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wisecura · 4 months ago

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megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1 ⁭ ( ⸝⸝�� ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.2

AN: this is still being edited and I'm not entirely sure if it'll be everyone's cup of tea. it'll be a slow burn, and a long fic but I have an idea laid out! each chapter will be around 3k just to keep things spaced and easy. Thank you for reading!

warnings: i'm putting these here for future chapters too, and ill sprinkle some in as I go. I want to make it clear, there is no underage sex, but later on there will be some more raunchy shit. this is somewhat non-canon compliant-make it up as I go

-ok for the real warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build. I'm already 20,000 words into this shit so if your ready lets ride.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside his moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

Lets Begin

Your arranged marriage with Toji Fushiguro had been quick and unexpected.

The black sheep of the Zenin clan wasn’t exactly known for his well-rounded reputation, teetering on the edge of severing all ties to his family at any given moment.

He hadn’t been in contact with them for years, and financial support on their end was nonexistent. He was constantly broke, especially after Megumi was born. He assumed it was retaliation for marrying outside the clan—without their approval. But when his late wife passed, he had already taken on her surname, somewhat severing himself from the dingey clan he had once called "family."

After her death, he picked up side gigs, earning just enough to provide for the two of them. Megumi was older now, around thirteen, which made it easier to leave him alone for longer periods. Toji often took days-long "business" trips.

He’ll admit he wasn’t a great father, but he had kept his promise of keeping Megumi away from the Zenin clan and that sorcerer bullshit.

That was until he received an official notification from the Zenin clan head.

He hadn’t heard from the bastard in years, only to be met with a request—a demand—for his compliance in an arranged marriage. Initially, he planned to refuse. He wasn’t interested in an arranged marriage, wanted nothing to do with the sorcerer world, and even less to do with the Zenin clan. Hell, the only reason he bothered showing up at the clan house that day was to set that fucker straight.

Then he saw you—a pretty little thing. You couldn’t have been more than ten years younger than him, likely just turning seventeen, maybe eighteen. He couldn’t say for sure. But you were just too young for this shit—he knew that much.

They’d already brought you along for the proposal, as if they knew it would change his mind when he saw you. And, fuck, if they weren’t right.

You were beautiful. Polished and respectable. Speaking in low tones like the proper little housewife he was sure they’d trained you to be. He could see the endgame here—the reasoning behind pushing this arrangement on him. It wasn’t subtle.

The higher-ups likely wanted a presence in his home—someone to keep tabs on him and Megumi, no doubt. They hadn’t explicitly stated as much, but Toji had caught whispers through the grapevine about their interest in his son’s cursed technique. And with his own tendency to remain elusive, (and with all the whispers of him being titled a Sorcerer Killer) it wasn’t surprising that they’d want to keep a closer watch on him, too.

The thought of them using someone barely older than Megumi to achieve their goals left a bitter taste in his mouth. The arrangement reeked of manipulation—a calculated ploy to plant a spy in his home, someone to funnel information back to your clan, his clan, and the higher-ups.

Toji didn’t give a rats ass about his reputation, but it was clear they were fishing for confirmation. Likely hoping to uncover all of the unconfirmed truths. No matter how much he tried to brush it off, the whole setup just didn’t sit right with him.

But when he caught the way your eyes stayed steady, unwavering. You looked nearly indifferent to the situation, but he could tell this wasn’t what you wanted. It couldn’t be. You were really just a child. And yet, that dead expression of yours sealed the deal.

He accepted.

Another mouth to feed, another brat to deal with, no doubt. But maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to help keep Megumi in line while he was out working. Better that than leaving you to the wolves. He understood the clan system all too well—how they saw their women, how they treated them.

He’d seen how young brides were shuffled like pawns, in a game of chess. Paired with whichever man could best serve the clan’s interests. The thought of you being handed off to another pathetic bastard made his stomach churn. At least here, under his roof, you wouldn’t have to endure that.

Call it generosity if you wanted. But if he were honest, it wasn’t that. You reminded him of his late wife—the fearlessness bordering on defiance in your eyes. The sheer willpower it must’ve taken to show up in the first place. Most girls in your situation would have cried or begged, pleading not to marry some old geezer, especially one as infamous in the community.

But you didn’t beg. Didn’t cry. You just stood there, composed, unshaken. Bored. You could’ve been out shopping for groceries.

He could respect that.

And like that, the black sheep of the Zenin clan would become your husband. Your family. And your sole protector.

He remembers the quiet way you stepped into his apartment for the first time, your gaze sweeping the room with a calm, measured air. There was no hesitation, no unease—just a quiet assessment of the space, as though you were cataloging everything in that sharp mind of yours.

The look on your face didn’t match someone your age. You carried the weight of forced maturity, a burden that stirred old painful memories he immediately shoved back down.

He could tell you were judging, though you didn’t say anything out loud. It was in the faint crease of your brow, the almost imperceptible way your lips tightened. It sparked a flicker of irritation in him, the kind he couldn’t entirely shake. If you didn’t like it, you didn’t have to stay, yeah?

But, color him surprised, you didn’t say a word. You’d easily found your way to his bedroom, setting your things down, navigating the house easily. Then, as if you’d been living there for years, you got straight to work.

No requests, no questions—just quiet purpose.

It was like you’d already claimed your space, like you’d accepted the role handed to you without a second thought. He wasn't necessarily gonna ask you to do all that, but hell he sure as hell wasn't going to complain.

Your former clan had trained you well. He could see it in the efficiency of your movements, the way you moved through the apartment as though it were second nature. No questions asked, no instructions, no unnecessary chatter. Just straight down to business.

Toji didn’t linger.

He slipped out quietly, already lost in his thoughts about the job he had to handle. He’d be gone for two days—maybe one, if he played his cards right. Not that he needed to tell you. You didn’t need to know the details. You were here to stay put, to take care of things while he was gone. Simple as that.

As he rounded the corner outside the apartment, that nagging feeling crept in—a vague itch at the back of his mind, like he was forgetting something.

He paused mid-step, frowning as he patted his pockets. Wallet? Keys? No, he had those.

His smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly shrugged it off, muttering under his breath, "Can't be that important."

Megumi had taken the long way home today.

Several boys in his class had been pissing him off to no end, and he’d been itching to punch something. He needed a distraction—something to cool him off. He really couldn’t afford to get into another fight. The pitying looks his teachers gave him felt degrading, especially when Toji never bothered to show to pick him up.

The long way home was scenic, at least. Trees and plants lined the path, offering some peace as he trudged along. He wasn’t sure whether Toji would even be home when he arrived. He never really knew for certain.

And honestly, Megumi wasn’t in the mood to hear his dad’s loud TV shows or his obnoxious phone calls. If he wasn’t, then the apartment would just be empty, cold, and silent.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

What Megumi really cared about was dinner.

The fridge had been empty for weeks, and his deadbeat dad hadn’t bothered to restock it. Megumi had been scraping by, finding ways to earn enough cash for food. Sometimes he’d deliver things for the neighbors or help them with spring cleaning. Those odd jobs usually kept him going, but lately, there hadn’t been any requests. The lack of work only adding to his frustration.

He didn’t interact with Toji much. Their relationship walked a thin line between hatred and indifference. Most of the time, Megumi ignored his father, as much as Toji seemed to ignore him. On the rare occasions Toji remembered Megumi existed, it always ended in chaos—loud arguments, dismissive grunts, relentless teasing, or worse, painfully awkward attempts to act like a parent.

It had been that way ever since Megumi turned eleven. And today, more than anything, he was just hungry. Too hungry to fight with his absentee father, even if he was home. Too tired to care.

Walking up the stairs to his apartment, something caught his eye. The kitchen window was open. That stopped him in his tracks.

Toji wasn’t the kind of guy to leave windows open, even in decent weather—a weird thing to notice, but Megumi was always acutely aware of his surroundings, always attuned to his father’s patterns.

Megumi made his way inside, creeping slowly and so, so quietly. Peeking around the corner, he froze.

Someone was in the kitchen—a girl. No, a woman?

Your back was to him as you worked at the counter, slicing onions with quick, precise movements. He blinked, his sharp eyes narrowing. You were young—maybe just a few years older than him.

Younger than Toji’s usual type, that was for sure. You didn’t fit. Toji wasn’t a stranger to bringing women around the apartment, but they never looked like you. And they never lingered. Most were gone by breakfast, hurrying out with an awkward smile and a strained “bye” when they spotted Megumi at the table.

He watched you chop onions, noticing the glint of a ring on your finger. So, you were married—

“You can come out from there, y’know.”

Megumi flinched slightly, caught off guard. For a brief moment, he felt the sting of embarrassment—spying and getting caught really wasn’t a good look—but he quickly reminded himself this was his home.

He had no reason to feel embarrassed. Straightening his posture, he stepped out from behind the doorway, his sharp eyes fixed on you as you casually wiped your hands on a towel.

You turned to face him, a soft smile playing on your lips. The first thing he noticed was how pretty you were.

