrap her fingers around his wrist to maneuver the kukri away. She pries it from his hand, then hurls it forcefully across the room. 

“You let me.  Maybe you like it when I bereave you, na-Baron.” The blade lands with a clatter.

“You bereft me of my other concubines.” 

The memory of them strengthens her fingers and she rips the jacket of Feyd’s festive suit open, digging her nails into taut, pale pectorals. “The Great Houses will be displeased.”

“Yes, they will be,” Feyd purrs, plush lips twitching into an excited smirk. “Maybe it’ll start a war.” He accentuates the word with a sharp thrust. The madness of his mirth over the idea is only slightly diluted by the arousal that swims in tar-black eyes. If her selfish claim sparks a war, she will have no regrets over it, because Feyd-Rautha is hers, tied by the heart, not by politics.

Her husband to be fucks her with frantic rythm until slick drips down her cheeks and turns the tiles below wet and sticky. They're both still waiting for the final nudge to come undone, so the night of their betrothal may go on forever. Her hands slide around the back or Feyd's neck, demanding kisses from plush lips and black teeth that glint in the dark.

“You looked so beautiful on your knees,” she moans into his mouth. “You should do it again.” Her gaze sweeps over to the balcony door and Feyd's follows. “You didn't deliver your speech, I heard, because you were, aahh, p-pouting.”

“Don't tease me, woman.” Feyd stands and pulls her up with him, arms hooked around her legs. His thick cock still twitches in her cunt as she wraps her legs around his waist. “Take off your dress.”

She obeys without question, heels of her feet digging into his lower back as she pulls the half-slashed golden fabric that's still gathered around her hips over her head. Feyd hums appreciatively, eyes gliding down her breasts and belly to the point where they're conjoined by the pelvis.

“Now my jacket,” he instructs and with a bit of awkward pulling, she manages to free the fabric from the clutch of her legs around his waist, then slides it off his arms one by one. Somehow, even with only one arm he manages to hold her firmly against his chest, slowly rocking his hips upwards, so her mind never stops reeling.

Last of all, Feyd kicks off his shoes and marches her over to the wall, grinning. “Feyd, what are you-? Wait.” A breeze brushes over her bare back as Feyd kicks the balcony door further open with and carries her out into the open, smiling wide with black maws.

A gust of turbulent, putrid wind catches her hair and turmoil swells from two hundred meters below, guttural chanting that could be celebration or it could be war, impossible to tell how many of them will look up to the palace pyramid and see the na-Baron's concubine seated on the banister and the na-Baron between her thighs.

Gasping, she clings to Feyd's shoulders, stripped of color entirely. The reflected moonlight barely makes it past the clouds, so they are swathed in somberness. It is a truly alien world, one that could really use a new sun.

Feyd-Rautha cants his hips, languidly thrusting into her cunt, pale arms circling her. A thread of slick comes off and drips into the abyss below, past the base of his thick cock. “Not the biggest fan of speeches. I prefer demonstrations.”

He fucks her on his balcony that overlooks Barony, the capital of Giedi Prime, cock drilling into her over the perilous chasm.

“You made me swear it, but you never promised me that I will be your only.” Feyd's plush lips curl into a snarl.

“Hmmm…” She pretends to ponder, a flash of amusement on her lips.

Feyd-Rautha however doesn’t take kindly to the playful hesitation and dips her dangerously backwards, smirking. Her life hangs in the arms of a psychopath and below her is nothing but gaping emptiness for two hundred meters. “I’d rather throw us both down there than share you!”

Her heart thrums like a shield, almost pierced by a slow blade. “I’d rather live another day in your arms, my na-Baron.”

Zestfully, he hoists her back up and resumes fucking her, possessive and rough, one hand tugging on her asscheek, the other clutching her waist. Her mind and nerves swim with pleasure. The euphoria of being claimed as his so brutally makes her want to laugh and cry, white teeth bared at the na-Baron.

He too stares at her, waiting, muscles twitching under pale skin.

“You think I can? When under me is death and a thousand Harkonnens watching?”

“You will.” Feyd leers, lips twitching. His cock drives into her center. Whimpering, she slides her hand between their bodies to rub her clit. “No.”

“No?!”

“You will cum from your husband's cock.”

The confidence that drips thick and velvety from his voice makes her head roll back, moaning. Her cunt flutters weakly, climax digging its tendrils into her core, eager to burst into full bloom. She angles her pelvis, squirming in Feyd's grasp, and props up one foot on the railing, trusting him to hold her.

And he does, laughing. Insanity lights up his eyes as he fucks into her, slap slap slap, pubic mound grinding against her clit. She arches her back and his cock nudges her just right, toes curling, lids fluttering.

“There, that's a good girl.”

She comes undone with a long moan, voice carried away by the putrid wind. Feyd-Rautha's lips and jaws twitch and he covers her open mouth with his. His eyes are open when he climaxes and fills her with his seed, their consummation on display for the whole of Giedi Prime.

Trembling fingers claw at Feyd's shoulders, dampened with a sheen of sweat. His chest heaves with raspy breaths and he raises a finger, trailing it over her throat and clavicle.

“My birthday gift.”

“The sex?” A gust of wind catches her face.

“No.” Feyd smirks. “You. My wife.”

FEYD TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted

HCTS TAG LIST:

@ughdontbeboring

[lynbichiots]

Bloodlust

pairing: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader

tw: hate sex, humiliation, hitting and fighting, murder, gore, overstimulation, hunter/prey, primal kink, masochism, blood kink, knife kink, sadism (both the reader and Eren are mentally unwell), creampie, squirting.

wc: 14.7 k

The sun sank slowly behind the horizon, setting the sky ablaze in shades of deep orange. The shadows of the camp trees stretched out, twisting in rhythm with the gentle breeze that brushed against your face, stirring the loose strands of your hair. That cold air, mixed with the heat still rising from the ground, felt like a warning, as if the day was dying only to make way for something darker.

You closed your eyes for a moment, allowing the moisture of the place to envelop you along with the small droplets of water that splashed your skin from the dock, though you barely felt them. On days like this, when everything seemed suspended in an almost unreal calm, your thoughts always betrayed you.

They dragged you back to those memories you hated, to those high school years when everything was more fun… until it wasn’t.

You hated those memories.

Annoyed, you bit the inside of your cheek, and the metallic taste of frustration filled your tongue as his image appeared in your mind. Those green eyes. The eyes that defined you, that ruined you. They still haunted you in a persistent way, an echo that never faded, even after all this time.

You could still hear him, his broken voice echoed in your nightmares every day, begging in a way that made you wake up with your heart pounding in your chest, making the air escape from your lungs.

There was no escape from him, not even in your dreams.

With an inward groan, you sighed, dropping your forehead onto your knees, and with your arms trembling, you hugged them with an almost childlike desperation.

Your nape tingled with a strange sensation that made you tilt your face back slightly, and when you adjusted to your new position, you saw him.

The air left your lungs slowly as you gazed in adoration at the man with brown hair tied in that messy bun, a cruel joke of your memory.

He wasn’t looking at you.

He couldn’t even see you.

He was just there, with his back to you, laughing with Sasha and Connie, oblivious to the storm raging inside you.

There, at that precise moment, you felt your hope die, causing you to turn forward again, abandoning your foolish assumptions to the depths of your rotten chest.

If that man had been him, he would never do something like that. He wouldn’t lower himself to laugh and play with the same people who had made it their mission to destroy him in school.

Not with them.

He wouldn’t do it.

The disappointment hit you like a cold stone sinking deep into your stomach, twisting your organs painfully. Still hearing their laughter behind you, you closed your eyes, curling further into yourself, unable to bear the joy of others.

You hated those laughs that shattered the heavy air while they played with the bow and arrows Sasha had brought for fun. It all seemed so absurd, so alien, and so damn fake.

Clenching your fists in anger, you retreated again into your cobweb-filled mind, that mind that was nothing more than a place where only the emptiness he left existed.

Thinking of the past, a slight itch spread across the bridge of your nose as you remembered his face, and those five years you had lived without knowing anything about him.

How is he now?

How much has he changed?

There were so many questions that wouldn’t leave you alone, and the guilt killed you day by day. Especially when your feelings were contradictory, and you didn’t regret anything you had done to him at all.

You wanted to believe he had become stronger, tougher.

You always considered him weak, even pathetic, for how easily he gave in to all of you. But deep down, you always knew he had the power to defend himself.

He could have destroyed all of you if he had wanted to.

But he never did.

Never to you.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and your arms tightened around your legs, your nails digging into your skin as the memory of his lips on yours emerged vividly and unbearably.

The brush of his tongue, the way he made you feel…

It was killing you.

You missed him in a way that devoured you from the inside, like a need you could never satisfy. But you knew with chilling certainty that if he still remembered anything about you, those memories wouldn’t be like yours.

To him, you only meant one thing: destruction.

Surely, the only thing he wanted now was to kill you.

And as a bitter smile tugged at your lips, you couldn’t help but think that you wouldn’t oppose him, no matter what his desire toward you was.

No, not at all.

And then, the sadness mixed with guilt comes back to you.

The memories return, like a dark tide swirling in your mind, impossible to contain, and you see it all with chilling clarity. The laughs, the cruel whispers you threw along with your friends in the school hallways, the looks he gave you, full of fear, humiliation, and disappointment.

That fear had fed you, you knew it, you wouldn’t make yourself the victim.

Something in you enjoyed watching him crumble under the weight of your words and your gaze. It was a power that intoxicated you. You knew how to crush him, how to make him feel like nothing, and you didn’t hesitate to do it again and again.

The jokes, the notes full of insults, the times you and your friends pushed him or left him alone in the middle of the classroom, exposed to mockery.

He never said anything, never tried to defend himself. He just lowered his head, as if he deserved everything they did to him, and part of you knows that maybe he deserved it a little.

But in those moments, when his green eyes met yours, there was something that always unsettled you. A glint of masochism and resistance, as if he knew that behind all your cruelty, there was something more.

Something you couldn’t admit even to yourself.

And then, when you confronted those feelings, everything went to hell for both of you the moment he decided to run away and leave you to your fate after all you shared together.

He got his revenge in the worst possible way. He got under your skin, embedded himself with ease, only to strip you of all his presence once you became dependent on him.

And now, years later, that memory was unbearable. The weight of what you had done and who you had been with him was a shadow you couldn’t shake, even though he got his revenge by abandoning you.

And you hated yourself for being so foolish when it came to him.

Because despite everything, you missed him.

You missed the very person you had destroyed, and that contradiction ate away at you.

The worst part of it all was that you knew with absolute certainty that if you ever saw him again, if you ever faced him once more, everything you had done would crush you, and you didn’t think you could bear it.

A tear fell down your cheek, and you hugged your legs tighter, your nails now leaving marks on the bare skin of your thighs.

“I deserve it,” you thought.

“I deserve all the pain that could come.”

“I deserve for him to hate me.”

A gust of wind stirred the lake and kicked up dust from the dock, as if nature itself wanted to erase the last traces of daylight, giving way to the dark night that seemed eager to embrace you in its cold arms.

Resting your chin on your knees, your thoughts grew darker and more surreal as you watched the sky turn blue. Your heart started pounding as you imagined what might happen if he appeared now, right in front of you.

You imagined the hatred in his eyes, hatred that you yourself had planted.

And the image of him approaching slowly, with the desire for revenge shining in his gaze, didn’t scare you. On the contrary, a strange sense of excitement washed over you.

If he kills you, you’d accept it, that was the truth.

It was the only thing you felt you could do for him.

One last gift, one last offering of peace.

“Why are you smiling?” Jean’s voice broke the silence you were lost in, pulling you out of your dark reverie. His tone was light and loving, but you could barely respond, too annoyed at how Eren had disappeared from your imagination.

Your smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“For nothing…” you murmured bitterly, without even turning to look at him. The emptiness crept back in, deeper this time.

Jean clicked his tongue in frustration, and you froze as you felt his presence settle beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he dropped onto the cold dock. Now, without any armor to ignore your boyfriend, you unwrapped your arms from around your knees and placed your palms on the dock behind you, letting a calm smile spread across your face when you finally deigned to look at Jean.

“Are you sure it’s nothing?” Jean smiles at you, bringing one of his calloused hands to your face, letting his thumb brush over your lips. His honey-colored irises shrink as his dark pupils begin to dilate, staring at your lips.

“Mmm,” you hum compliantly, letting his thumb slip into your mouth to rub against your tongue. Holding back from rolling your eyes, you let out a fake moan, pretending that his act was turning you on, and without hesitation, you straddle him and start kissing him.