Tall and poised, you stood at least a head above him, dressed in modest, traditional clothing that seemed entirely out of place in this shabby apartment. There was something elegant about you, a kind of refinement that felt worlds away from the usual sleaziness of his father’s one-night stands.

“Who are you? Why’re you here?” His tone came out sharper than he intended. Unintentionally huffy and childish, and it made him pause a second.

You studied him for a moment, and for some reason his scowl almost endearing. You introduce yourself and explain, simply, that you lived here.

Megumi’s brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms, his voice ever defiant, no doubt pushed from the shitty day he just had. “You don’t live here. Leave.”

The attempt at a threat would’ve been more intimidating if his stomach hadn’t chosen that moment to growl, easily breaking the tension. You bit back a laugh, quickly covering your mouth, but it was hard not to find the situation amusing.

The way he stood there, furrowed brow and stubborn glare, reminded you of a fussy kitten—all bristling fur and misplaced bravado. It was clear he wasn’t used to strangers lingering in his space, and his defensiveness only made him seem all the more adorable. Still, he was being serious—you really shouldn’t laugh.

He looked so much like Toji—same sharp features, same brooding energy—minus the flat hair and scar. You’d heard about him before coming here, mentioned briefly by your clan head, but the reality of meeting him was something different. He was much cuter than you’d expected, truly embodying the “fussy kitty” vibe, and you had to resist the urge to tease him outright.

“Ah,” lightly, your tone as soothing as you could make it without giggling, “but I’m in the middle of cooking. Why don’t we eat first, and then we can talk?”

Your tone was gentle, your smile genuine, and Megumi couldn’t sense any malice from you. Besides, whatever you were making smelled incredible, and his stomach had been growling from the moment he walked in.

His gaze shifted to the counter, where ingredients and half-prepped dishes were laid out. He hesitated. Sure, his dad had brought women home before, but none of them ever bothered to cook—especially not for him. Against his better judgment, he gave a small, reluctant nod.

And before long, the two of you were sitting at the kitchen table, three plates set neatly in front of you. It was late, but you still held onto the idea that Toji might come home. You made light conversation with Megumi, trying to get a feel for the boy you now understood to be your stepson.

You’d been briefed by your clan about Toji and his son—vague instructions to “watch Toji” and “get on his son's good side.” They hadn’t been specific about why, but their motives were never selfless. Still, you had no intention of playing those games. Not fully.

What you wanted was to build an honest connection with your new family, especially with this grumpy, sharp-eyed boy who seemed to have a chip on his shoulder as big as his father’s. It’s the first time you’d really been away from the clan estate, so this was just really nice.

As the meal went on, you began to learn little things about him. He remained distant, of course, his responses clipped and matter-of-fact—but the warmth of a good meal and your gentle smile seemed to soften him, if just slightly. You managed to coax his name out of him, and though he said it without much fanfare, it felt like a small victory.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

It was a Friday night, and you figured Megumi would be around the house tomorrow. As you finished the surprisingly comfortable dinner, your eyes lingered on the third, untouched plate at the table—Toji’s. You wondered, briefly, if he’d show up at all.

“He probably won’t be back tonight,” Megumi said, breaking your train of thought. His voice was matter-of-fact, as if he had long since grown used to this routine. He shoveled another spoonful of food into his mouth before adding, “Probably be gone for a few days.”

This surprised you, sure, but you weren’t going to complain anytime soon. As long as you didn’t have to go back to that horrid clan house, you could put up with a missing husband. In fact, you kind of preferred it this way.

You laughed softly at Megumi’s puffed-up cheeks, causing his ears to dust red as he swallowed quickly. Your constant smiles still seemed to throw him off guard.

The conversation flowed easily—a mix of lighthearted bickering and probing questions on both ends. Megumi was really curious about the random woman that showed up in his home.

“What’s the ring for?” he asked suddenly, his sharp gaze flicking to your hand. His tone was casual, but there was an underlying curiosity, as if he hadn’t noticed the simple band until now.

Your fingers instinctively twisted the warm metal as you glanced down at it, the question catching you off guard.

“Ah, well, I’ve just married,” you replied softly, your voice carrying a faint melancholy despite your attempt to sound neutral. Your eyes zone out as you stare at the heavy band.

“It’s still new…An arrangement by my family.” You hadn’t meant to let that slip, but the truth clung to the edges of your words. Quickly, you smiled, avoiding a damper on the evening. You quickly reached over to ladle another spoonful of food onto Megumi’s empty plate.

“Arranged marriage? With who?” he asked, the concept not foreign but undeniably unsettling. You seemed like such a nice person, except for the fact that you were sitting in his kitchen—someone he’d assumed was just another one of his father’s passing flings.

But unlike the others, you’d cooked for him and his father, cleaned the kitchen till it looked better than it had in weeks. And now you were sitting down to dinner with him, as if you had nothing else you’d rather be doing.

Though he’d only known you for a few hours, he didn’t think you’d be the type to cheat on your husband or worm your way into their lives without cause. Maybe that was just his full stomach talking.

His mind caught up to him, the pieces falling into place.

“…Not…Toji. Right?” His voice faltered, and you couldn’t help but think how strange it was to hear him refer to his father by his first name.

You let out a soft laugh at his shocked expression, restraining yourself from patting his head, before nodding your own. “The one and only,”

The look on his face was comical—brows raised high, his mouth slightly agape. But beneath the initial surprise, there was something darker—an unease that settled into the lines of his frown. Wary, guarded. He didn’t like this, not one bit.

After dinner, you sent Megumi off to bed, tidying up the plates left behind. He didn’t wait for you to finish cleaning, retreating to his room with his thoughts spinning.

As he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in his head. His father was married—to you, of all people. Supposedly. And for some reason, that knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It was weird. Megumi had left the house empty and returned to find you. If what you were saying was true, you were about to take over as his stepmother. He wouldn’t put it past his shitty father to pop up suddenly married—it was exactly the kind of thing Toji would do.

Still, the whole situation didn’t sit right with him. An arranged marriage wasn’t out of the question. You seemed way too sweet and proper to have chosen someone like Toji, willingly. Megumi’s knowledge of clan life, hierarchy, or how arranged marriages worked in the sorcerer world, was frustratingly limited thanks to his father’s insistence on keeping him far removed from all of it.

Then there was your age. You were young—too young for his dad. Closer to his age than Toji’s. Was Toji an even bigger pervert than he originally thought? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to settle down. What was this about, then? Did he just want a housemaid? Someone to clean up after him and Megumi while he went off on his “business trips”?

It didn’t seem fair to you. What were you getting out of this arrangement? You did say your family set it up…but what could have possibly led you to agree to marry someone like Toji?

The more Megumi thought about it, the more wrong it all felt. You seemed too kind, too proper, too... normal for this situation. Surely there was more to the story. Were you being forced into this? Did you have your own reasons that you weren’t sharing?

But then again, there was always the chance you were lying.

People lied all the time. You could be some psycho ex-girlfriend worming your way back into his father’s life. Or worse, a manipulative stranger with motives that had nothing to do with Toji at all. Maybe you’d rob the place blind, and by the time he woke up there’d be nothing left.

You might’ve seemed nice now, but Megumi wasn’t about to take anything at face value.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall, his thoughts racing. He didn’t know what to make of you, couldn’t figure out whether to trust the calm sincerity you projected or to see it for what it might be: a well-crafted facade.

One thing was certain—he wasn’t going to let his guard down so easily.

He’d just have to wait it out, keep an eye on you, and see what happened when Toji finally dragged his ass back home.

p.2?

AN: Thank you for reading! Please reblog and like if you enjoy this series!

I will also be posting updates here:

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/obsessedjjk

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fandomnerd9602 · 7 months ago

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Nerdy!Natasha slumps on her bed as Y/N enters her room…

Y/N: what’s wrong?

Natasha: those stupid cheerleaders said I should wear contacts and get a boob job

Y/N: don’t listen to them, people like that peak in high school.

Y/N takes Natasha’s face in their hands…

Y/N: and bestie…you’re beautiful as you are

Natasha: (teary) thank you

Natasha takes the initiative and kisses Y/N softly…

Natasha: (whispers) my detka

#natasha romanoff #nerd Natasha #avengers high #marvel #marvel fluff #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #marvel incorrect quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #teen romance #teen reader #scarlett johansson #black widow #friends to lovers

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comesatimecomesashadow · 4 months ago

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her *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ carl grimes x gn reader

cw *ೃ༄ teen angst, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, teen romance, semi-slow burn, fluff

fic type *ೃ༄ one shot (?) | part ii

summary *ೃ༄ in which you fall in love with the freckle-filled, blue eyed boy who wears a sheriff's hat.

note *ೃ༄ this is what i do instead of my three week old homework, enjoy !

masterlist *ೃ༄

Arriving in Alexandria was an odd thing. Here, people tried to build a ‘civilization’, as if the world outside the walls wasn’t gone to shit already. You often ventured outside the walls without anyone knowing — Anyone excluding Enid, of course — because you were afraid of becoming weak. Immersing yourself in Deanna’s delusion would do nothing for your survival, you were sure of it.

When Rick and his group were welcomed inside the walls, you noticed their rough demeanors and the rugged way in which they carried themselves. They were a contrast to the people of Alexandria and because of that, their presence alluded you, even when others were weary of them. But you stayed away. Not because you were scared of them too, but because you’d rather not get close to anyone again. Regardless of what your instincts wanted you to do.

Enid would sometimes hang out with you alone or go with Ron and the others to fill the time that you all now had. You usually just spent the days in the attic of the empty house down the street. You’d heard a lot about the blue eyed boy with the sheriff’s hat from Enid, he seemed kinda awkward to you but you didn’t fault him. It was probably strange going from having to fight walkers 24/7 to now having the time for video games; You remember feeling that way too.

You were no stranger to the crushing weight of loneliness that followed all those who survived. Sometimes, you wonder if you should’ve just let yourself be eaten. But you were afraid you’d be betraying the last thing your dad told you. ‘Live! Fight and Live!’, you remembered his words vividly. You also remembered the screams that came next.

The leaves crunched under your boots as you walked towards your secret hangout.

No one, not even Enid, knew where it was. It was the place in the forest you went to whenever you felt lonely, it was a comfort to you most of the time. There in the secluded spot, you had a box with a broken lock hidden with leaves and sticks, it was full of your scavenged art supplies. Drawing was something you liked to do ever since you were a kid, it was one of the only things the apocalypse hadn’t taken from you.

As you approached your secret hideout, you noticed a familiar boy with the famous sheriff's hat sitting against the log you always sat at. You bit your lip and walked a little faster. ‘What was he doing here?’ You were a little upset at this.

“..How did you find this place?” your words were clear and loud enough so he could hear. You didn’t intend for it to come off as mean as it sounded, but then again maybe that was the best choice. You’d met different groups before coming to Alexandria and people always tended to be selfish people. Even in Alexandria, you noticed how most of the kids your age were selfish, hence why you hid your secret space even from Ron and his group. Why would this guy be any different?

He got up and met your eyes, seeming like a deer caught in headlights. He left your sketchbook on the ground. “I was just- Uh, I was walking around and found this place. Do you.. Hang around here, or..?” You could tell he was nervous and frankly, it felt awkward.

You sat on the ground next to the not-so-hidden box and grabbed the notebook he left on the ground. He opted to sit next to you. “To answer your question, yeah. I hang here by myself- most of the time at least.” You flipped to an empty page and grabbed some of your pens and markers from the chest.

The boy glanced down at your drawing, observing you. Then he began to speak again, less nervous this time. “I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m Carl.”

“...” You kept your eyes on the notebook. Should you be friendly with him? After a few moments of silence you told him your name and could see him slightly smile in the corner of your eye. “..Are you gonna stay here?”

“Do you mind it?” he asked. You shook your head. He seemed harmless for the most part, maybe he wasn’t like Ron and his friends. “Then.. Could I come here sometimes?”

“Why do you wanna?” you asked him, finally meeting his blue eyes. You noticed the freckles on his fair skin and the way his hair fell over his face was kinda funny to you. He was.. Something. Carl looked away from you, contemplating his words.

“Just cause.” He said with a small smile. You laughed a little at his words, sometimes it was hard to forget you were just kids.

“Alright then.”

The next few weeks, your routine began to change.

Normally, you’d wake up some time before the afternoon and get ready for the day. Afterwards, you’d help Olivia with the inventory and keeping track of rations. You’d go out on a run if you were asked to and if you weren't, your time was spent at your secret spot or with Enid.

However, ever since formally meeting Carl. Your secret hangout spot has become a shared secret hangout spot. He drew comic book characters on one of the notebooks in the chest at the spot, brought you art supplies when he came back from runs and even brought some of his own comic books. You noticed the way his facial expressions changed when he was immersed in his comics, the way he did that awkward side smile of his sometimes, you even caught him stealing glances at you sometimes.

But you never addressed it.

Not even when you began to find yourself disappointed when he missed a day at the spot. You had to remind yourself that he was just someone you met, it wasn’t like he belonged to you or anything. It wasn’t like you expected him to be there when you knew he had his own life too.

You told yourself then that you’d try to distance yourself.

Falling for someone, especially in the middle of a damn apocalypse, couldn’t go well. It just couldn’t. But it was hard to distance yourself when he seemed to be everywhere. Whenever you helped Olivia with keeping track of the inventory, he was there with his stupid, dorky smile and innumerous freckles. When you took a usual afternoon walk to clear your head, he waved at you and even joined you with his little sister in tow.

He was everywhere and that made it increasingly harder for you to bury your feelings away.

“What’re you drawing this time?” Carl asked. Your pencil stopped at the sound of his voice. You looked up and smiled involuntarily. For some reason, ever since you met him, you started to smile more often. Maybe he was just that easy to talk to, but you hated it sometimes.

“Walkers.” You gazed back down at your notebook that contained the scribbles and doodles of dismembered walkers and you even drew some of them with funny expressions and speech bubbles. “I know it’s twisted, considering they're the reason the world is ..shit. But I dunno,” you shrugged, wondering what he would think. Carl looked over your notebook, his hair tickling your shoulder.

Then he laughed.

“Is this one giggling? It looks funny,” A smile graced his features and a warm feeling crept into your heart at the sight of it.

“Yeah..!” You giggled and shaded in the drawing with some highlighters.

“When did you get into drawing?”

You shrugged, “I’ve always been into drawing, ever since I was a kid. I really liked comics n’ stuff, so I guess that’s what motivated me.” You found it endearing that he even asked because it meant that he was interested. You have never known what it felt like to have feelings like these, to feel so close to someone, but it was exciting. ..And scary at the same time of course.

It was then that you remembered that you’d forgotten your intentions of distancing yourself.

“Yeah? How come?” He picked up the comic book he had meant to continue reading and flipped to the page that had one of its corners dog-eared.

You put your pencil down and looked up at the sky peeking through the various green leaves blocking it. “It’s an outlet, I guess. Whenever I got lonely I’d just draw and draw till I forgot the loneliness.”

Carl lifted his gaze up to you again. “Do you still feel like that?”

You set your notebook down and hugged your knees closer to your chest before letting out a sigh. “Sometimes. Not as much nowadays though.”

“I’ve felt that way before too, actually. I thought I was the only one.” Carl admitted. He looked away when your eyes met his.

“Yeah?” You asked quietly.

He nodded his hands now flat on the ground at his sides and the comic forgotten on his lap. “I feel like it’s too normal sometimes.” Carl said. You agreed with his statement. “A lot of the people here aren’t prepared t’fight. I think that’s the scariest thing outta everything.”

“Why so?” you drew circles on the dirt.

“If someone, or something, from outside the walls wanted to take this place, they could.” Carl spoke as if it was fact. Maybe he was right. The wind whistled throughout the forest, a signal to return inside the walls now that the sun was also beginning to disappear. You put your notebook and his comic back inside the hidden box and closed it.

“We should get back, your dad’s probably wondering where you are.” You lent him a hand to help him up and he took it. His hand was a little calloused — but warm.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

He got up, but he didn’t let go of your hand.

The day the walkers came in through the walls was the day you returned to reality. You had to admit, being in Alexandria had indeed dulled your fighting skills — but it did not deter you. Plunging your knife into the skull of the walker in front of you, you headed toward the infirmary. Gunshots could be heard which only called in more from the swarm, you had to hurry.

After a sprinting to the infirmary, you met Denise and began to help treat some of the patients that had gotten hurt. Your hands were quick at cleaning wounds and wrapping bandages, you’d picked up a lot of things before coming to Alexandria and you’d made it a habit to learn from Denise as a precaution. Luckily, it was paying off.

..Until Rick brought Carl to the infirmary with a grave injury to his right eye.

Your hands came to a sudden stop and trembled and you couldn't stop staring at him in utter shock of what had been done to him. “What-..”

Denise helped Rick lay Carl down on the patient bed. “Get me the bandages, we need to stop the bleeding,” Denise ordered. Your mind went blank but you moved in a flash, handing her all the materials she needed to help him as if you were on autopilot. You didn’t ask Michonne nor Rick how it happened and you couldn’t either way since Rick decided to take his anger out on the walkers swarming outside.

Your eyes were laser-focused on the numbers reading Carl’s heart rate.

It was then that you realized just how much you cared about the freckled boy with the blue eyes, the sheriff’s hat he never took off and his stupid smile.

..It was then that you realized how far you'd fallen for Carl.

“Is he..” your voice was shaky but Denise cut you off.

“He’s going to live. He will.” Her words were spoken in a strong tone but you didn’t know if she was trying to convince herself o..r you. In the meantime, you busied yourself with the other patients, most of the people huddling up inside the infirmary had left now and were beginning to go join Rick in his fight against the walkers currently swarming the inside of the walls. You couldn’t afford to think about him living or dying when other people were on patient beds fighting for their lives too.