A curse escapes his honey-flavored lips as you begin to roll your hips over his pelvis. His hands travel to your buttocks, kneading them, pulling only a flicker of pleasure from you.

And you know why that was your reaction.

Your closed eyes allowed you to slip into the moment, but with someone and something else on your mind.

Jean began kissing you more desperately, pressing his body against yours without an ounce of shame. Everything about him showed how much he desired you and how deeply he had loved you for the past five years.

In some way, you wanted to return that affection.

But you knew something in you had already changed.

The past always distracted you from the now, always too close, too present.

And then, as his teeth caught your lower lip and bit it hard, the question you had been avoiding all this time slipped into your mind like a fast-acting poison with no antidote.

“What if I find him?”

Could you face him?

Could you bear what you’d see in his eyes?

Or would you freeze, wishing he would finish what you had started so many years ago?

“I want to be inside you so badly, baby,” you opened your eyes slightly, seeing Jean’s face lost in pleasure. Smiling, you simply quickened your movements on his hips and bit his lip in response.

“We can’t do this here,” you pout against his cheek, leaning into his ear to whisper, even as your hips continued to grind against his, “But tonight, I won’t resist.”

With that, you swallowed the last moan that escaped from Jean’s lips onto yours, and before long, he found his release while you praised him, telling him how much you loved and wanted him.

Every word you whispered into his ear was true.

But, unfortunately for Jean,

They weren’t meant for him.

Breathing in the fresh air, you both smiled at each other and pulled away. Jean cleaned himself up, giving you one last kiss, and ordered you to leave the dock after him so as not to raise any suspicions.

With your fists clenched, you smiled and nodded, watching him leave.

A few minutes later, you sighed again, but this time the air felt heavier, colder, as if you were inhaling the same fear you had planted in him years ago.

“I miss him,” you repeated to yourself once more, like a broken record you couldn’t stop playing.

Stretching your arms, you yawned deeply as you slowly stood up from the dock, as if the weight of your own thoughts held you down. The wind still blew, playing with the loose strands of your hair as you turned to leave, your head bowed, trying to shake off the mental abyss you had routinely sunk into. Tired, you took one last deep breath, quickly shifting your mood, ready to join the infectious laughter of your friends, if only to drown out the echo of memories that haunted you.

But then, just as you took your first step, something stopped you.

Your eyes locked with his.

Two intense, dark pools that pierced every corner of your soul, fixed on you.

Time seemed to freeze in that instant, and a shiver ran down your spine. You felt your muscles tense, and the skin on your arms prickled under the weight of his gaze.

Those eyes… there was something in them, something that felt terrifyingly familiar.

For a second, the world disappears, and the only thing that exists is that pair of brown eyes looking at you with an intensity that suffocates you. The hate, or maybe the resentment, is palpable in his expression, and for a moment, you’re convinced that he knows everything.

That he remembers you.

That he is…

But before you can process the thought, his expression abruptly changes. The hardness vanishes and is replaced by a carefree smile that throws you off. That smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but his gesture is convincing.

He raises a hand and gestures for you to join the group, as if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn’t been on the verge of uncovering something long buried.

“Aren’t you coming?” he shouts in his usual casual tone.

Your feet remain rooted to the ground for another second, but your mind is spinning wildly.

Kruger.

That’s his name.

“Kruger.”

Not Eren.

Your shoulders drop.

Kruger is a name that should mean nothing, but instead, it becomes harder and harder to ignore with each passing moment.

There’s something about him, something in the way he looks at you.

But you let it go, returning the same smile to Kruger, forcing yourself to move. Your steps creak on the old dock as you tell yourself you’re overreacting, that it can’t be him.

Eren disappeared years ago. There’s no way it could be him.

But that doubt… that persistent shadow in the back of your mind gnaws at you, even as you reach his side and you both smile awkwardly while moving towards the group, who are still laughing uncontrollably.

Feeling your heart lodged in your throat, you join the group, trying to pull yourself together as you distance yourself from his side. The air feels denser now, harder to breathe.

In a blink, ignoring the sensation of his brown eyes on you, you join your friends, smiling and going along with their antics. You even laugh with them, but your gaze keeps drifting back to Kruger, as if your body refuses to accept the coincidence of it all.

And him… he seems to be enjoying your confusion, as if he knows something you have yet to figure out.

Night falls slowly, wrapping the camp in a warm darkness, interrupted only by the flickering glow of the campfire that Sasha and Connie managed to start with Kruger’s help. The fire crackles and throws orange sparks, lighting up the faces of everyone around it.

Lighthearted, carefree laughter fills the air.

Mikasa sits close to Armin, who smiles with his usual calm demeanor. Historia and Ymir sit further away, but they seem to be enjoying the moment too, intertwining their fingers under the dancing shadows, thinking no one sees them.

Rubbing your arms together, you stop analyzing everyone around you and sit beside Jean. As soon as he senses your presence, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you both scoot closer to the warmth of the flames. For a moment, everything seems normal.

You try to join in the jokes and laugh with the others, but your gaze keeps landing on Kruger, on his gestures, the way he moves within the group, charming them effortlessly.

It’s natural, too natural.

As if he’d always been with you.

You squint in his direction on the other side of the flickering flames, and quickly look away when his brown eyes lock onto yours, still with that calm smile on his face.

“Let’s play something,” Historia squeals, catching everyone’s attention. “I’m so bored.”

“You’re always bored,” Ymir rolls her eyes, instantly regretting it when Historia pulls her hand away from hers.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Connie’s drunk voice echoes through the woods, breaking the tension that had built up around the circle.

“Truth or dare?” you mock, letting Jean wrap his arm around your waist and plant a possessive kiss on your neck. “What are we, five?”

Everyone laughs at Connie, who flips you off and calls you a name.

“C’mon, babe,” Jean murmurs against your neck, and you glance at him sideways. “It might be fun.”

With that said, everyone quickly sides with Jean, begging you to play. Their voices overwhelm you to the point where you give in, clicking your tongue and shooting a final glance at Kruger, who smirks at you.

The game of “truth or dare” starts with shy laughs and silly jokes, but as the alcohol spreads through everyone’s bloodstream, it becomes more daring, more provocative.

At first, Sasha chooses a dare and has to eat raw meat, which triggers laughter and grimaces from the group once she goes through with it.

Armin opts for truth and confesses his biggest fear, a response everyone receives with warmth.

Connie, as always, picks a dare and ends up making a fool of himself.

Kruger participates too, smiling but observant. Every time he looks at you, you feel like there’s something hidden beneath his carefree facade. You’re uneasy but try to hide it, playing the part they expect from you.

Then, it’s his turn.

The circle falls silent as he pauses longer than necessary, and you suddenly feel on edge. The night seems darker, as if the fire can barely break through the tension and light the surroundings.

Kruger looks at each of you with calculated calm, his brown eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place. And then, with a barely perceptible smile, he glances at you and drops the weight of his question, breaking the easy rhythm of the game.

“Truth or dare?” His eyes never leave yours as he asks, making you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

“Truth,” you blurt out quickly, your voice trembling.

Everything falls apart.

“Have you ever hurt someone?”

The silence that follows his words is deafening.

The laughter dies instantly, as if an invisible hand had snuffed out the fire in their throats. No one dares to move. The echo of the question rings in your mind, hitting you with the force of a fist.

You feel the weight of all the stares in the circle, but all you can focus on is the way Kruger’s eyes watch you.

Cold.

Serious.

Angry.

You freeze. Your heart pounds, each beat reverberating in your ears, drowning out the crackling of the wood. Jean beside you tenses, and you quickly notice that everyone is uncomfortable. Sasha and Connie avoid looking at each other. Armin lowers his head. Mikasa narrows her eyes but says nothing.

And there’s Kruger, watching you.

The smile has vanished from his face, leaving only a seriousness that pierces through you. The air between the two of you becomes thick, almost suffocating.

A lump forms in your throat, and your hands clench nervously on your knees. You want to speak, to say something, but the words stick in your mouth like a heavy stone. Your eyes widen as you continue to stare at him, his face eerily reminiscent of Eren’s for some inexplicable reason.

But then you look into his eyes and snap out of it, realizing how paranoid you’ve become.

“Does he know?” That question hits you again.

“What’s wrong?” Kruger presses, his voice low and calm, but there’s something in it that makes you feel cornered. “Nothing to say?”

Your friends exchange nervous glances, but the silence remains. The question lingers in the air, heavy with meaning.

You know it.

Everyone knows it.

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” you finally say, breaking the silence with a tense but firm voice, feeling judged under his gaze.

Kruger nods slowly, never taking his eyes off you. The knot in your throat tightens, and you realize your breathing has become shallow. You feel exposed, as if he can see beyond your memories, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

The question still hangs there, among all of you, like a sharp blade ready to tear through the false calm.

And the only thought you can’t shake is that he knows.

Kruger knows.

The tension that had filled the circle shatters abruptly with Connie’s explosive laughter. His laugh is loud, brazen, and it feels almost out of place in the heavy silence that had reigned. Everyone turns their heads towards him, surprised by his reaction, but he just shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he just heard.

“You hurt someone?” he says in your direction, still laughing, then glances at Kruger, who hasn’t stopped staring at you. “That’s ridiculous! Come on, Kruger, what are you talking about? Way to kill the vibe, man.”

His statement rings out with a disconcerting lightness. Connie’s grin is wide, carefree, as if everything that just happened was nothing more than an exaggerated joke. But that laugh, that carefree attitude, doesn’t relieve the weight pressing on your chest.

If anything, it makes it worse.

Your stomach churns. Connie’s words hit you like a hammer.

“Did you hurt someone?”

The phrase echoes in your mind, crashing into your memories with force. You know it’s true, and you know that, at some point, they were all part of it.

You, more than anyone.

You glance at your friends, hoping someone will say something, that someone will contradict him. But everyone looks uncomfortable. Jean lets out a nervous chuckle beside you, unsure of what to do. Sasha forces a smile, but it’s clear she doesn’t want to touch the subject. Armin avoids your eyes, and Mikasa just stays silent, as usual.

Kruger remains silent. He hasn’t stopped watching you since he asked the question. His expression, as unshaken as before, seems to evaluate every reaction from the group, but especially yours. His brown eyes don’t blink, and though his face remains neutral, you can feel the tension behind his gaze.

The air around the campfire feels heavier, denser. Though laughter tries to fill the space, the fire no longer feels warm to you—it feels oppressive.

“What a question, man,” Connie scratches his neck with a nervous laugh and seeks Kruger’s gaze as he speaks again. “She’s not that kind of person, Kruger. No one here is.”

Jean nods beside you, a tense smile on his lips.

“Yeah, Kruger, she’s not like that,” he adds, but his voice sounds hollow, as if even he doesn’t believe what he just said.

You look back at Kruger. He says nothing, but his eyes are locked on you, waiting.

“He knows something,” you think.

“He knows more than he’s saying.”

The pressure in your chest grows. Your friends’ laughter sounds distant, unreal. You try to take a deep breath, but the air doesn’t fill your lungs properly. The memory of those days in high school comes rushing back, vivid as if it had just happened. The teasing, the looks, the shoves. Everything you and your friends did now seems to swirl around you, like ghosts that never left.

And then Kruger finally speaks. His voice is soft, but each word cuts like a knife.

“Never?” he asks, his gaze fixed on you as his smile slowly fades, tilting his head slightly to the left. “Are you sure?”

The question isn’t for Connie, nor for the group in general.

It’s for you.

He knows it.

And so do you.

Kruger’s words hang in the air like a knife suspended just above you. You feel the weight of his gaze, that intensity that doesn’t fade, that doesn’t let you breathe. You try to form a response, but your throat is dry, and the words won’t come. You can barely swallow, and your nervousness is obvious.

Jean, noticing this, immediately steps in to defend you, as he always does. He straightens beside you, pulling his arm away from your waist to confront Kruger with a hardened, defiant expression.

“What the hell is your problem, Kruger?” Jean says tensely, his eyes blazing at the man who refuses to stop staring at you. “Don’t insinuate things that aren’t true. No one here is a bully. So stop stirring up crap.”

The confrontation shakes the circle. For a moment, everyone is silent, and the only sounds are the crackling of the firewood and the distant murmur of the breeze through the trees. Kruger maintains the same unshaken expression, his eyes still fixed on you, but then his mouth curves into a smile—one that doesn’t reach his eyes as they turn slowly towards Jean.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, in a tone so calm and neutral it almost unsettles you. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone. It was just a question.” He gestures with his hands as if retreating from the conversation, but there’s no real apology in his voice. It echoes around the fire as he turns his back and heads towards his cabin, leaving you all alone.