But it was hard to not think about him.

You could only hope he would be alright.

The day seeped into the night sky and soon enough, Rick and the other Alexandrians had succeeded in massacring all the walkers inside the walls. Now, they were focused on making sure the walls would hold up while you still were tending to the patients in the infirmary with Denise. Luckily, some of the patients were recovering from their injuries now and waking up. From what Denise told you, Carl was unconscious but he was stable- He was alive. That’s all that mattered to you.

You wanted to talk to someone, tell someone about all the feelings you were bottling up- but Enid was nowhere to be found. Neither was Ron or the other kids, and you couldn’t tell Denise because you knew how stressed she must have been. You left the infirmary and went outside to take in some air. The woman with the sword.. Michonne, you think her name was; She was outside of the infirmary as well. Carl’s dad, Rick, was there too.

“How is he?” Rick asked, you could hear the anxiousness in his voice.

You tried to give him a smile, “He’s doing better than when you brought him in, thankfully.” A few tears escaped Rick’s eyes but a small smile crept onto his lips. “..There was nothing we could do about his eye. But, ..He’ll live. You can go see him right now, he’s uhm.. He’s unconscious though.” Rick nodded and Michonne seemed relieved, but Rick was the only one who went in. Michonne stayed out on the steps with you.

You sighed and leaned against the wooden railing, your arms crossed and your heart full.

“Are you okay?” Michonne asked you genuinely.

If it were in another time, any other time, you probably would have lied. But as soon as one tear strayed from your eye, a multitude of others seemed to follow. Michonne’s expression softened and she offered a hug, embracing your shaking body racked with emotions you couldn’t name. You didn’t know if you should be relieved, or worried- or both!

“It’ll be okay, [Name].”

You took a shaky breath in, “How..- How do you know that?” You looked up at her, your vision blurry.

She wiped your tears carefully, “Because we’re the ones who live.”

The words she spoke to you that day gave you hope. Luckily for you and his family he woke up a few weeks after the whole ordeal. However, you tried to avoid him as much as you could, like you had done before you met him.

You couldn’t look at him, not because of how he looked..

..but because you knew that the next time you saw him face to face, the dam of feelings you held inside would burst open instantly.

#carl #carl grimes #carl x reader #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes x reader #twd #twd carl #carl twd #jume fics #twd carl fluff #the walking dead #the walking dead carl #carl the walking dead #fluff #angst #teen angst #teen romance

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 1 year ago

Text

HOME || CHILDHOOD BFF! SIMON 💔

Summary:

Teen Simon and his best friend often spend their nights away from their respective houses because they found a home in each other…

Pairing:

teen!Simon x teen!F!reader

Content Warnings:

This fic gets dark. It references Simon's backstory (from '09), child abuse, domestic violence, child death, arguments, injuries, abandonment issues, drugs, sex, alcohol, youth homelessness, etc.

Check every chapters' tags/cw for specific warnings.

Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Canon Ending (Hurt/No Comfort):

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Non-Canon Ending (Hurt/Comfort):

Alternative Ending

Extras:

Home: Moodboard

Home: Playlist

1st Attempt at a Happy Ending (I don't like it)

[MY MASTERLIST]

#ikea writes 💚#home cbf!simon fic #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cbf #childhood best friends to lovers #teenage love #physical injuries #cod au #masterlist #teenage rebellion #teen romance #fluff #angst #hurt/no comfort #star crossed lovers

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koishiro · 2 years ago

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# - “𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐃𝐎? 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘?”

☆彡 1 : 29pm

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : In which Megumi has a hidden crush on you and plans to keep it that way until a certain pink haired boy and 6’3 man-child take it upon themselves to help.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : megumi fushiguro x gn!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : The fluffiest of fluff

masterlist | jjk masterlist | anon masterlist

megumi fushiguro is not new to the feeling of embarrassment.

In fact, he’s quite used to it considering he’s best friends with Itadori Yuji and Nobara Kugisaki, who apparently can’t go a single day without causing some sort of a scene. As well as being raised by a certain white haired, 6’3 man adorned with a black blindfold.

“Stop it! Why didn’t you order your own if you’re just gonna eat off my plate?!” A certain pink haired boy screamed, slapping away the greedy hands of the ginger.

Nobara quickly whips back her hands to her chest, cradling them with a look of offence for one, being slapped and two, being denied food, replied; “maybe because I wasn’t hungry then?!”

Yuji stared at Nobara with a blank face, “go order now then!”

Now it was Nobara’s turn to stare at Yuji, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “No! cause it’ll take too long and I won’t be hungry by then!”

“Yeah cause you’ll have eaten all of mine!” At this point, Megumi wanted to slam his head onto the table as if to wake him up from this embarrassment. But he couldn’t, because if that were to happen then he’d gain the attention of a certain y/c/h sat just three tables away.

All Megumi had done since they arrived 30 minutes ago was sit in a corner booth, with his head turned towards you and stare at your angelic form while sat opposite the two loudest idiots he calls his best friends with half his face buried in his high collar.

That was until you turned your pretty head towards them. Their table. Him.

At this realisation, Megumi’s eyes widened and a blush crept up his neck and stained his cheeks as he quickly whipped his head in the opposite direction, conveniently towards the wall next to him.

Or maybe not so convenient considering he probably looked like an idiot staring at a plain wall. But what else was he supposed to do when the one person he actually liked was staring straight at him?

Well, maybe not at him exactly but he was grouped with these idiots considering he was sat at the same table so that counted for something.

This was certainly not the way he wanted you to notice him.

And this did not go unnoticed by a particular boy sat opposite him, suddenly forgetting the petty argument moments before as he he took notice of his friends red face hidden in the collar of his uniform. Also, why was he staring at a wall? He’d barely even touched his food?

Observing the repetitive way Megumi’s eyes would go back and forth from darting around the cafe to quickly look at something or someone across the room.

Confused, Yuji’s eyes slowly followed where Megumi’s went.

Oh.

The next day, Yuji took it upon himself to help his best friend out. And who better to recruit than the one and (thankfully) only Satoru Gojo, who was very keen on taking part in this plan.

What kind of adoptive father would he be if he didn’t help his growing son find love. Just the thought brought a tear to his eye.

Sat behind the dark haired boy in question, Yuji, as inconspicuous as he could possibly be (considering he was sat next to Nobara), raised his hand in a thumbs up motion. A signal that the plan was ready.

Satoru took notice of this as well as the longing gaze Megumi held as he tried to discreetly take a glance at you every few seconds. How had he not noticed before?

With a very loud and very obvious fake cough, Satoru gained the attention of his students. Satoru went to stand from his chair when he accidentally knocked some books over which were conveniently (or not so conveniently) placed on the corner of his desk where the said books landed on his feet, perfect.

“Ak! I’m injured!! Man down!” Their teacher yelled as he dramatically fell to the floor with the back of his hand placed on his forehead as if he was in one of Nobara’s dramas. He probably took inspiration from them actually.

The students, clearly not fazed in the slightest, turned back to their previous conversations ignoring the cries for help coming from the floor. Except for you of course.

Standing up and making your way towards your “injured” teacher, you crouched down to eye level as he lay motionless on the floor as if already succumbed to his fatal injuries if not for him peeking from under the arm that lay across his face.

“OH! Y/n-chan! My saviour! I feel as though I may not make it…” the said teacher explained in an overly dramatic sigh. “I’m sure you will Gojo” you replied with a slight pat on his stomach. “But if I don’t… I want you to do something for me-”

Before Gojo could ramble on any further he was cut short, “I’m not buying you mochi” you stated with a blank face.

“I understand why you would think that but no” he started before quickly switching back into his role, “these books that just so happened to fall in unison onto my now clearly fractured foot, needed to be delivered to principal Yaga! Oh what am I to do now!” Your teacher explained in an almost pained voice while flailing around on the floor.

“Why doesn’t Y/n do it!” The pink haired boy popped up from behind Megumi, who had been watching the ridiculous scene play out. “What a wonderful idea Yuji! Oh could you Y/n-chan? Would you help an injured man like me deliver these urgently needed books for me?” Gojo’s voice now laced with faux desperation while you were left confused, did he owe principal Yaga something again? Is that what this was about?

“Uhm, I suppose so, sure.” You could barely get the words out before Gojo jumped up onto his feet, realising his mistake and quickly leaning against his desk, the “fractured” foot elevated in the air. “Megumi! Why don’t you help Y/n-chan out huh? Be a gentleman will you?”

Megumi, already figuring out what he was up to planned on declining before he set his eyes on you. He didn’t care if he came off as rude, but to you? Megumi didn’t want you to think he was some sort of high and mighty jerk. That was the last thing he wanted.

So with a huff, Megumi stood, stuffing both hands into his pockets as he made his way towards you.

“You didn’t need to help me. They aren’t that heavy anyway” you tried explaining as you both walked towards Yaga’s office, trying to fill the silence with something, anything.

“It’s fine, really.” Did you not like his presence? Why were you acting so awkward? “So… your friends are pretty loud huh” you chuckled out.

Megumi grimaced at the recent memory, “You remember that?” He prayed that you wouldn’t remember that time, or at least not remember him.

“How could I not, it was pretty entertaining. Especially the way you stared at a wall” so you did notice him. “It was better than listening to them squabble.” He grumbled out with a sour look plastered on his face until he heard the prettiest sound leave your mouth, reminding him of a soft melody.

You laughed. Sure it was at him but you laughed at him. He made you laugh!

“Squabble? What are you? An old man?” You managed to wheeze out, the previous awkwardness quickly forgotten about.

“Y’know, with the way you’re teasing me and if I didn’t know any better, I might think you like me” what was meant to come out as a joke only started a chain of teasing on both parts. “I could say the same to you mr. Fushiguro” you retorted, a sly smile sneaking it’s way onto your face.

“And if I do? Would that be okay?” The sudden seriousness his voice held startled you. Slowing to a stop, you looked up at his tall frame and saw how genuine and truthful his eyes were causing a blush to quickly rise to your cheeks.

Averting your gaze towards the floor, you answered with a small smile,

“I suppose it would”

—

— 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰

#‧₊˚🖇️#⩇⩇:⩇⩇ ₊˚ෆ #˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝒋𝒖𝒋𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒖 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒏 #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fluff #gojo satoru #crush #set up #teen romance #high school romance #Spotify

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jaegsnicotine · 4 days ago

Text

Ocean Waves,

Sands, and

Kisses. | Eren Jaeger

NSFW — part 2

A/N: if we go down then we’ll go down together baes cuz wtf did i just wrote🥰 as always, hope yall enjoy mwah mwah. comments and likes are sooo much appreciated, i’d looovee to hear your opinions!

PART 2.

You wanna try?”

The question lingers between you, light as the sea breeze yet heavy in your chest.

You stare at him, the man before you, the one with sun-kissed skin and a gaze that mirrors the ocean itself—vast, untamed, impossible to pin down.

You hesitate.

The idea of it—the ocean, the waves, the way the water never stays still—feels daunting. And yet, standing here, with his question hanging in the salty air, it’s not just the ocean you’re unsure of.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

“I don’t think I do,” you finally say, the words slipping out softer than intended, almost like an apology.

He doesn’t react much. There’s no disappointment, no persuasion, no attempt to change your mind. Just a slow blink, a tilt of his head, and then—

“Alright.”

That’s it.

No protest. No lingering look. Just an acceptance as simple as the waves meeting the shore.

And then he turns, his presence retreating just as easily as it had arrived.

Something in your chest pulls tight.

You watch him walk away, the sand shifting beneath his bare feet, his movements effortless, unrushed. The wind plays with his hair, tousling the strands as he makes his way back toward the spot where his dog waits, a border collie bouncing eagerly in another surfboard of his.

It’s as if he never expected you to say yes in the first place.

As if your answer was insignificant.

As if you are.

Your arms wrap around yourself, the sea breeze nipping at your skin. He’s already further now, steps growing smaller in the distance, his figure blending into the vastness of the horizon.

And you—

You remain stuck in place.

Like a wave that never fully crashes.

Like something unfinished.

The weight in your chest shifts, uncertainty pressing against your ribs. There’s a small voice in the back of your mind, one that whispers that maybe—just maybe—you should have said yes.

Not for the ocean.

Not for the surfing.

But for something else entirely.

Your eyes trace the fading imprint of his footsteps, the sand already swallowing them whole. Like he was never here. Like this moment, this fleeting offer will be gone forever if you don’t do something now.

Maybe, just this once…

Maybe you need to feel what it’s like to be weightless, too.

Before you can stop yourself, you take a step forward. Then another.

"Wait."

The word leaves your lips before you can think. Before you can stop yourself.

His steps slow.

You move.

"Excuse me—wait!"

He turns, the dying sunlight catching in his eyes, painting gold into deep green.

You don’t know what you’re expecting to see in his face—surprise, amusement, maybe even mild irritation—but instead, there’s nothing. Not cold, not warm, just unreadable.

It makes your pulse quicken, suddenly unsure what to say now that you have his attention again.

You stop a few feet away, swallowing down the nerves rising in your throat.

"I changed my mind," you say, the admission barely above a breath.

A pause.

Then, with the same quiet acceptance as before, he nods toward the red surfboard he had abandoned earlier. "Alright, then."

No question. No why.

Just alright.

It should be unnerving. It should be frustrating.

Instead, it feels like relief.

—

The ocean is colder than you expected.

It licks at your ankles first, then climbs higher as you follow him into the water, the chill sending a shiver up your spine. The red surfboard bobs lightly in the waves as he drags it along, his hand steady where it grips the edge.

"You alright?"

You glance at him. He’s watching you, not impatient, not expectant—just waiting.

You nod. "Yeah."

A flicker of something crosses his face, too brief to name, before he gestures toward the board. "Get on."

It should be simple. It’s just a surfboard. It’s just water.

But the moment you place your hands on the smooth surface, the weight of it all settles in.

You’re not used to this. To the unpredictability, the lack of solid ground. The ocean shifts beneath you, restless, uncaring of your hesitation.

He notices.

"You don’t have to do this," he says, voice calm, steady.

But you do.

Because if you don’t, you’ll regret it.

Swallowing hard, you push yourself up, chest pressing against the board, legs trailing in the water. The position is awkward, foreign. You grip the edges tightly, heart pounding at how unsteady it all feels.

His voice reaches you again, low and grounding. "We’ll paddle out first. Then, when we get to the right spot, you’ll try to stand."

You nod, though your grip doesn’t loosen.

"You can hold onto me if you need to," he offers.

A part of you bristles at the suggestion, at the idea of needing to rely on someone else. But another part—the one drowning in uncertainty—almost reaches for him.

Instead, you shake your head. "I think I’m okay."

He doesn’t argue.

"Alright."

And then he moves.

The ocean stretches before you, endless and deep. You follow as best you can, paddling through the water, your muscles already aching from the unfamiliar motion. The board wobbles beneath you, the waves rolling beneath its surface, making you hyperaware of every shift, every tilt.

Then—

Your hair whips forward, strands flying into your face, tangling in the wind.

The man exhales sharply. And before you can react, his fingers brush against your skin, tucking the loose strands behind your ear.

You freeze.

Not because of the touch itself, but because of how natural it feels. Quick. Thoughtless. Like he didn’t even need to consider it.

Like it was instinct.

"Better?"

Your throat feels dry. "Yeah."

His voice is steady as he starts explaining. How to balance, how to move with the board, how to stand when the time comes. You listen, trying to take it all in, but there’s something about his voice that keeps pulling you back—deep, slow, deliberate, like the waves themselves.

You fail. Again. And again.

Each time, frustration builds, bubbling in your chest. But before you can even voice it, before you can let the words I’m sorry slip out—

"It’s alright," he says.

Like he knew you were going to say it. Like there was never any need to.

"Try again."

And you do.

Until finally—finally—the sky has begun its descent into gold, the sun dipping lower, the water turning softer, warmer.

And you’re standing.

Shaky, unsteady, but standing.

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, breathless and disbelieving. You barely get to enjoy the moment before a wave comes in, knocking you off balance.

The last thing you hear before you hit the water is a distant shit—

Strong arms pull you up.

You blink up, water dripping down your face, into your eyes. He’s close—closer than before, his hands firm around your waist, keeping you upright as the waves move around you. His body shields you from the worst of it, breaking the force before it can knock you back under.

You should pull away.

But you don’t.

The ocean moves around you both, restless and endless, and yet, in this moment, everything feels still.

You meet his eyes. His face is unreadable, but there’s something in the way he looks at you—something that makes your breath catch.

It takes a second before he finally speaks.

"Anything hurt?"

You shake your head.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, watching you.

Then, gently, he guides you back to the board. Back to the shore.

By the time you reach the sand, the sky has melted into warm hues, the sun almost gone. The others are further down the beach, but here, it’s quiet. Just the two of you.

The two of you sit by the shore, close enough to hear each other over the waves but not close enough to touch. The sand sticks to your damp skin, the sun dipping lower, casting a golden hue over the water. Your legs are stretched out, toes buried in the cool, grainy texture, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you aren’t thinking about anything else.

Just this. Just now.

“You live around here?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

He exhales, gaze fixed on the horizon. “No.” A pause. “Wish I did, though.”

You tilt your head slightly, considering that. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, you think he might not answer at all. Then, with a slow breath, he says, “Feels… open.”

Your brows furrow slightly. Open?

He gestures toward the ocean with a small tilt of his head. “No walls. No borders. Just… space.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way the waves stretch endlessly, no end in sight. You’ve never thought of it that way before. The ocean, to you, has always felt unpredictable, restless, untamed. But to him… it’s something else entirely.

“You don’t like feeling closed in?” you ask carefully.