The atmosphere feels thick, almost suffocating. No one laughs this time. Everyone exchanges uneasy glances, and little by little, the group begins to dissolve.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Sasha says, breaking the tension with a light but clearly nervous tone as she stands up and stretches her arms toward the sky.

One by one, everyone starts getting up, mumbling something about resting and heading to their cabins. Connie, Ymir, Historia, Armin, and Mikasa say their goodnights with brief nods, and soon only Jean and you remain by the dying fire.

But even as the others leave, you can still feel Kruger’s eyes on you. That invisible weight doesn’t lift, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. His gaze seems to burn you from a distance—persistent, watchful. You don’t dare look back, though you know he’s still there, watching you from his cabin.

Beside you, Jean lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his messy hair, still irritated by the confrontation.

“We shouldn’t have let him come to the camp,” Jean mutters bitterly. “That guy’s weird.”

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere.

Kruger.

The name won’t leave you alone. There’s something about him, in the way he looks at you, challenges you, reminds you of what you’d rather forget. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about Eren, about the years that have passed, about what you did to him.

And now, that question keeps echoing in your mind: Is it him?

Jean stands up, offering you his hand to help you rise.

“Come on, we should head to bed too,” he says softly, his eyes filled with concern as he notices your silence. “Are you okay?”

You take his hand, but your movements are mechanical. The camp is darker now, the embers of the fire barely lighting the area around it, but you still feel the burn of that gaze on your back.

You start walking with Jean beside you toward your cabin, but before disappearing completely, you stop for a brief moment and glance back at Kruger’s cabin, where his eyes meet yours once again, catching you off guard.

And then, the smile he gives you is faint but loaded with something deeper, something dangerous that makes you think this night won’t be like the others.

As Kruger retreats into his cabin, Jean gently urges you to keep walking, and you do, but your mind remains trapped in those eyes, in that smile, in the growing certainty that the past has come back to claim what you left behind.

Eren… Kruger.

Could it be him?

With one last look at his cabin, you sigh and walk toward your own.

But you knew.

Something terrible was going to happen to you tonight.

•

The cabin is cloaked in shadow, lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the cracks in the small windows around it. Jean wastes no time, leaning toward you, his warm breath on your skin, and before you can think of the consequences, his lips meet yours in a soft kiss.

You moan for a second before Jean slides his tongue into your mouth and silences you. But as you start to let go, unease courses through your body with a cold sensation you can’t ignore, and you open your eyes, scanning your surroundings as you feel like someone’s watching you.

The urgency of the situation grows in your mind, and you pull slightly away from Jean, seeking his gaze once you hear a frustrated groan escape his lips. He opens his eyes, and when your eyes meet, you speak, your expression serious.

“Jean…” you begin, but your voice breaks, filled with the tension you feel. “I think it’s best if you go back to your cabin.”

He frowns, confused, his hand still softly caressing your arm.

“Why?” he asks, a mix of concern and frustration in his tone as his eyes scan your face.

“I just… need a moment,” you respond, unable to articulate the truth. Fear coils in your chest, and your heart pounds, knowing it’s best for him to leave before you end up throwing up or something.

Finally, after a few seconds that feel like an eternity, Jean nods, his expression resigned. He steps away from you, his figure disappearing into the darkness of the path leading to his cabin without a final glance in your direction, leaving you alone with the anxiety building up inside you.

Once Jean is safely inside his cabin, you turn on your heels and close the door behind you, exhaling heavily as you slide down to the floor.

With a few last, unsteady breaths, you decide that sleep is the best remedy after the tense and distressing moments you’ve endured throughout the day. Your brain is mush, and you’re a mess, your thoughts consumed by Kruger and the many similarities he shares with your first love.

Then, you smack your head lightly, scolding yourself for thinking such absurd things. Your tired eyelids begin to fall, and you sink beneath your blankets, desperately trying to fall asleep as you close your eyes.

Hours pass, and your hope fades.

The night feels heavy, as if the very air is charged with a suffocating tension that won’t let you rest. The memories of Kruger and the feeling of being watched won’t allow you any peace, and after tossing and turning in bed for a while, you decide you need to clear your head.

So, with no other option, you pull the blankets off your body and, without a conscious thought, head toward the dock, where you know the calmness of the water might offer you some respite.

The sound of your bare feet against the wood of the dock echoes in the stillness of the night, blending with the chirping of crickets and the nocturnal animals that sing cheerfully around you, keeping you company.

Slowly, you begin to take off your green shorts and white t-shirt, leaving only your matching green underwear. Glancing over your shoulder one last time, you focus ahead and dive into the cold water, letting yourself be enveloped by the refreshing sensation as you swim aimlessly, though even underwater, you can still feel eyes watching you.

You try desperately to shake it off. But the calm you sought becomes a distant echo, your mind racing, and your awareness nagging you that someone’s watching.

Finally, with some sense of survival returning, you decide to leave the water, feeling the cool night air brush against your wet skin as your feet touch the dock again. Bending down to where your clothes lay, you quickly dress, a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach as a distant scream makes you go on full alert and start running back to your cabin.

Your rapid footsteps echo through the forest as your sneakers crunch against the dry leaves and small branches. You rush back to the camp, hoping the night air has dissipated some of the anxiety bubbling inside you, but when you arrive, the horror unfolds before you.

The camp is eerily silent, a silence that hasn’t gripped the place since everyone arrived.

There are no lights, no laughter.

It seems as though no souls are within your reach.

Feeling paranoid, you instinctively head toward Armin’s cabin, noticing that the usual orange glow that spills out every night is absent. Approaching the cabin, your heart sinks at the loneliness of it, and with trembling hands, you open the door, whispering his name.

But there’s no response, and your heart plummets into your stomach, filled with fear.

No longer caring about keeping your composure, you rush to his bed, but you find no one there. That’s when your survival instincts kick in, eight alarms blaring inside your head.

With your legs turned to jelly, you stumble out of his cabin, tripping on the steps at the entrance, and check each and every one of your friends’ cabins, finding the same result. Desperate and with tears in your eyes, you head toward Kruger’s cabin, but once again, you find nothing.

Now, standing in the center of all the cabins, you call out for your friends, your voice dripping with panic, but you are met only with silence. Unsure of what else to do, your mind seizes on a solution, and you quicken your pace toward the only remaining part of the camp, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

When you arrive at the main cabin, your worst fears are realized, and a blood-curdling scream escapes your mouth as you lay eyes on the bodies of your friends strewn across the floor, their faces frozen in lifeless expressions of terror.

Sasha, Connie, Armin, Mikasa, Historia, Ymir… They are all there, covered in blood, stripped of life.

Their dead eyes focus on you, and soon the urge to vomit overwhelms you as you clasp a hand over your mouth and your stomach churns. Shutting your eyes and turning away, you flee the scene, desperately trying to find Jean.

Hope sparks once more in your heart as you run toward the forest, calling out his name, falling a few times and scraping your knees, but even then, you refuse to stop searching for your boyfriend.

Until suddenly, you stop and collapse in place, the hope inside you dying.

Paralyzed where you stand, you fight against the urge to faint as you watch your boyfriend’s life being taken from him. Jean coughs up blood as he’s stabbed, his brown eyes meeting yours one last time. You freeze, locking eyes with him, your legs tingling as he, with all his strength, shouts at you.

“Run!”

Then, his eyes close, and you know that no soul remains in his body. You try to run, but your body won’t obey, too terrified and too paralyzed to make a single wrong move. But it isn’t just fear that holds you in place—it’s the figure standing at the center of the horror.

Kruger, with his cold, calculated gaze, turns toward you, and your heart stops completely.

In an instant, the world becomes a blur. You’re aware of every beat of your heart, every quick and shallow breath. But when he fully turns his face to the moonlight, what you see freezes your blood.

Those green eyes that have haunted you, that you could never forget, are now stalking you from a distance, flipping your world upside down in a heartbeat. The same intensity, the same agony you had felt in the memories of your past are here before you tonight.

The boy you once bullied, the one you had a secret romance with, the one you had buried in a dark corner of your mind.

He’s standing right in front of you, looking at you with hatred as drops of blood drip from his face and hands, which are holding a knife covered in dark liquid from the bodies of all your friends.

Kruger.

Eren.

Kruger is Eren.

Eren is here.

Eren has come back for you.

Swallowing hard, you feel trapped in a nightmare, the horror crashing over you like a tsunami. Confusion, guilt, and a deep fear tangle in your chest, speeding up your battered heart as it pounds in the presence of the man before you.

How had he gotten here?

“Hi, meine liebe,” Eren whispers, his German accent soft but laced with venom that makes you tremble as he uses the nickname he gave you so long ago. “I’ve missed you.”

You can’t move. Your mind screams at you to run, to get out of there, but terror paralyzes every muscle in your body, and his green eyes, still shining like precious stones amidst the darkness, hypnotize you, keeping you exactly where you stand.

“Eren…” you manage to whisper, his name a lament on your lips. And in that moment, the reality of what you did, of what he’s been through, crashes into you.

The image of his pain, his pleas, the times you laughed at his expense, all come flooding back like a haunting echo twisted in his dark gaze.

He takes a step forward, and the darkness in his eyes deepens. Trembling where you stand, you feel small, fragile, almost at the mercy of his torment. Eren is no longer the boy you once knew; the man before you has been shaped by hatred and vengeance.

“What’s the matter, my love?” he asks, his tone now a threatening whisper, growing with every step he takes, inching closer and closer to you. “Didn’t you miss me?”

In that moment, when a fake pout forms on his lips, you realize that he truly came back to claim what belongs to him and to remove whatever had been standing in his way for the past five years.

Eren is here to make you remember everything you were, all the bitterness you had both sown in each other.

And the nightmare has only just begun.

With nerves racing through your veins, a laugh escapes your mouth, causing Eren’s sharp jaw to pulse with rage.

You let out a laugh just like the ones that always made Eren’s blood boil.

You had no idea what awaited you, couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had planned for you.

This summer, this night.

For the first time…

He would be the hunter, and you the prey.

•

Knowing what was coming once he started to take faster steps toward you.

The horror intensified in your chest as you spun on your heels, launching yourself without thinking into the depths of the forest as you ran. The shadows of the trees stretched and narrowed around you, following you, and the darkness became your only ally.

The trees loomed over you like silent guardians, but there wasn’t enough shelter in them to hide you from Eren. As you ran, the image of his dark, threatening figure flashed over and over in your mind.

A desperate whimper escapes you as you hear the crunch of leaves under his feet, never stopping as he chased you, the sound of the knife sliding between his fingers haunting you like a siren’s call, tempting you to turn and fall into his arms.

Your heart pounds hard, each beat a reminder of what’s at stake.

You have to escape.

Branches scratch your skin as you venture deeper into the forest, every step pulling you into the darkness, and adrenaline courses through your veins. The air becomes thick and humid, and the mist creeps up to your feet, as if the forest itself is conspiring to trap you with the man laughing behind you.

Doubting between the trees, you veer left, searching for a path, a hiding spot. But the fear doesn’t stop; in every corner, in every shadow, you feel him closing in. His cold, mocking laughter echoes in your ears, and your eyes start to well up with tears.

Eren knows you’re afraid.

And he loves it.

“Why?!” you scream, your voice echoing in the silence of the forest, hoping that somehow, he’ll hear your plea as he draws closer and closer to you. “Why are you doing this?”

Your words fall heavy between you, and Eren’s laughter cuts off. There’s no response from him, only the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your head, mingling with your slowing footsteps.

As you glance back, a wave of panic overwhelms you. The forest feels alive, but not in your favor. You know you’re trapped. The space feels smaller, as if the shadows are closing in around you, corralling you on a silver platter for him.

And when your pursuit reaches its end as you hit a rocky wall that greets you, mocking you without words, you realize you’re cornered.

You know you’re screwed.

Then, a sound behind you makes you freeze, and everything is over.

Your mouth falls open, gasping for air, and your body trembles with fear as you hear the crunch of leaves behind you. Swallowing hard before your mouth runs dry, you slowly turn, and there…

You see him.

You slowly back away, your legs trembling, as Eren smiles at you gently, his face tilting slightly, and his green eyes gleam with an unsettling intensity in the dim light as he comes closer and closer to you.

His face is marked by rage, every muscle in his face tense with the fury he feels toward you, but even with that mask of hatred, you can see what his eyes hide—a deeper sadness swirling within them, a sadness you don’t fully understand but one that makes you want to cradle his face and shower him with the affection he had been deprived of for five years.

But the knife gleaming in his hands is a cruel reminder that Eren’s feelings don’t match yours.

He hated you, unlike you.