Something flickers in his expression—just for a second—before it disappears, swallowed up by the dimming light of the setting sun.

“No.”

He doesn’t elaborate. You don’t push.

And yet, somehow, you understand.

A silence settles between you, but it’s not heavy. It’s the kind that lingers when two people are just existing in the same space, watching the same sky turn gold and orange and pink. The ocean hums in the background, waves rolling in steady and slow. You hug your knees to your chest, letting the salty air cling to your skin, your damp hair curling from the sea breeze.

“You surf a lot?” you ask after a while, turning your head slightly toward him.

He hums, as if thinking. “Yeah.”

“That was my first time.”

He glances at you, something amused glinting in his eyes. “Figured.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “I was that bad?”

His lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting a smirk. “You did fine.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway.

You don’t know why, but you like sitting here with him. Talking in slow, careful exchanges, the conversation flowing without ever feeling forced.

You open your mouth, about to ask something else—maybe where he’s from, maybe something else entirely—when a voice calls your name from the distance.

“There you are.”

You turn, finding Historia standing a few feet away, arms crossed. Her gaze flickers between you and the man beside you, brows pinching slightly. “We’re about to eat. Come on.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the interruption.

When you turn back, he’s already standing. He brushes the sand off his hands, gives you a small nod, and mutters, “See you around,” like this was just another passing moment in his life. Like he was ready to leave without looking back.

And maybe he was.

But for some reason, you’re not.

Before you can second-guess yourself, your hand reaches out. Not for him, not directly—but for the silver chain bracelet around his wrist, fingers lightly catching the cool metal before he can step away.

He stills.

His gaze flicks down to where your fingers barely touch his bracelet, then drags up to meet your eyes. His expression remains unreadable, but there’s something in the way he looks at you, something you can’t quite decipher.

You swallow, suddenly hyper aware of how impulsive this is, but you don’t let go.

Instead, you sit there, still half-turned toward him on the sand, the wind playing with the loose strands of your hair. Your heart beats a little faster.

You don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s something else entirely.

But for whatever reason, you feel like you need to know.

“Your name,” you say, soft but certain. “What is it?”

He watches you for a beat, silent. Like he’s debating whether to answer or not.

Then, finally—

“Eren.”

You repeat it in your head first, then quietly on your tongue. Testing the weight of it, the sound of it. It suits him, you think.

And then, without really thinking, you smile up at him. A real smile, small but genuine, your lips curving before you murmur, “I’m [♡]. Thanks for today, Eren.”

Something shifts in his expression. Subtle, barely there. But for the first time since you met him, his gaze lingers, just for a second too long.

And though he says nothing—deep down—he kind of likes that smile on you. It looks better than your puffy, red eyes.

A small nod. Then he says your name—quiet, gentle, and it somehow sounds so right when he says it. You want to hear it again over and over.

He left the second after, calling out his dog as it followed him away. While you finally also stand up, watching until he’s far enough gone.

—

As you and Historia walk back toward the others, the warm sand shifting beneath your feet, she nudges your shoulder lightly.

“So…” she starts, dragging out the word, a smirk already forming. “Who was that?”

You don’t answer right away. Your gaze flickers toward the ring on your ring finger. For the first time ever, the face flashing on your mind as you do so is not Porco’s, your boyfriend.

“Just someone who helped me out,” you say, voice carefully even.

Historia isn’t buying it. She raises a brow. “Right. Just someone.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t even know him.”

“But you wanted to.”

That makes you pause.

Because it’s true.

Something about him—his presence, the way he carried himself, the way he watched you with that quiet, unreadable gaze—made you *want* to understand him. Made you crave just a little more than what he had given.

Historia must see the way your expression shifts because her smirk softens into something more knowing. “Well,” she says, linking her arm through yours, “he was kinda hot.”

You huff out a small laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not the point.”

“Oh, so there’s a point?”

You sigh, nudging her playfully. “I hate you.”

She grins. “No, you don’t.”

You don’t.

But as you walk, the ocean breeze still clinging to your skin, the weight of his name still lingering in your mind, you realize maybe you’re not done figuring out what exactly the point is.

—

Some weeks have passed and you’re doomed.

No matter how much you try to push him out of your head, he lingers.

Like the scent of salt in your hair after a day at the beach, like the warmth of the sun long after it’s set. His name, his face, the deep, steady timbre of his voice—they’re always there. And it’s starting to drive you insane.

You don’t even know why.

You barely know him.

And yet, he’s been occupying too much space in your mind ever since that day.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so frustrating if things were different. If your life wasn’t already complicated enough. But the thing is—you have a boyfriend.

And that thought alone makes your stomach churn.

It’s not even like you did anything. You just met someone at the beach, and he happened to stay in your thoughts a little longer than you’d like. It doesn’t mean anything. And yet, deep down, it feels like something, and you can’t shake the shame that comes with it.

Because Porco is nothing but good to you.

He treats you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, like you’re his queen, his everything. No one—absolutely no one—would ever believe that he was capable of cheating on you. Not with the way he treats you, not with the way he loves you.

And yet, he did.

The knowledge of it has been eating you alive.

Because you still haven’t broken up with him.

You don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because of the way he holds you, the way he makes you feel special, the way he convinces you that you’re the only one that matters, even when you know it’s a lie.

Or maybe it’s because a part of you is scared to let go.

—

“You want me to take you where?”

Porco glances at you from the driver’s seat, brows furrowed in confusion.

“The beach,” you say again, staring out the window as the buildings blur past.

“The beach?” he repeats, like he didn’t hear you right the first time. “Since when do you like the beach?”

You hesitate.

You don’t.

But for some reason, you need to be there.

“I just… want some fresh air,” you say, keeping your tone light.

Porco is still frowning, but he doesn’t question it further. “Alright, if that’s what you want.”

The drive is quiet, except for the faint hum of the radio playing in the background. Porco holds your hand the entire ride. His fingers are warm, wrapped securely around yours, thumb brushing gently over your skin. Every so often, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing soft kisses to your knuckles like he’s trying to brand the feeling into your bones.

Like he’s never done anything to betray you.

Like he isn’t lying straight to your face.

When you finally arrive, Porco parks near the entrance, cutting the engine.

He turns to you, a small smile playing on his lips. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just needed some time alone.”

He hums, as if considering something, before reaching for you. His hand cups your cheek gently, tilting your face toward his. And then, before you can think, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

It’s slow. Sweet.

Like nothing’s wrong.

Like he never betrayed you.

When he pulls away, his thumb brushes against your cheek, his gaze warm. “I’d stay with you, but I promised my mom I’d be home early.”

You swallow down the bitter laugh threatening to spill out.

His mom. Right.

“I get it,” you say instead, forcing a small smile.

Porco grins, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “Call me if you want me to pick you up, yeah?”

You nod.

And then, just like that, he’s gone.

—

The waves crash rhythmically against the shore, the scent of salt filling the air as you walk along the sand. You hadn’t brought a swimsuit, still dressed in the clothes you wore to class, but you don’t mind. You hadn’t planned on swimming anyway.

You just needed to breath.

Your gaze drifts toward the ocean, and that’s when you see him.

Out there, in the middle of the waves.

His movements are effortless, the water bending to his will as he cuts through it with precision. He looks so at ease, like he belongs there. And maybe he does. The sea is free, untamed, just like him.

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until something crashes into you.

A sharp yelp leaves your lips as you lose balance, falling onto the sand with a startled gasp.

A dog.

A big, soaking-wet dog.

You blink in surprise before a laugh escapes you. The dog is all over you, its fur damp from the ocean, tail wagging excitedly. Its collar catches your eye, the name ‘Aero’ etched into the metal tag.

“You’re a menace,” you murmur, running a hand through its fur as it licks at your wrist.

“That explains a lot.”

You freeze at the voice.

Glancing up, you find him standing a few feet away, his surfboard tucked under one arm, droplets of seawater trailing down his skin. He’s watching you, one brow slightly raised, expression unreadable.

The last time you saw him, the sun had been setting, casting shadows across his face. Now, with the daylight hitting him directly, you can see him clearly. The sharp angles of his jaw, the striking green of his eyes, the way his damp hair sticks messily to his forehead. The silver chain around his neck.

You suddenly feel very small.

“Hey,” you say, a little awkwardly.

He glances at Aero, who is still all over you. “Didn’t take you for a dog person.”

You huff, pushing Aero off gently before dusting the sand off your clothes. “Didn’t exactly have a choice.”

His lips twitch slightly, like he’s amused. But it disappears just as fast as it came.

“You wanna learn to surf again?” he asks, tilting his head.

You blink. “No.”

That makes him pause. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I just wanted some fresh air,” you admit.

He watches you for a moment, like he’s trying to figure something out. And then, after a beat, he says, “Come on.”

You frown. “What?”

“There’s a beach bar nearby,” he says simply. “Best drinks you’ll ever have.”

You hesitate.

But then, against all logic, you find yourself nodding.