You try to speak when he’s finally in front of you, his body heat enveloping your fear-chilled body, and his green eyes beckon you home. For a second, you’re tempted to touch him, and you let your hand slowly reach for his face, but when he realizes your intentions, he raises his hand, free of the knife, and wraps his blood-stained fingers around your throat, squeezing painfully against your pulse, leaving you breathless as he pushes your body roughly against the wall behind you, forcing the air from your lungs without permission.

Instinctively, you grab for his hand, desperately trying to loosen or remove his grip on you, but you only waste your time as he cruelly mocks your pathetic attempts and, in return, presses his body even harder against yours, squeezing your throat with that same intensity until it cracks.

“What’s wrong? You’re not enjoying this?” His cold breath brushes over your nose, which is left without air, his question coming out in a raspy tone as he lifts the knife in your direction, the steel gleaming in the faint moonlight filtering through the leaves above you. “Strange. You always had fun with me like this, love.”

Your body freezes for a moment, and you quickly glance at him in pain as a wave of memories crashes into your mind, guilt welling up inside.

You can’t escape what you did.

“Eren…” you manage to murmur, your throat tight and your pulse pounding under his hand, but the sound of his name is a mix of fear and sorrow.

His hand on your neck loosens just a little at the sound of his name leaving your lips in that tone that used to get anything you wanted from him. Your eyes remain half-closed from the weight of his hand on your windpipe, and your palms move from his wrist to his face, finally allowing you to stroke his cheek with a smile on your lips.

Then, in a blink, the magic is gone as hatred resurfaces in those emeralds of his, and his hand tightens once more, depriving you of air.

“Don’t say my name.” He steps closer, his breath falling over your lips as he finishes his sentence. “A bitch like you doesn’t deserve to say my name.”

“Eren…” An irritated growl escapes his chest as he hears you, clicking his tongue in disapproval as his grip tightens around your neck, his eyes locked onto yours.

He gives you a satisfied smile without breaking eye contact as he slips his muscular thigh between your legs. He raises his eyebrows mockingly as he watches your eyes widen in surprise, and you gasp when he lifts it to the point that his knee presses against your clitoris, forcing you to let out a pathetic moan.

With desperation and a tingling between your legs, you bring one hand to the slippery stones behind you, desperately trying to cling to them, while your other hand clings to the wrist of the arm pressing against your throat, and in desperation, you dig your nails hard into his tanned skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks that match the dried blood on them.

“Look at you,” he growls, his teeth grazing your ear, and the hand with the knife in it grabs your hips, forcing them to grind against his thigh. “Isn’t this fun for you?” His laughter vibrates against your skin. “Because it is for me, love.”

Frightened, you open your eyes and try to meet his gaze. Your teeth clench, trying to keep any more traitorous moans from escaping your mouth, but when you finally focus on his eyes, you’re caught off guard by his blank expression—the same look of a wounded man, though his determination doesn’t waver.

When Eren notices your pity-filled gaze, the hatred returns, and his grip on you turns murderous.

“I waited so long for this moment. These five years of watching you from the shadows were hell for me. Every time I saw you with that idiot Jean, all I wanted to do was kill him, rip his guts out in front of you, and fuck you over them,” his voice barely a whisper, loaded with a contained fury that sends chills down your spine.

His hand, still holding the knife, leaves your hips and travels up your body until it reaches your breasts, where he starts to roughly grope them, the handle of the knife jabbing uncomfortably against them. His mouth moves to your cheeks, and his tongue darts out, beginning to lick the tears falling from them without end. “Today, it’s finally my time to play with you.”

You look at him in panic as he raises the knife above you, and at that moment, the reality of what you’ve caused crashes down on both of you like a giant stone.

It’s not just a game.

It’s not just a threat, and his wounded gaze confirms it.

You feel the need to justify yourself and apologize, but the words get stuck in your throat. How can you apologize for a past that cannot be erased?

The answer was simple—you couldn’t.

And then, in an act of desperation, as the knife gleams closer to you, you lift your own knee and hit his pelvis, making him groan in pain as he steps back. In that moment, with his hands off your body and his presence away from yours, you gasp for air and turn on your heels, running away from him once more.

“Damn bitch!” Eren shouted behind you, and the sound of his heavy, determined steps echoed in your mind, causing you to stumble.

But you don’t stop. You keep running, plunging further into the darkness. Your lungs burn from the air they’re now filled with after being deprived for minutes. You hesitate to take a break, but the memory of Eren’s sharp knife is a shadow looming over you, driving you to flee even faster.

Fear becomes your only companion as you rush through the dark, and with each thud of your heart, a question keeps repeating: What will you do when he finally catches up?

Your pace starts to slow as exhaustion begins to overtake you. You reduce your speed when you hear nothing behind you, and stopping for a second, you place your hands on your knees, catching your breath.

And then, the air escapes you again when, suddenly, Eren grabs you.

“Where do you think you’re going, herzchen?” His hands grip your hair with merciless strength, and a strangled cry leaves your lips as he pulls you back, slamming your back against his chest.

The pressure of his body against yours is suffocating, and the world around you blurs into a chaos of emotions and sensations.

Your heart pounds, echoing in your ears like a drum as the reality of his proximity overwhelms you. The contact is both cold and hot, a contradiction on your skin that makes you tremble. Panic seizes you, and the fight to free yourself becomes a desperate dance between attraction and terror.

“Let me go!” you scream, your hands flailing behind you, landing random blows as his grip on your hair immobilizes you.

In a stroke of luck, your hand connects with his cheek, the slap resounding in the quiet, and you smile in victory. But as quickly as that smile appeared, it vanishes the moment you feel Eren’s fist slam into your stomach with brutal force, knocking the little air you’d fought so hard to gather out of you.

“What’s wrong?” Eren laughs in your ear, and his fist strikes your stomach again, making you cry out in pain. “Not smiling anymore?”

You babble, trying not to vomit from the force of his punches, and before you can fight back, Eren throws both of you to the ground. His weight crashes suffocatingly onto yours, and you scream in agony as his knees dig into yours with the clear intent to break your legs.

“Ahhh, stop!” you cry, tears choking your voice, but Eren only rolls his eyes at you from above, pressing his knees harder into your legs to silence you.

Then, he leans down toward where you lie on the ground and strokes your hair before violently yanking it, forcing you to arch your back painfully to look at him. When you do, his smile only grows at the sight of your tears gleaming in the moonlight.

“How does it feel to be humiliated like this?” Eren leans in closer, his voice dark and filled with a bitterness that cuts through the air. His hot breath brushes against your neck, and a shiver runs down your spine as you feel the tip of his knife graze your collarbones. “Doesn’t this amuse you?”

“Eren, please…” you manage to say, though your voice shakes from the pain radiating through your knees, numbing every limb in your body. The plea escapes you like an echo of memories you’ve tried to bury.

But it doesn’t matter.

The pain of his past mingles with the fear of the present, and it drowns both of you in a never-ending abyss.

He doesn’t respond. His emerald eyes watch you, and you feel your legs buckle under the weight of the situation and his knees. His knife moves from your collarbones to your face, and you sob as its sharp edge lightly grazes your cheeks.

“You always laughed at me,” he continues, his eyes locked on you, revealing a deep sadness hidden behind all his rage. “You always toyed with me. You led me on again and again, only to kill that stupid hope you planted in my sheets the next day, when you and your fucking friends made my life hell.”

Eren holds you still, his body against yours a prison of overwhelming emotions. Sadness, anger, betrayal—it all mixes in the air between you. You look at him and see your past. The image of the wounded boy, the one who suffered in silence, now stands before you, claiming his place in the story you’ve forgotten.

The internal struggle grows.

You realize he’s not just a monster, not just a pursuer. He is the product of your cruelty, of decisions you made without thought. The memory of his green eyes, that look that haunts you, now becomes a mirror showing you the truth you’ve evaded.

“Eren, I…” you begin, but the knot in your throat prevents you from continuing when his knife swiftly slices into your cheek, drawing blood instantly.

“What? Do you regret it?” he interrupts, his voice dripping with irony. The anger in his tone is palpable, and you feel the pressure in your chest rise. “I’m sorry, but you can’t. You don’t have the right.”

You have no answers except screams filled with pain and desperate pleas for him to leave you alone, to forget his torture. You feel lost between who you were and who you are now. The guilt chokes you, but Eren seems to take pleasure in your torment. His body is pressed against yours, and the line between pain and desire blurs slowly between you two.

The knife gleams in his hand, and terror reignites inside you, flooding you with adrenaline. In that moment, a spark of determination surges within you, and you act.

With a burst of strength, you twist your body, throwing Eren off balance, and you try to escape his grip. Your arms tingle as, with a swift motion, you manage to connect your elbow to his face, causing blood to gush from his nose as the hit lands. Your eyes meet his, and in that split second, you understand that the confrontation looming ahead is inevitable.

Eren doesn’t look at you as blood begins to drip from his nose, droplets falling onto your face unexpectedly. With anger boiling in his veins, Eren drops his knife and flips you over, grabbing both of your hands with one of his, pinning them above your head with force.

With his body now pressed against your pelvis and your gazes locked together, you freeze as a smile grows on his blood-covered face from the blow you landed. Helpless to stop him, you feel his free hand caress your face tenderly, and foolishly, you lean into his touch. But before you can process it, his palm turns into a fist, slamming into your cheek, whipping your head to the side and leaving you dizzy.

The metallic taste of blood explodes in your mouth as you try to recover from the hit. Then, his hand returns to your face, and you close your eyes, bracing for another blow. But instead, you feel his fingers gripping your jaw.

His eyes are expectant, and his sadistic smile grows even wider as he forces his thumb into your mouth, prying it open as you tense up to resist. Nevertheless, Eren forces your mouth open, and with one last smirk, he presses his lips to yours and spits directly into your mouth.

Your eyes shoot open in disgust, your body writhing as his blood mixes with yours on your tongue. The taste is vile, and you whimper as Eren bites down angrily on your lower lip, tearing the skin for his amusement.

“What do I taste like, love?” His breath brushes against your mouth, and your chest heaves with rage.

You don’t answer his question, your face twisted in pure annoyance. Without thinking, you gather your saliva and spit forcefully in his direction. His smile vanishes instantly, and the darkness swirling in his eyes serves as your final warning before he slaps you again, harder than before, if that were even possible.

“Go to hell!” you pant, exhausted, locking your gaze with his, feeling his grip on your hands tighten as he sees the tears glistening in your eyes.

“You don’t have to do this…” you whisper, tasting the metallic tang of your own blood in your mouth, your voice steady but trembling. And in an instant, your words transform into a desperate scream. “You don’t have to be like this!”

Eren seems surprised by your response, and for a brief moment, his gaze softens. It’s a crack in his darkness, a glimpse of the person you once knew. But that spark quickly dies, replaced by the hatred that has been his only companion for so long.

Fear grips you again, and in one swift motion, you drive your knee into his pelvis once more. He curses under his breath, fed up with your defiance, and flips you over, tying your hands together behind your back. Grabbing your hair, he drags you toward a tree. You cry out as the branches scrape your knees, but Eren ignores your pleas and shoves you against the tree while you’re still on the ground.

The impact of the fresh wood against your shoulder blades makes you groan. Your vision blurs as you look around, and your throat burns with each exhale.

Crouching in front of you, Eren begins to admire you, his trembling hands running over your exposed thighs. With one final glance, he yanks your shorts off, taking your panties with them, leaving you exposed to his ravenous gaze and the cool air hitting your bare skin.

“So fucking perfect, herzchen,” his voice trembles, coming out as a needy sigh as he spreads your legs for him.

“You’re sick, you— ahhh…”

Your words choke in your throat as the handle of his knife presses against your clit while he positions himself in front of you. Your legs stay open around him as he forces your right thigh to stretch wider for his pleasure. The only sound escaping your lips is a needy moan, cut short when you throw your head back as the handle begins to move slowly in circles against you, your eyes squeezing shut, unable to meet Eren’s mocking gaze.

“Look at me, love,” Eren speaks sweetly, the handle of his knife slowly pushing inside you. The wet sound between your legs makes your face burn with shame, and you gasp, unable to hold back your moans.

“I told you to look at me,” his voice grows darker as the knife plunges deeper into you.

“I-I… I can’t—”

His laugh emerges, tense and irritated, but his eyes don’t leave you. His gaze travels to your bouncing chest with every thrust of his knife into your heat, and he gives you one last chance to open your eyes.

When you don’t, Eren pulls the knife out and, in a swift motion, tears your white shirt in half, exposing your breasts to his view. Your eyes fly open in terror, contorting your face in fear, and your mouth gulps for air, your bound hands clenching as he cruelly pinches one of your nipples.

His eyes return to yours, and he smiles, pleased to have your attention back on him. “There she is.”

The mockery in his voice makes you grit your teeth, your eyes filled with a desire to kill him, but that desire evaporates when Eren plunges the handle of his knife back into your needy heat, thrusting it harder than before as he rolls your erect nipple between his fingers.

“Is this what it takes to shut you up?” he laughs, and you cry from the pain in your bound hands mixed with the pleasure of his knife inside you.

“What’s the matter?” The knife pulls out and begins to circle your clit again. The lubrication from your arousal only intensifies the sensation, and you give in, unable to stop yourself from moaning as his lips brush against yours, barely a touch. “Too good to think about what a whore you are?” The knife plunges back inside, curving toward your pleasure point. His laughter spills over your mouth, which can’t stop moaning. “Pathetic.”

Unable to endure it any longer, you look up at him, eyes pleading, and the words that fall from your lips are filled with a yearning you can’t control.

“Can’t I have redemption?” You close your eyes for a second as the knife disappears from your heat, sighing before smiling in Eren’s direction.

Still crouched before you, Eren pulls back, his expression a whirlwind of emotions: anger, confusion, and lust. The tension between you is palpable, like a taut string ready to snap at any moment. Soon, he smiles, playing along, leaning in closer to you.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he yanks it back, forcing your face nearer to his. His lips now graze yours, and his breath, cool like morning air, stings your nose.

“Redemption?” he murmurs, and your smile fades as his knife begins to trail down the valley of your breasts.

His eyes flicker quickly from your chest to your face, smiling when he sees the worry etched in your expression. “Do you really think you deserve redemption?”

The knife slices your skin, and your stomach churns.

With an almost instinctual impulse, you open your eyes and lean closer to him, giving him your full attention. You offer one final smile before sticking out your tongue to lick his salty lips.

“Come on, Eren,” you whisper against his mouth, feeling his grip on your hair tighten. Your body trembles with the fear of failure as you swallow hard to steady your voice. “We both know the things we’ve done were never worthy of redemption.

A drop of blood spills from your breasts as Eren’s hand trembles.

How foolish.

“You…” His body shakes, unsure how to react to your words.

His past feelings betray him, and in an act of bravery and desperation,

You kiss him.

“You stupid bitch,” he tries to pull away, but you bite his lip hard, preventing that from happening.

Two seconds pass.

The air grows colder.

He relents.

A final insult escapes his lips before he pulls your body into his arms, holding you tightly. His lips press against yours with urgency, returning the bite with equal intensity.

You both gasp into each other’s mouths, the kiss laden with memories, forgotten passions, and the complicity you once shared.

But the unexpected happens.

In an instant, you feel the cold steel against your skin. The knife plunges into your neck like a sharp pain that quickly transforms into a familiar warmth; blood begins to flow, and you feel your body tremble, but this time,

You don’t pull away.

Despite the pain and confusion, you keep clinging to his lips. Your neck burns from the stretch and the wound forming from the silver blade that digs in deeper with each passing second.

Tears fall, and you sob, driving Eren wild.

With his body shaking, Eren drops the knife to the ground, the metallic sound echoing in the darkness like a reflection of his internal struggle. Then, his lips move against yours, intensifying the kiss, as if this time he’s searching for something more than just revenge.

Love and hate intertwine; his hands move around you, seeking a connection that seemed lost. The knife may have wounded your body, but the kiss becomes a silent pact, a reconciliation between the pain you’ve shared and the desire that never extinguished.

You both sink into that confusion, time halting as the outside world fades away, leaving only the two of you, trapped in a moment of passion and betrayal.

Blood continues to flow from you, a reminder that what you once had cannot return. Yet, in the depths of his eyes, you see a glimmer of something more, a search for redemption that could transcend the pain and suffering you both have caused.

“Eren…” you moan his name, feeling your strength begin to fade, but you won’t let fear consume you.

He stops, his lips pulling away from yours, and for a moment, hate and love find themselves in a precarious balance. The storm in his eyes reflects the chaos in your heart, but in that moment, you feel like two lost souls finally understanding each other.

“Stop…” you manage to whisper between gasps, but his hands only grip your body tighter, smothering your words. There’s a flash of fury in his eyes, and you sense he’s about to unleash a storm within himself.

And before you can gauge his movements,

He gives you one last look before pulling away from your lips, leaving you confused with swollen lips. A scream escapes your already wounded throat as he slips two of his fingers inside your warmth, laughing as he resumes kissing you.

“Stop?” he mocks, biting your lip. “How many times did I beg you to stop, and you didn’t?”

“I-I’m sorry, I, nghhh.”

The words die in your mouth with a pathetic moan as you feel his teeth scrape your nipple while he quickens his movements inside you, arching in a way that makes your toes curl.

As the tension between you intensifies, Eren’s hands begin to explore your body with desperate urgency. Your wetness spreads across your body, and the desire that was once intertwined with hate now turns into a palpable need as he smiles and kisses you again.

With hatred still surging between you and the struggle wanting to escape your bodies, he releases your hands and grabs your legs in one swift motion, dragging you to the floor, positioning himself over you in an instant.

Your aching hands become stones in a death grip as you let them drop onto Eren’s face, but to him, your blows are barely a caress that he effortlessly stops as he lets his saliva impact your face with force.

Your struggle doesn’t cease, and you twist your body in desperation, unable to do much against his sturdy frame on top of you.

“Stop fighting,” he says, and with a swift movement, Eren tears at your torn shirt, the fabric sliding down your skin and tossed aside, leaving your body exposed to the night breeze. “You’re just making a fool of yourself.”

You feel the cold course through your body, but the warmth of his presence envelops you, raising the temperature between you until you can’t hold back anymore. You stop fighting, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to kiss him again, this time whispering with a smile on your lips, “I’m sorry, Ren. I was so mean to you in the past.” You gasp as you feel his length rubbing against your exposed sex. “Do you forgive me now?”

Eren just laughs, grinding his erection against your needy sex, and you both moan into each other’s mouths as his nails scratch your hips.

Your hands glide along his chest, tugging at his black sweatshirt while his eyes watch you with an almost wild intensity. Each piece of clothing that falls to the ground feels like another step toward a connection you both have longed for but also feared.

When you’re left in the intimacy of the night, skin against skin feels electrifying, as if every inch of your being is claiming the other. Eren lowers his gaze, his eyes now filled with desire, and he takes you by the waist, pulling you toward him with a force that makes you feel alive as he rubs the tip of his length against your clit.

Your hands strike his chest again, but with a dry movement, Eren slaps you hard before pulling your jaw toward him, forcing you to look at him.

“Let go of me, you idiot!” you gasp as his sex hits your warmth a few times, due to Eren’s rough movements.

“Do you want that?” His hands press down on yours, pinning them to the ground on either side of your face as he holds you captive beneath him.

“Hmmm? Tell me,” his hips move, and his sex grazes your clit with stimulating friction. “Do you want me to let you go, herzchen?”

“Ahhh, I-I…” Your warmth throbs with need, and in a natural impulse, your hips seek more stimulation.

Eren’s laughter tickles your neck as he lets his lips fall heavy with wet kisses around it. “I don’t think you want me to stop.”

“Especially knowing that…” His teeth clamp down on your pulse and bite there. “All the nights you spent in Jean’s sheets…” His tongue begins to lick the wounded spot, trailing over your neck to the mark his knife left on you. “The only thing you thought about,” his lips suck, “the only thing that made you finish…”

You scream, and your legs wrap around his hips as he thrusts deep into your warmth, confirming his statement. “It was always me.”

A moan of yours echoes throughout the forest as his heat expands within you without warning, and you cling to him, allowing your nails to drag across his bare back, which ripples with muscle as his arms fall to either side of your face, enclosing you within them once he lets go.

“Eren…” you gasp, feeling how his hips move slowly, making you bounce beneath him with each strong but steady thrust that steals the air from your lungs.

Your mind turns to mush, and your body relaxes as he only bothers to mock you, thrusting harder when you’re about to hit him or say something in his direction.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice heavy with a mix of possessiveness and longing.

“I hate you,” you gasp against his lips, pressing against his warmth as he laughs.

His lips pull away from yours, and he begins to leave kisses along your neck down to your breasts, where his teeth latch onto your nipples, quickening his thrusts again and again, leaving you speechless.

Without thinking, your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him toward you as you reconnect your lips in a more desperate kiss, where both of you share moans and gasps.

“Do you?” His breath falls on you as his movements speed up. “Why do you hate me, herzchen?”

“Because… ahhh,” you bite your lower lip as his thumb starts to massage your clit, his eyes focused on you, searching for an answer. “Y-You left me.”

“Owww,” Eren moves one of his hands to your hair, tenderly combing through it. His thumb trails down to your bruised lips, and he plants a mocking kiss on them. “Did you miss me that much?”

“Y-Yes. Don’t leave this time,” you plead, your voice trembling as the fear of losing him mingles with the desire to have him close.

Eren responds by burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as if he’s trying to absorb you into his essence. It fills you with an almost primal need, one that seems to transcend words and the past that haunts them.

Both of you are trapped in a dance of repressed desires and forgotten resentments, and in the midst of that struggle, you finally find yourselves in a place of vulnerability, ready to explore what it truly means to be each other’s.

“You’re crazy,” Eren murmurs, his eyes burning with a mix of rage and desire. The intensity of his gaze envelops you, and his hips quicken their movements with more force as you cling to him desperately.

Despite his declaration, you can’t help but smile, a defiant grin that reveals both the pain and the connection you share. Without thinking, you lean into him and kiss him again, drawing him closer with a desperation that surprises you and makes your body tremble.

The kiss is wild, filled with a raw energy that defies the logic of his words. You feel his lips moving against yours, and a scream escapes your mouth as he bites your lip, a pleasurable pain that only intensifies the fire burning between you.

The line between love and hate blurs in this moment, and before you can think about the consequences, you find yourself trapped in his embrace, Eren’s hands exploring your body with a voracious passion.

“You’re a mess,” he says between gasps, his hands gripping your waist tightly, as if he fears you might escape. His voice is rough, but the desire emanating from him is undeniable.

“And you’re the only one who can handle it,” you reply, locking your gaze with his, feeling the adrenaline course through your body, bringing you to a boiling point.

In one swift motion, Eren flips you over and pushes you against the ground, his body pressing against yours from behind, and you feel the heat of his skin against yours. There’s a fire in his eyes that you can barely decipher, but you know it’s there, burning intensely.

Then he starts to thrust into your body from behind, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the forest. His hand lands on your ass countless times, delivering painful slaps that leave your skin bruised. Before you can think of anything else,

You feel the tip of his knife digging into your backside. With a startled look, you turn over your shoulder to see Eren’s face, marveling as he runs the knife along your skin.

“What are you going to…?” you gasp as he silences you with a hard thrust.

“You’re mine,” Eren repeats, and you freeze as you feel him take your hands and restrain them behind your back, rendering you helpless. “And I always like to mark what is mine.”

Before you can process his words, his thrusts slow down as his knife begins to pierce your skin slowly. You scream from the pain, but Eren simply calms you with praise, telling you how well you’re doing for him.

The knife stops at some point, and his heavy hand lands on the wounded spot, making you cry. When he releases your hands, you turn around and hit him, only to be met with laughter as he pulls you in and places you straddling his hips, thrusting into you once again without giving you time to respond to his bestial movements.

Both of you are filled with an animalistic need, and the hatred becomes a force that binds you together in an act of unrestrained passion. Every touch is fierce, every kiss a reminder of your shared history, and as your bodies meet in a rhythm of intense emotions, the past seems to fade away.

Eren takes control, his movements relentless, as if he wants to mark every corner of your being with his presence. The struggle between hate and desire becomes palpable, and every brush of his skin against yours is infused with explosive energy.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he asks, his hot breath against your skin as he continues to explore every inch of you.

“Not exactly…” you reply, but you can’t help it; desire surpasses resentment, and in that moment, all you want is to lose yourself in him.

The line between pleasure and pain echoes your relationship, and in response to your defiance, you start to sync your movements with his as you ride him fervently.

Eren meets your challenge with renewed ferocity, his movements becoming more intense, overpowering yours, and you feel the hate he once felt for you transform into something deeper, more complex. As the world fades away around you, it’s just the two of you, trapped in a moment that is both a climax of repressed emotions and a confrontation with the ghosts that have haunted you.

“Liar,” Eren says, still moving, as he brings his thumb to your warmth and starts to gently stroke your clit, quickening both your climaxes. “I hate it when you lie to me. What if I leave something inside you to remind you of me when I’m gone?”