You fall into step beside him, the sand warm beneath your feet as the waves roll lazily against the shore. He walks with an effortless kind of ease, hands tucked into the pockets of his board shorts, his surfboard left behind near where Aero had tackled you. He doesn’t seem in a rush, his strides slow, unbothered.

The silence lingers between you for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable.

It gives you time to think.

Time to acknowledge the way the sun catches in his damp hair, the way his skin glistens with residual saltwater, the way his presence feels strangely grounding despite the turbulence in your own mind.

The fact that you’re even here, walking beside him, still doesn’t make sense to you.

You’re not sure what makes less sense—the fact that you sought him out in the first place or the fact that you feel drawn to him.

And maybe he notices your thoughts straying, because his voice cuts through the quiet.

“So,” he says, glancing at you. “You just happened to end up at the same beach again?”

“Yeah.”

His brows lift slightly, unconvinced.

You exhale, shifting your gaze toward the ocean. “It’s close to my campus.”

“That right?”

“Yeah.”

“Same,” he says.

That makes you stop for a second, turning to look at him properly. “Wait—really?”

“Yeah.” He lifts a brow at your reaction.

“You’re a student?”

He huffs a small laugh. “What, I don’t look like one?”

You hesitate, scanning him over. If you’re being honest, no—he doesn’t. He looks like he belongs here, not in a classroom. You wouldn’t have pegged him as a college student at all.

But now that he’s said it, you’re curious.

“What’s your major?” you ask, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’ve apparently been on the same campus as him this whole time.

“Architecture.”

That catches you off guard. “Huh.”

“Huh, what?” he teases, arching a brow.

You shrug, smiling slightly. “I just… didn’t expect that.”

His eyes glint with amusement. “And what did you expect?”

You purse your lips, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe a full-time beach bum.”

He lets out a short laugh. “That’s a solid backup plan.”

You shake your head, still in disbelief.

“What’s yours?” he asked.

“Dentistry.”

He nods, whistling. “Figured.”

You raise an eyebrow at his reaction, but chuckle along. “We’re in the same year?”

“Yeah. Graduating next year.”

The realization settles in. You’ve gone your whole time in university without ever noticing him—until now. And now, here he is, walking beside you like you’ve known each other longer than just a few days.

You don’t know why, but it unsettles you a little.

Maybe because deep down, you know this—whatever this is—is something you shouldn’t be doing.

—

The beach bar stands out against the shoreline with its oversized neon sign flashing a name so ridiculous, you almost snort.

The Salty Coconut.

It’s got everything—a giant cartoon coconut wearing sunglasses, a thatched roof that barely looks stable, and a whole wall of surfboards propped up beside the counter.

You follow him inside, taking in the mix of locals and tourists scattered around, some lounging on mismatched stools, others standing by the open windows where the ocean breeze drifts through. The bartender, a guy with a buzzed-cut and an easy grin, perks up the moment he sees him.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again this soon.”

He leans against the counter, nodding toward you. “She’s never been here.”

The bartender’s gaze flickers to you, his grin widening. “That so?”

You shift slightly under his attention, not used to being in places like this.

“Well, in that case, first round’s on me,” the bartender says, already grabbing a couple of glasses. “Best damn drinks on this beach.”

You glance at the boy beside you. He’s watching you, head tilted slightly.

“You don’t have to drink,” he says, like he can sense your hesitation.

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine.”

Because deep down, you want to stay.

The drink arrives, a vibrant mix of tropical colors in a tall glass, the rim coated with sugar. You take a tentative sip, and immediately, your face scrunches up.

You don’t usually drink. Not because of any strong stance against it—you just never liked the taste. But apparently, that’s not the case for him.

He drinks like it’s second nature, taking a long sip before setting his glass down with an easy sigh. When he notices your expression, he lets out a low chuckle.

“Not your thing?”

You shake your head slightly. “Not really.”

He shifts, then lifts a hand toward the bartender. “Connie—”

You stop him before he can order something else. “It’s fine,” you say quickly. “I actually feel like I need it.”

His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, he just looks at you. Like he’s seeing something past your words, something you’re not outright saying.

Then, he leans back slightly. His gaze turns unreadable, but his next words are careful.

“You can talk.”

And for a second, you almost do.

You almost tell him everything—the way your mind has been a mess ever since that first day, the way guilt gnaws at your stomach even though you know you shouldn’t be the one feeling guilty.

But you don’t.

Instead, you exhale, swirling the drink in your hand. “My boyfriend and I aren’t really… doing well.”

Silence.

Then, he blinks. “You have a boyfriend?”

His tone isn’t angry. It’s just… surprise, disbelief maybe.

You let out an awkward laugh, taking another sip. He watches you carefully. Then, after a moment, his lips part slightly.

“Why the fuck are you here with me, then?”

You pause. You don’t really have an answer to that.

Your fingers tighten around your drink. “I don’t know.”

For the first time tonight, he looks away. Exhales through his nose. Then, after a beat, he shifts slightly, still not meeting your gaze.

“So, I ain’t gonna be the best choice for your problem,” he mutters, voice low. “But I can listen.”

You hum softly, taking another sip. The alcohol sits warm in your chest, and suddenly, everything feels too much.

You exhale, heavier this time. Your eyes burn, throat tightening.

Before you realize it, you’re laying your head down on your arms, voice muffled as you murmur, “I don’t know if the problem is with me or what.”

The words come out quiet. Defeated.

Eren doesn’t say anything. He just listens, drink in hand. You don’t say anything else after that, eyes closed. Your mind starts to wonder if you’re the reason, if maybe you just weren’t enough. Maybe if you were prettier, more fun, less… you, he wouldn’t have—

When you finally lift your head again, your face is hot and damp, cheeks stained with tears.

The moment Eren sees those tears staining your cheeks, your trembling lips, he sighed, rolling his eyes.

You barely even register Eren moving—only that, suddenly, his hand is brushing your face, thumb wiping away the wetness at your cheekbone.

“Don’t,” he mutters. His jaw is tight, eyes darker than before. “Don’t fucking cry.”

You freeze, suddenly thinking he’s mad at you. Your breath catches. “I—I’m sorry—”

He exhales sharply. “That’s not—” He stops himself, running a hand through his hair. Then, lower, rougher, “I’m not mad at you.”

You hesitate. He’s looking at you like he’s warring with himself, like something about your tears is fucking him up just as much as they’re fucking you up.

He leans back slightly, studying you. “I’m not good at comforting people,” he mutters. “So take what you want from me that’ll make you feel better.”

Your breath stutters.

Your chest feels hollow. Your mind is still stuck on Porco, on all the fucking questions swirling in your head, but right now—

Right now, Eren is here.

And you want to forget.

You slip off the stool, moving between his legs. His expression doesn’t change—just watches, eyes hooded, jaw tight.

You can see him up close from here, can sniff his strong cologne—sweet, fresh, and masculine scent blending with the remaining sea water. What is it? Vanilla? White musk? You’re not sure but damn he smells good.

You tilt your head up, voice quieter now.

“Can I kiss you?”

Eren doesn’t answer. Just leans in, closing the distance.

The second his lips touch yours, the world tilts.

It’s not soft. It’s not hesitant.

It’s slow, deep, purposeful.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into your skin, pulling you closer—like he’s taking something from you, like he knows you’ll let him.

And the worst part? You will.

But you’re not just letting him have you.

You press forward, mouth opening against his, tongue teasing at the seam of his lips until he gives in and lets you in.

A deep sound rumbles from his chest as you kiss him deeper, greedier, fingers curling in the front of his shirt to pull him closer.

And fuck, it’s different. It’s not like Porco—not familiar, not safe.

It’s new. It’s intoxicating.

Eren’s fingers trail down your back, gripping your hip, tilting his head to take more of you, and you let him—give it to him, steal it from him, neither of you sure which.

And then—

“Ahem—Jaeger.”

You snap back, breathless, dazed, pulse thrumming in your ears.

The bartender raises a brow. “You do know I rent rooms in the back, right?”

Eren lets out a slow, low chuckle, the sound rumbling through your bones. His lips graze yours, barely touching, making you shiver.

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You want to?”

Your body burns. Fuck, you’re dying over here.

You hesitate, biting your lip, suddenly silent. It’s too much. He’s too much.

Eren tilts his head, pressing another slow, teasing kiss to your lips—lighter, but somehow more devastating. “You sure?”

You nod slowly, unable to bring yourself to speak.

Still, he doesn’t move. Not convinced by your simple answer.

“C’mon, tell me,” he murmurs.

Your fingers curl against his chest, tugging on his chain. Fuck that voice of his.

“Yeah,” you look up at him, eyes glossy. “want to, Eren.”

That’s all it takes.

Eren tosses cash onto the counter before grabbing your wrist, pulling you through the back door—where a row of small villas waits in the dim light.

The door barely clicks shut before Eren’s hands are on you.

A gasp barely escapes your lips before he shoves you against the wood, the force rattling through your bones, but you don’t care—you barely get the chance to breathe before his mouth crashes onto yours, rough, demanding, stealing the air straight from your lungs.