“Hmpp,” you stammer, bewildered, sighing with relief as Eren positions both of you on the ground, resuming his more ferocious movements. “What about—”

And only there, amidst the haze, does your mind suddenly alert you to the realization that Eren was raw fucking you, with no intention of releasing himself anywhere but inside you.

Alarmed, you try to push him away, but it’s in vain. His hand grips your wrists and pulls them above your head while he places one of your legs over his shoulder, quickening the pace and cutting your protests into incoherent moans mixed with his.

“Eren, please!” you plead against his lips in the midst of the kiss, feeling your body burn from the stretching. “You’re going to regret it if you do.”

“Regret? Me?” You melt as he looks at you, sighing when his lips kiss your wet neck. “I don’t think so, love.”

With his uncoordinated movements, you feel one last thrust silence your pleas before Eren empties himself inside you without warning, filling you to the brim and making your warmth pulse in your own climax.

Moaning incoherently, your body trembles and relaxes as his thrusts cease. His cock softens and slips slowly out of you with curses leaving his lips.

You think you have a moment of rest until his voice pulls you from your trance, and your eyes lock with his.

“Hmmm,” his smile widens as his fingers move toward your warmth, which expels remnants of his semen, flowing out of you in spurts. “Let’s not waste anything.”

“W-Wait…” beside you, Eren holds you in his arms, his legs hooking around yours and pulling them apart. His chest presses against your back, and his free hand brushes the damp strands of hair from your face.

“Wait for what, herzchen?” your head falls onto his shoulder, and you cling to his arm that wraps around your chest, twisting your nipples, while his other hand slides in and out of your sensitive heat.

“I-I’m sensitive,” you whimper, clawing at his arm.

“Ahhh, right” Eren places a wet kiss on your cheek and begins to rub your clit with his palm. “You just came too, didn’t you?”

“Nghhh, yes.”

“Mmm,” Eren adds a third finger, and you roll your eyes. “But you’re such a good girl, love. I know you can give me one more.”

“I can’t, Eren,” your hand moves up to his hair, gripping him as you feel your legs close, but he stops you by spreading your legs even wider, making your task impossible.

“Yes, yes you can, love.”

His warmth builds on your buttocks, and you moan mindlessly as his fingers begin to curl inside your sex, which still expels traces of him. His fingers thrust in and out forcefully, as if he wants his semen to be embedded in you, and his palm slaps against your clit countless times while he penetrates your heat.

“Ahhh, Eren. Wait!” You tug hard on his hair when the pain from overstimulation turns into pleasure, and you feel the urge to urinate wash over you.

His arm tightens further around your stomach, and his hand pulls harder on your nipple. His fingers in your heat speed up their movements, and his laughter resonates throughout your body.

“Let it out. You’re begging me to make you come, love,” his fingers pull out quickly to give your heat a few light slaps, and your whole body tingles.

“N-No, I’m going to pee,” you hyperventilate as the pleasure expands within you. “Please wait, I’m going to wet myself!”

Eren’s laughter is cruel and low, as if he knows something you don’t, and ignoring you, he rubs his cock against your back once more. “That son of a bitch didn’t even give you a real orgasm, did he?”

Your throat burns with desperate grunts, and your tongue hangs out of your mouth, heavy and drooling. Your heat expands around his entire length again, and when you can’t take it anymore, you let your eyelids drop as you turn your face to connect your lips with Eren’s in a wet, desperate kiss.

His thick brows furrow with pleasure as his hips collide against you again and again. His hand moves to your clit and begins to rub it, creating another orgasm.

“Come with me, herzchen” your breasts rise and fall against his arm, and your legs bounce relentlessly against his. “Make a mess on me.”

“Ahhh, shit, Eren…” a cry interrupts your words when a particularly strong thrust makes you gasp, reopening the wound on your buttocks.

One of Eren’s hands leaves your breasts to move to your neck, pressing hard while his fingers continue working on your clit. His palm stimulates the connection of your bodies. His smile grows wider within the kiss, and with a few final thrusts, he commands you:

“Come now.”

With a guttural moan from both of you, you both reach an irreversible climax, making your minds race a thousand miles an hour, your brains turning to mush inside your heads.

Eren pulls out of you, and you feel more moisture than you’re used to on your legs. Blinking a few times, you lower your gaze only to see Eren’s white semen mixing with a translucent liquid still flowing from you, expelled by Eren’s hand as it gives a few last thrusts to your warmth.

“See?,” you sigh as he speaks. His hand moves away from your heat and, with both of your fluids on it, he brings it to your face, letting the liquid smear across your skin in a humiliating way. “A fucking mess.”

His fingers press into your mouth, and the bitter, salty taste of both of you bursts on your palate. “How do we taste together?”

You don’t respond; you can’t.

All you do is close your eyes, savoring the flavor of both of you while letting your tongue swirl around his fingers, which elicits a satisfied grunt from his chest.

“Good…” you smile, letting your lips crash against his in a possessive kiss. “I missed you so much.”

His smile spreads across your lips as he whispers over them. “Really?”

“Yes…” turning and breaking free from his grip, you straddle him once more. Your hands caress his face as you admire those eyes you had missed so much. “I love you, Eren.”

Eren smiles and shakes his head side to side. One of his hands caresses your face while the other squeezes your buttocks, marked with his initials, burning alive on your skin.

With a final sigh, he lets his lips fall on yours, and your arms wrap around him, pulling him closer.

Your bodies intertwine, allowing your souls to finally unify, leaving all your past behind and ignoring your present stained with blood.

And with smiles on both of your faces.

As you look into each other’s eyes.

He utters the last words that seal both your fates.

“Me too, herzchen.”

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

To Save A Life

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader, John Winchester & daughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: set during 2x01, you die in the accident but John brings you back.

Sam Winchester had never felt more alone in his life. Not even when he’d left home and run away to Stanford all alone. Because at least then, he’d had a secret ally; you. You called him up whenever Dean and dad weren’t around, and the two of you stayed close despite his alienation from the rest of the family.

But he didn’t have that anymore. He awoke in a hospital after the accident only to discover that you’d succumbed to your injuries, and that his brother was hanging on by a thread. And John was no ally now; on the contrary, John’s seeming indifference only made Sam feel more alone. He wasn’t sure if John just couldn’t bring himself to think about what had happened to you and Dean, or if he just didn’t care.

Either way, Sam was finding it hard to believe that you were really gone.

…

Dean didn’t scare easily, but he was starting to freak out. After he’d figured out that he was in a coma and having some freaky out of body experience, the first thing he did was look for his family. Sam and dad he’d found easily, but he couldn’t talk to them. However, he’d searched the entire hospital, but he could find no sign of you. Panicked, he returned to Sam’s room only to find him and John arguing.

“I have a plan,” John was saying.

“Exactly, that’s the problem!” Sam exploded. “Your daughter is dead, and Dean’s dying, and you have a plan!”

Dean staggered back a step, all the breath leaving his…spirit? Did spirits breathe? It didn’t matter, because that’s what it felt like; like every ounce of air had been sucked from him, like he was drowning, like he was dying.

You couldn’t be dead. You couldn’t, it just wasn’t possible.

Dean turned, more determined than ever to find you.

It couldn’t be true.

…

“I want you to bring Dean and Y/N back.”

“I can give you your son for the knife, but your little girl…” Azazel sucked in a breath, enjoying the moment far too much. “She’s already dead. That’s means a lot more power, a lot more paperwork. I need something more.”

John swallowed. “I know what you want.”

“And?” Azazel grinned, his mouth twisting grotesquely.

“And it’s a deal.”

…

Your first breath came as a gasping wheeze, and it took you a moment to disentangle yourself from the…sheet?…that was covering you. You glanced around frantically as memories slowly came back to you—the yellow eyed demon possessing dad—Sam refusing to shoot him—the fight in the car—then—then what?

You remembered blinding lights as a semi came out of nowhere, and then the screech of tires, your own scream mingling with your brothers yells…

And then nothing. Where were you? Were your brothers ok?

You blinked a few times, and your eyes were slowly able to focus on the room around you. It was dark, and cold, and…you recognized it. Not that you’d been in it before, but that you’d been in rooms like it.

When you saw the far wall covered in shiny steel drawers with metal handles, you realized what it was.

You were in a mortuary.

Your breath quickened as your heart rate picked up and your chest constricted. Were you dead? What was going on? Where were Sam and Dean?

Your trembling hands found your pocket, and to your surprise your phone was still there. You yanked it out and pressed the first number on your speed dial.

“Dean? I-I need help…”

…

“And you don’t remember anything?”

“No. Last thing I remember was the accident.”

Sam’s heart constricted as he realized he would have to tell his big brother that you were dead.

“So where’s dad? And Y/N?”

“Dad’s in his room.” Sam took a deep breath. “And-and Y/N’s-“

The ringing of Dean’s phone cut off Sam’s words.

“It’s Y/N,” Dean said, confused but relieved. “I wonder why she doesn’t just come in.” Dean didn’t notice all the color leaving Sam’s face. Dean answered, “Hey kid, where are you?”

“Dean?” Dean’s big brother instincts kicked in at the sound of your panicked voice and rushed breathing. “I-I need help…”

…

You were in the middle of explaining to your big brother where you were when your dad burst into the room.

“Dad?” You dropped the phone and ran to your father. To your surprise, he lifted you into his embrace and held you tightly. You were still trembling as you wrapped your arms around your dad’s neck and held on tight.

“What’s going on?” You choked past the lump in your throat. “Wh-why am I in here?”

“Shh,” John soothed, still unwilling to let you go. “It’s ok, princess, I promise. You’re safe now, I swear.”

“Dad, what happened?” John set you down, and you took a half step back. He kept his hands on your shoulders, as though he was afraid to let you go.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said, his lips twitching into a relieved smile. “You’re ok, that’s all that matters. Now c’mon, we should go find your brothers.”

…

“Y/N?” Dean frowned, lowering the phone. “I think I heard her say dad. He found her, I guess.” Dean finally noticed the panic on Sam’s face. “Sammy? What’s up?”

“I—“

“Sammy, De!” The brothers both turned at the sound of your voice to see you stepping into the room with John at your heels. You ran to Sam first, since Dean was laying down in the hospital bed. Sam held you in his arms, but Dean saw him staring at John over your shoulder. John avoided Sam’s gaze, and instead turned his attention to his eldest son. A relieved smile broke out on his face when he saw Dean, awake and healthier than he had been the last time John had seen him.

“Dean, you alright?” He asked, to which his son nodded.

“Yes sir.” Dean’s attention turned to you. “Kid, what was with the call? You ok?”

“She got a little lost,” John interrupted before you could speak, and he came to stand by you, putting his hand on your shoulder. “We’re all ok now, that’s what matters.”

Three sets of eyes all turned to stare at John, and they—with varying degrees of confusion—all sensed that he knew something that they didn’t.

Sam was the first to speak up about it.

“Where were you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” John answered.

You flinched in surprise when Sam’s voice raised to a yell.

“Dean was dying, and you just—“

Despite Sam’s tone, John’s interruption was calm.

“Can we…not fight? We always fight,” John chuckled almost sadly. “Half the time I don’t even know what we’re fighting about, we’re just butting heads.”

Sam’s brown wrinkled in confusion, but he didn’t try to restart the fight.

John took a long moment to look at each of his children in turn, and when his eyes met yours, a sickening sensation settled in the pit of your gut. You opened your mouth, intending to ask John what was wrong, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was a sadness lingering behind his eyes, and suddenly you felt as though you didn’t have much time left with your dad.

You didn’t know why you had that feeling, but it didn’t matter; you trusted your instinct. So while Sam and Dean turned their attention to each other, you tugged on John’s arm. When he leaned down, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he reciprocated your embrace, holding you tighter than he ever had before.

“Don’t go,” you whispered almost without meaning to, still having no idea why you felt like this.

John pulled away to look at you and you met his gaze, hoping to see confusion, hoping your dad would prove you wrong. Instead, there was a sad resolve in John’s eyes, and your heart sank.

“Daddy?” Your broken whisper had tears pooling in the corners of John’s eyes. You hadn’t called him that since you were around ten.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

After an endless moment, John pulled away and spoke to Sam.

“Hey Sam, could you get me some coffee?”

Sam pulled his attention from Dean and nodded a response at his father.

John nudged you, and you knew he wanted you to go with Sam. As you left the room, you spared one last glance at your father.

‘It’s okay,’ he mouthed silently.

…

You had the corner of Sam’s jacket fisted in your hand as the two of you returned to your father’s room. You felt the shift in the air the moment Sam got a glance into the room.

“Dad?” He choked as the coffee cup slipped from his hand.

Your heart pounded as you glanced around your big brother to see your dad sprawled on the floor in his room.

You didn’t speak as doctors and nurses rushed into the room, or when Dean ran to stand beside the two of you, or as the doctors tried to resuscitate John, or when they called the time of death.

You could tell that Sam and Dean had been holding their breaths, holding out hope that John would be saved.

But you knew he wouldn’t, you could feel it. He was gone.

And you knew it was your fault.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl

[randomishnickname]

Must-read Destiel fics - my superduper Nov. 5th rec list

Three years ago, on the blessed day of November 5th, 2020, I had:

never seen an episode of SPN,

only had a vague inkling of what the two pale coconuts were on about,

and I hee-heed and ha-had with the rest of Tumblr about the love confession scene and the Internet errupting in an unparalleled craze

At first I thought, that's it.

Then ... I got curious. I watched some YouTube Destiel supercuts. I read some fic (I think @andhumanslovedstories beautiful Cas/OC fic was my entry point?). I read meta. I watched some more YouTube scene packs. I read even more fic. I watched some of S4, some of S1, some random fan fav episodes. And then Destiel lodged itself so deeply, thouroughly into my brain that it took over and hasn't relinquished control in the last two years. The most tenacious, pervasive brain worm to date.

This ship got it all, and this fandom got it all, and there's such delightful, powerful, batshit crazy, romantic, expertedly crafted fanfic out there, it's like being a starving child in the world's biggest candystore.

So without further ado, here's some of my very favorite fics from this infinite trove, with all my thanks to the wonderful writers who keep delighting and awing me with their dedication and craft. There'll of course be some recency bias at play but you can browse my bookmarks over here to chose from over 100 excellent and well-curated SPN stories.

💕CATEGORY: SWOONWORTHY💕

Wildly romantic fics that warm you up from the inside.

It Won't Be Perfect by someonetoanyone (10K words) Summary: Dean daydreams about what it'd be like to let himself love Cas freely.

Why I love it: the humor, the spot-on characterizations, and the quintessential late season Destiel-ness of being so deeply love with your best friend that it's too big to actually do anything about. Just. So warm.

Rock Lobster by Ginger Fail (13K) Summary: Cas decides that the lobsters Dean planned to cook need to get back home. Impromptu beach vacation ensues!

Why I love it: This road trip story is fresh and invigorating like a sea breeze! Fun, entertaining and full of deep, deep fondness.

Seek to Know You Better by ahurston (32K)

Summary: On a road trip, Dean and Cas play the 36 Questions That Lead To Love.

Why I love it: They’re so deliberatedly, carefully starting a relationship here. They try so hard to bridge the gaps and meet each other halfway. A very mature take on love that feels nourishing.

☢️CATEGORY: BRAINWORMS GALORE☢️

Fics that make you go BARK BARK BARK.

samson went back to bed by piesexuality (9k, @twoheadedcas) Summary: Cas strikes a deal with Chuck - keeping his family together comes at the price of their free will.

Why I love it: What if Cas got his revenge for the Mala'ak box? What if love came at the price of everything you've been fighting for? What if a story twisted the knife oh so sweetly? Each word of this one lands a punch. Made me insane in the best of ways (cue pinned fanart).

In sickness by @saintedcastiel (41K) Summary: S4 redux but Castiel has a fetish: giving Dean the sniffles.

Why I love it: This one is soooo. Can barely find words for it. It taps into Cas' early season alienness and psychosexual obsession with Dean, brilliantly demonstrates Casdean vs Samruby parallels, and each word is just. Perfect. ARGH!

so much smoke in a hall full of mirrors by AreYouReady (6K, @autisticandroids ) Summary: Godstiel is losing his heavenly war. Crowley provides a compliant Dean-doll for him to release his frustrations upon.

Why I love it: Urgh, this one is sooo dark. Taps into the scary, intimidating and alien aspects of Godstiel so well. Gore, consent and psychosexual issues galore. Delicious.

Special mention: In a Parked Car, Exhuming Ophelia by @an-android-in-a-tutu (17K). Still need to comment properly ;)

💣CATEGORY: EMOTIONAL WRECKING BALLS💣

Angsty fics that tear you to pieces to remake you better.

What Used To Be Mine by someonetoanyone (48K words) Summary: Dean never makes his apology prayer in Purgatory - Cas dies, Dean mourns.

Why I love it: Oh god, this is a heavy hitter. Just, straight up insurmontable grief, packaged in poetic, raw language to make you shed tears and tears. Loved it so much.

Ignite your bones By ilovehowyouletmefall (67K, @angelinthefire) Summary: Dean accepts Chuck's deal: killing Sam to save the world.

Why I love it: Cruuuuel cruel premise for a story that doesn’t pull its punches. It gets dark in Dean’s head and everyone around him suffers. Wonderfully written. The ending set my brain on fire.

Right Where you Left Me by outdean (93K, @armandgender)

Summary: Cas comes back from the Empty after 10 years to find Dean married to another man.

Why I love it: This one is a riiiide. When grief has become a part of you but your love comes back… When you return from the dead and have to carve a new space into the world for yourself... nothing is easy here, but the emotions are INTENSE. Also, autistic!Cas for the win.

Special mention: Who Ya Gonna Call? by saintedcastiel (50K) and Clear skies in spring by enochianprayer (WIP)

💥CATEGORY: EPIC RIDES💥

Expansive, wild adventures with lots of ups and downs

Spirit of the West by teen_dean (140K, @urne-buriall)

Summary: An 18y old Dean grew up on a horse farm – cue veterinarian Castiel. The summer of a lifetime ensues.

Why I love it: So this is one of my very favorite stories, ever ever, and I cannot recommand enough to immediatedly suscribe to the author’s Substack to be able to follow it in „real time“ next summer. It’s cinematic, rich, full of darkness and light, it’s everything a story can aspire to, I’m just. I just really love it.

Second Verse, Same as The First by LaLaCat1 (135K)

Summary: Endverse!Cas is sent back to the start of S1 and is determined to make things right this time round.

Why I love it: a desperate and badass Cas, unfridging everyone, a thrilling plot, moments of awesome for the entire cast, gripping action scenes, a romance for the ages… this is a genuinely amazing story.

back road, black road by eden22 (167K)

Summary: 18y old Sam gets kidnapped by Hell on his way to Stanford. Dean tries to deal.

Why I love it: So this one’s not Destiel-centric but does have wonderful Destiel moments. It’s also very heavy on the gore and the angst (NOT for the faint of stomach), but expertly crafted, fascinating and frankly it deserves more love. Held my breath for half the read and never knew where it’d take me.

Special mention: It's The End Of The World (As We Know It) by tiamatv (140K)

🤪CATEGORY: DESTIEL INSANITY🤪

Uproariously funny stories about the intricate rituals these two weirdos get up too.

Life Skills by ilovehowyouletmefall (26K)

Summary: Dean teaches a newly human Cas how to be „a real man“.

Why I love it: Dean coming to Big Self-Realizations while trying to have platonic threesomes with Cas is so perfect. Very endearing, tender and funny. Also, smoking hot sex.

the cheapest room in the house by biggaybenny (89K)

Summary: Dean downloads Grindr for Cas

Why I love it: Just. Late season Dean being deranged about Cas’ sexuality while everyone watches on in utter confusion. Equally hilarious and deeply moving

according to all known laws of life by @sobsicles (29k)

Summary: Cas comes back from the Empty to a Dean who won’t stop playing gay chicken.

Why I love it: They are both such petty, insane weirdos in this one. They said „can every situation be turned into a squabble“ and didn’t wait for an answer. So funny, so tender

Special mention: Wedding Vows and Negotiations by GingerFail (6K)

That's it, enjoy and leave your writers some much-deserved love!

[lakesbian]

attention everyone we have reached my personal favorite Line in worm

I stepped toward Sundancer and offered a hand to help her up.  She flinched away. Oh.  My hands were bloody.  I dropped the offered hand to my side. “Let’s go,” I suggested.

there are a lot of good Lines in worm, and while i will acknowledge that many of them are sort of objectively more powerful culminating moments than this one, this one is still My Personal Favorite. Oh. My hands were bloody.

it's been obvious through the early arcs that taylor has a lot of repressed anger: she beats the shit out of rachel, even after being bitten. she outright admits to the other undersiders that she hasn't taken subtle revenge on the trio at school because she's afraid she would take it too far/it would obviously be her. she is, initially, unnerved by violence: she's a bit scared by the gun present in the loft, it creeps her out that brian knows every way to break a person's body, she feels guilt about the idea of any civilians being hurt during the bank robbery. but she still beat up rachel, and she still shoves bugs up the wards' noses during the robbery, and she still gleefully rides rachel's dog and laughs and hollers from the joy and the adrenaline rush of victory afterwards.

the expression of this repressed anger thru violence escalates further when her concussion leads her to slapping emma in the mall. in the principal's office, when it's clear that nothing she or her dad says will garner help with the bullying, she shouts and slaps papers off the table and asks what would happen if she brought a knife to school. after she and her dad leave the meeting, she calls lisa:

“Hey.  How did it go?” I couldn’t find the words for a reply. “That bad?” “Yeah.” “What do you need?” “I want to hit someone.”

lisa invites her to a raid on the ABB so she can do that, and it's soo. Sooo Very. to watch how she cuts loose on it. she's so angry rachel notices it in how she's standing, and she's still confused about how rachel noticed. she's a confident leader when the fight goes crisis mode, she responds to rachel bucking against her orders by consistently shouting at rachel to "NOT fuck with me right now," she acts nigh-suicidally aggressive during her fight with lung, and she snarls "don't fucking underestimate me" when she takes him out using a caterpillar dipped in newter's blood.

all of this happens in relatively subtle increments. she doesn't notice how she progressively becomes comfortable expressing herself and taking charge instead of withdrawing or acting insecurely during the course of the mission. she doesn't notice that she's not horrified by dealing with newter's wound or seeing the sniper's broken leg. back in unmasked society, she was forced to consider how many of her aggressive actions were the result of the concussion loosening her impulse control--here, she repeatedly yells at bitch without a second thought. it's a place where her violence and anger isn't only acceptable but necessary. the circumstances normalize her outbursts and comfort with violence to her, leaving her blind to how alienated and dissociated and repressed and traumatized and furious and just Fucked Up she has to be to face down lung and then dig his eyes out.

when she says that she "doesn't believe in eye for an eye," in arc 4 alec asks her why the fuck she's a supervillain. his implicit assertion is clear: being a villain is, for him, about taking your revenge for being hurt out on whoever you can manage or justify, even if they're not the person who originally hurt you. and taylor thinks she's not doing that. but hey: she goes beyond just "hitting someone" and into literally taking lung's eyes as a culmination of the cathartic violence she's been engaging in as recompense for how she was mistreated earlier.

and the person who serves as a more "normal" reference point for how far taylor just escalated is sundancer: horrified by the idea of having to use her sun to hurt people, shocked by how casually violent taylor has been, flinching away from taylor when she turns to sundancer after committing that violence & tries to offer sundancer help.

because, oh. her hands are bloody. she hadn't even noticed how bloody they were getting, but they are.

deeply evocative one-line reminder of how taylor has changed in these first five arcs, without even noticing. and the best part is that, while the imagery of "oh. my hands were bloody" does convey that change in an incredibly brief and powerful way, the fact that taylor is saying it still means even she hasn't really realized. she thinks it's mainly just about the superficial, literal blood on her hands, and not the metaphorical blood on her hands that sundancer is disturbed by. it's good.

[jewishconvertthings]

I can't remember if I've posted about this before, but tonight I was reminded by a class of a thing that I think may be helpful for some folks.

Because converting is *so* permanent and irreversible, and one should take it at least as seriously as entering a marriage (with the understanding that there is no divorce, only alienation), I think it's honestly a good idea to wait until you've had a major fight with your Judaism before you complete your conversion.

It's the same principle as wanting to wait until you've been sick with the flu together or had a major life setback or are lost at 2 a.m. on a road trip with your fiance before you actually get married. In that case, you want to know (1) what does this scenario bring out in them? (2) what does this scenario bring out in you? (3) how do those things interact with each other? and, most importantly: (4) how do you resolve it together?

With Judaism, it's easy to fall in love with Torah. It's easy to fall in love with an idealized version of your community. With the rituals and the liturgy and the music and the ruach.

It's harder to learn a point of halacha that hurts deeply and to be forced to reconcile what you know in your bones is right with the reality of the words of Torah and its interpretation by the rabbis. It's harder to meet your congregation in love and tochecha when they have fallen short of their vision and failed you in important ways. It's harder to force yourself to engage in mitzvot that you don't see the point in or that are boring or repetitious or do not spark joy.

And until you know how you will react when (not if) that happens, until you know how you will resolve it - or if you will even want to - you aren't ready to commit to something you can't just take off.

Sometimes it sucks to be a Jew. Sometimes Torah is more yoke than honey. Sometimes you're just not feeling it. And that's okay! That doesn't make you an imposter or a bad Jew; it makes you human. But you still need to address it, because that day will come.

I love being Jewish with all my heart, but there are parts of Torah that are like a knife in my soul. For me, the way I resolve it, is that those things in particular are the shards my neshama was sent to liberate the sparks from. We live in a broken, unredeemed world, and sometimes you should feel that, acutely. That is part of being a Jew, that you are sensitized to the world and its suffering. But it should still, in the end, lift you up. It should not break you, and you should not have to cut off major pieces of yourself to fit the role. Hitting that wall and feeling that pain before you immerse in the mikvah can really open your eyes to what kind of Jew you want to be - or if you actually want to carry this burden as well as taste its sweetness.

[kaijuparfait]

long ramble of me going through the venom trailer because i am insane totally normal about it

this isn't anything professional, just me spouting out random words as i run around in circles like an excited dog-

OK LET'S GO:

firstly... king please change your clothes its been years, why are you still wearing that exact same outfit???

BUT i am a sucker for the light going over and past Eddie as he walks, i just think it's so cool hehe,,

E: "You should probably know that I have a really dark and unpredictable side to me."

hmmm... i'll believe you. at first, it sounds like he's telling this to Venom, but I wouldn't be surprised if Eddie is telling this to someone else and this "dark and unpredictable side" is Venom.... Or he is telling this to Venom and Eddie just really wants to kill now which. I am ok with that, love that for them, they should be allowed to do what they want

cleanly punching off the lock via the ~ Power of Friendship ~ (or something like that)

not the dogs :( i'm assuming this is a place to hold dogs for like. dog fighting?? i think? which is terrible and those guys deserved to get their heads eaten!

E: "I'm giving you a chance, sweetie."

LET. EDDIE. KILL. everyone say thank you Tom Hardy for being Eddie cause WOAH i am. normal.

V: "Just say "when"." E: "...when."

WE'RE SO BACK its just like the "Mask!" "Copy." bit from the first movie omg we're so back, these two make me ill i love them sm

also Eddie not even flinching at the knife, most likely Venom turning off the pain (or something) but I like to think Eddie's just cool like that (these close ups of Eddie's face makes me wanna do a study on him, just draw him a million times for the fun of it, and i will! Tom Hardy is a beautiful man!)

either venom is fully acting as shoes or Eddie is wear the most busted up pair of crocs i have ever seen and both options are so great. either way- KICK! that guy is GONE you even see him slouched against the wall, surrounded by bricks in a later scene, Venom and Eddie are not messing around this movie!

I- hhhhh. ok. I'm ok. Yeah these two are NOT messing around, Eddie could not care less about these dudes, there is no hesitating, no guilt, no fear in this man's expression AND I LOVE IT <333 GET ANGRY! GET SCARY!!!

AND WE HAVE THE BOI. THERE HE IS!!! the roar sounds different too i think, it's very cool tho, feels like a shrill, higher pitch than i expected but i don't dislike it

let the dogs be free! they immediately start attacking those guys and i love it <3 doggy :3

AND EDDIE IS FIGHTING TOO WOOOOO i need to redraw all of these frame cause WHEW! making me blush with these shot compositions, so good. so much trust, Eddie knows Venom will keep him safe and jumps in! literally! i adore how Venom's head is following him too, it's so creepy, the way it just slithers through the air, I wish to send all my love to the teams who work on Venom, there are so many points from the trailer and the first 2 movies that I wanna dissect, just to point out all his little movements, very fun

speaking of his little movements- squinty eyes :3 and the half venom, half eddie face again! always a win, forever iconic <3

tearing apart this venom scene OK! the little tendrils by Eddie's face, the way they move around is so UGH its so weird and i adore it! This "pose" is also fun because we really get to see the inside of Venom's mouth, most importantly his teeeeeth, in a long, pretty still shot that isn't when his mouth is wide open, the artist in me is loving it

also the team always does an amazing job on just making Venom look alien- the thick veins, the shiny black skin, and the tendrils that are holding up the bad guy split apart, instead of being just one tentacle, very gross, but in a good way

E: "We.. are..-" V: "WE ARE VENOM!" E: "We.. are..-" V: "VENOM!!" E: "No.."

They share one braincell, holy fudge, I love symbrock fjdkslfjsdk

and Eddie just keeps trying! same tone, same level, and Venom is so excited

V: "Oh!"

(I also love these shots because we get a nice close up of how Venom's mouth moves when pronouncing words)

E: "Yeah.. We.." V: "We.." E + V: "are... Venom." E: "...We really need to work on that."

and they get there eventually lmao, the way they say it is so in sync, even the eye movements are the same, how they open wider, and THE VOICES hhhh the voices.,,.. Tom Hardy is such a good. voice actor? in this sense ig.. i am on the ground, pure joy with how Eddie and Venom's voices overlap here

and Venom goes to town! lovely meal <3 getting a meal with the bf <3

I am LOOKING oh my goodness his mouth can open WIDE... normal feelings rn, yup, mhm!

doggy :D dog friends :D also Eddie no shot you stole that guy's shoes lmao??? nice boots tho (as someone who wears cowboy boots often, i would love to see Eddie in a full outfit.. putting that in the drawing idea list...)

V: "DELICIOUS! You take me to all the finest places!"

see! dinner date! :3 I can just hear the smile on Venom, i love when he's happy

and the world's most pathetic wet cat of a man (I say with the upmost affection) is back!

more proof that Eddie is never NOT sweating and that Tom Hardy's Eddie voice has the most confusing accent- i think he's saying

E: "Honey, I don't know."

but he could very well just be stuttering, or maybe he stopped midway and instead said "I need- I don't know." but i'm hoping they're at the point of pet names, go full comic, let Eddie call Venom "love" and "dear" and "my darling"

[Edit- thank you @.bridoesotherjunk for pointing out that he says "I need a Tylenol." i need better listening comprehension i guess??? lol?]

i don't know 100% of the Venom lore, still have tons of comics to read, so i won't talk much about the potential storyline here but- 4 SYMBIOTES!! maybe maybe maybe the Life Foundation Symbiotes... these babies got some funky colors.. they already used the name Riot but these 4 could be Lasher, Phage, Scream and Agony if i pray hard enough, the colors don't match but i can dream!

totally not emotional over this little bit of Venom that was left behind from that one after credits scene trying to bond with a host gently. yup yeah my heart isn't hurting at all!

LET MY BOY GO, HE DID NO WRONG!!!

my favorite local cryptid, what a creature

and he changed! finally! nice shirt tho, buttoned up only part way? the HAIR??? good stuff

fire seems to be a known weakness now, looking at the background, and i can't guess what they're looking up at, Eddie does speed up for it tho. I'm gonna say either a helicopter or something else they're gonna try and jump up to? Venom does go-

V: "OH SHIT"

during this scene so maybe it's one of those Symbiotes from before? Who knows, I could guess a hundred things but idk

THE WATER SCENE!! FROM THAT ONE BEHIND THE SCENES PHOTO TOM HARDY POSTED!!!

Venom in the last bit and Eddie being just himself if the first portion of these clips show that these guys 100% know what they're doing and have some sort of device (shown in the right image) that is capable of doing some crazy damage to Venom! Which! Oh no!!! I enjoy fight scenes underwater tho (Looks at Godzilla), very hyped for this one, I really wanna see how Venom swims. Yeah that sounds a bit weird but like. no way he's swimming like a human, c'mon now

E: "We are living the dream, my friend V: "You mean it?!" E: "NO."

Can't get over Venom's delivery here, he sounds so genuinely, it made me laugh, especially to how exhausted Eddie sounds lmao

LAS VEGAS??? y'all guessed right, they really are gonna get married in vegas,,

Eddie in a suit, HELLO??? my guy is looking snazzy! really tho, he looks so nice a suit, the BLACK AND WHITE suit? perfect. I saw people saying that they hope that Venom is the suit and just. me too..

MRS. CHEN RETURNS omg this cast are all so <333 she is GORGEOUS that dress is beautiful on her AND HER HAIR Mrs. Chen my beloved

Mrs. Chen sounds so happy to see Eddie, and Venom also very excitedly say hi, my heart is going to burst, it is overflowing, this part of the trailer makes me smile so much AND THEN THEY DANCE WITH EACH OTHER!!! I know it's called The Last Dance but I was not expecting a dance with Mrs. Chen??? I am more than ok with this tho, Venom and Mrs. Chen, dancing on the stairs, they look so happy, they're having such a good time i can't, my heart can't take this <3

AND LOOK HOW THEY HOLD HER HANDS.. they... they care about each other so much i'm going to cry in the theaters- no i'm gonna cry NOW.

is that a xenophage i see??? that thing is HUGE HUH??? i fully understand Venom in this (side note, i ADORE how Venom goes "JESUS CHRIST" upon seeing this thing, the line delivery get's better every film, that was so genuine) this design is insane tho, i might spend some time doing a study on it

Toxin is here! YIPPEE!!! love the voice, thought it was Venom for a second the first time i watch this but its pretty good

I have no clue who the people are that are in this tower thing, I've seen a few theories but i ain't embarrassing myself by guessing wrong here lmao

(running out of image spaces sorry!)

in the clip of Venom walking into this lab (?) and then getting violently shot at, is it just me or does Venom seem small? I'm guessing the door is just really big but like. idk maybe i'm just mixing up my Venoms and thinking that he's not as big as I remember

really quick cut of what may be 2 more Symbiotes like the 4 from earlier? maybe they're the same and are just changing colors, maybe they're new, who knows! I love their colors tho, the one on the right (in the clip) looks like it's blue and pink and i think that's cute

Xenophage breaks into this lab, love that for her, she is still terrifying!

E: "We may not make it out of this alive, buddy."

haha what do you mean by that king?

V: "Eddie... the time has come..."

HAHA PAUSE. uhm. he said the same thing last time at the end of Let There Be Carnage and Eddie didn't let him go but, istg, IF THEY DIE AT THE END OF THIS MOVIE. i know its the last of the trilogy BUT THEY DON'T NEED TO DIE, SONY, MARVEL, DON'T DO THIS TO ME. i am going cry violently at the writers... i don't think i will ever stop crying if they die at the end

they're in this busted up helicopter, already intriguing, but when it zooms in on Eddie's face, he's tearing up??? this movie is checking off every emotion, i need to remember to stay hydrated before i go see it, i will cry so much

I don't even think i'll be able to handle just one of them dying, the end of the first movie made me tear up the first time i saw it, and that was before i was as insane about them as i am now, i will be UNWELL in the theater

And last but certainly not least. HORSE VENOM WOOOOOO

the design for this things is insane, i didn't think i'd ever wanna draw a horse in my life but like.. kinda changing my mind ngl (weird detail, Venom horse has hands and feet and not hooves!)

E: "Be honest with me, how fast do you think you can make that thing go, without killing it?" V: "..ONLY ONE WAY TO FIND OUT!"

Venom sounds a bit muffled in this clip which makes it a bit more funny to me, i won't lie. Eddie is hanging on FOR HIS LIFE THOUGH, geez i know he said "how fast" but Eddie gets LAUNCHED OFF VENOM when they go over that cliff. fun reference to the first movie, how Venom grabs onto Eddie as he flies up, like on the motorcycle <3

this horse scene has to be earlier on because Eddie is in The Outfit and is also not wearing shoes??? i refuse to believe he'd put it back on, and in the helicopter-"it is time" clip, Eddie is wearing that white shirt, which looks like the undershirt to the suit (maybe) so the Las Vegas scene happens before them running from the explosion/fire.

oh right, the song that's playing? Space Oddity by David Bowie? yeah it's about an astronaut dying along in space.... which... is not very comforting...

god this trailer makes me so hyped, October cannot come faster i need this movie NOW. please.

man the trailer is kinda confusing, i'm already making guesses on where things happen and what the context could be, but literally anything could happen in this film. there are so many things that just don't make sense yet and it's hurting my brain I JUST WANNA KNOW! are those new Symbiotes or not? What even is the plot? Will Eddie and Venom profess their love to each other? Will Sleeper be real? How many times will this movie make me cry? Only time will tell

...and it's only the first trailer! head so full of thoughts, heart so full of emotions!