It’s overwhelming. The way he kisses you, how his hands are already tugging at your clothes, how his body presses so close you can feel every muscle, every hard inch of him against you.

And fuck—this isn’t like before.

Porco had never touched you like this. Never kissed you like he wanted to consume you whole. His hands were never this greedy, his mouth never this filthy. Eren was different—he handled you like he already fucking owned you.

His palms skim up your thighs, pushing your skirt up, fingers teasing at the edge of your panties before yanking them down in one swift motion, leaving them tangled around your knees. His lips are still on yours, his tongue pushing deep, sucking on your bottom lip before he pulls back just enough to mutter against your mouth, “Let me see how fucking wet you are.”

You shudder as his fingers slide between your folds, teasing, pressing. A broken moan slips past your lips when he drags his fingers up your slit, thumb flicking at your clit before dipping two fingers inside without warning.

“Oh my god—” you choke, arching into his touch, your nails digging into his arms.

His fingers fuck into you, deep and slow, stretching you open as the slick, filthy sound of your pussy fills the quiet villa.

“That’s it,” Eren breathes, watching the way your thighs shake, the way you whimper against his lips. “Goddamn, you’re dripping. All this for me?”

“Y-yes,” you whine, hands gripping his shirt.

He chuckles, amused. “That desperate, huh?”

His fingers curl just right, pressing against the spot that makes you shudder, and you don’t even realize the word slipping past your lips until it’s too late.

“D-Daddy—”

Eren freezes. Then—his whole body tenses, his eyes snapping to yours.

A smirk spreads across his lips, slow, wicked. “The fuck did you just call me?”

You suck in a breath, mortified, shaking your head, but he’s already grinning, fingers pumping harder, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Say it again.”

“N-no, I—”

“C’mon, baby,” he croons, voice low, teasing. His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing tight circles, making you whimper. “Pussy all wet for daddy, huh?”

You’re about to break, your entire body trembling, the pressure in your stomach tightening—

But then he stops.

Pulls his fingers out.

And shoves them straight into your mouth.

Your moan is muffled, eyes wide as he pushes his fingers deeper onto your tongue. “Suck,” he orders.

You do, tongue swirling around his fingers, tasting yourself, moaning as he watches you with those hungry, darkened eyes.

“Fuck,” he groans, yanking his fingers free. Before you can even process the loss, he grabs you, hoisting you up, carrying you straight to the bed before tossing you onto the mattress.

You barely bounce before he’s on you again, yanking your shirt open, buttons flying. It’s tossed to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your skirt and bra.

Eren pulls down his shorts just enough, his cock springing free, and when you reach out, eager to touch him, he slaps your hand away.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

He leans in, lips brushing against your ear. “Fucking show me where you want me.”

You swallow hard, breath shaky, but you do it—you trail your fingers down your stomach, slipping beneath your skirt, spreading your legs wider as you start rubbing yourself, moaning at the sensation.

Eren watches, jaw tight, his fist wrapping around his cock as he strokes himself slowly, eyes dark with lust. “Goddamn,” he breathes, rubbing his thumb over his slit, shuddering. “So fucking pretty.”

You’re getting close again, body trembling, moans getting louder, but just as you’re about to tip over the edge, Eren grabs your wrist, stopping you.

You whimper, eyes glassy with desperation, but he only smirks, dragging your hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around him, his own hand covering yours as he makes you stroke him.

“Feel that?” he growls, guiding your movements. “That’s all for you, baby.”

Your breath stutters, thighs pressing together, so fucking desperate for him.

He leans down, mouth brushing against yours, voice dripping with sin. “Bet your boyfriend never made you feel like this, huh?”

Your stomach clenches, shame and arousal twisting inside you, but you don’t deny it.

Eren chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating through your bones. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

His grip tightens around your wrist, movements rougher now, but you don’t care—you’re too lost in the moment, too lost in the feeling of him.

“Need you,” you beg, voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Eren, need you inside me—”

He curses, pulling away just long enough to reach into his back pocket, pulling out a condom.

But before he can tear it open, you grab his wrist. “No,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t—just, just fuck me raw, please, I—”

Eren groans, his forehead pressing against yours. “Nah, baby,” he murmurs, voice soft but firm. “Can’t risk you anything.”

You pout, frustrated, needy, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, before rolling the condom on.

Then—he slides inside.

Your mouth falls open, eyes rolling back as the stretch burns, just the tip already pushing you to the brink.

Eren groans, watching your face, mesmerized, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still. “Goddamn,” he rasps. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Your nails dig into his arms, tears welling in your eyes. “Eren—”

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs, voice softer, almost sweet as he presses kisses to your jaw. “Just breathe. Let me in.”

Eren stills, letting you adjust, his jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hips like he’s barely holding himself back.

You’re so full. So stretched. The pressure is overwhelming, and you squirm beneath him, gasping as your walls flutter around him, trying to accommodate the sheer size of him.

His breath is ragged against your skin, his forehead pressing against yours. "Can I move?" His voice is strained, wrecked with restraint. "You okay, baby?"

You nod, a whimper escaping your lips, fingers clenching against his arms. "Y-yeah—"

He pulls back, just a little, and pushes in deeper. You cry out, back arching, legs trembling around him.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his head to your neck. "So fucking tight—"

His hips rock into you, slow at first, rolling against you in deep, deliberate thrusts that have your head spinning. Each drag of his cock along your walls is torturous, spreading fire through your veins.

His hand trails down your stomach, slipping between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. He rubs it in lazy circles, sending jolts of pleasure through you, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

The slow, teasing pace has you on edge, body tensed, desperately needing more. You try to move, to rock your hips against him, but his grip tightens on your waist, pinning you down.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmurs, smirking. "Let me take my time with you."

You whimper, nails raking down his back as he keeps his strokes deep and slow, each thrust pulling a wrecked moan from your lips.

The buildup is agonizing—he keeps you teetering on the edge, bringing you higher and higher, dragging out every second until you're trembling, incoherent, only able to beg for more.

And then—it hits.

A sudden, sharp spike of pleasure coils in your stomach, too intense, too much, and panic seizes you.

"Ren—" Your voice is high, breathless. "Feel something—"

His thrusts don’t falter. "Yeah?" He breathes against your skin. "Give it to me, pretty girl. C’mon."

You gasp, fingers clawing at his shoulders. "Fuck—no, Eren, stop—gonna—"

Your body tenses, legs snapping shut around his waist, trying to fight it—but it’s useless.

Eren just chuckles, amused, his thumb pressing harder against your clit.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Let it out, baby."

And then—you break.

A choked sob escapes your throat as pleasure crashes over you, your body convulsing, thighs shaking, and Eren groans, throwing his head back as you squirt all over him. His hands gripping your thighs as he slows for just a second—before his lips curl into a smirk.

“Holy fuck,” he growls, voice thick with lust.

But he's not done.

Not even close.

He pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach, yanking your ass up, pushing your back into a perfect arch.

"Do that again for me," he murmurs, running his palm over your ass before delivering a sharp slap that makes you jolt.

You whimper, trying to catch your breath, but he’s already pushing back in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust.

"Fuck—" you cry out, gripping the sheets.

Eren groans, his hands tightening on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock, setting a brutal pace.

"Goddamn," he growls. "Bet your boyfriend doesn’t know his sweet fucking girlfriend is just a slut for me, huh?"

Your breath hitches, heat flashing through you, but before you can react, another sharp slap lands on your ass, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Probably doesn’t even know about me," Eren continues, voice taunting, mean. "Poor bastard."

Tears sting your eyes, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming.

"Eren—"

“What?” He grips your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his lips to brush against your ear. "You can take it, right? Wanna be my good girl?"

You nod frantically, whimpering, mindless. "Yes—yes, please—"

His hand slips between your legs again, fingers rubbing your clit hard and fast, too much, too soon—

You sob, body spasming again as another orgasm rips through you, your vision going white, your legs shaking as you squirt for the second time.

“C’mon,” he growls, snapping his hips harder. “Fucking cum for me again.”

You shake your head, overwhelmed. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he snarls, rubbing faster. “Gimme another one.”

And you do.

Your whole body trembles as you squirt again, pleasure so intense it nearly knocks you out.

Eren groans, his thrusts turning erratic before he curses, slamming deep, spilling into the condom.

Your legs feel weak, your body trembling from the intensity of your last orgasm, but Eren isn’t giving you a break.

“C’mere,” he mutters, sitting back against the headboard, his hands gripping your waist to pull you onto his lap.

Your thighs shake as you straddle him, your hands braced against his shoulders for support. His cock, still hard and slick from fucking you, presses against your entrance, teasing, waiting.

“Go on, baby,” he murmurs, a lazy smirk curling his lips. “Ride me.”

You swallow, already breathless, but you lift your hips, reaching down to guide him to your entrance. The stretch burns all over again as you sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch, your walls struggling to accommodate his thickness.

Eren groans, his fingers digging into your hips. “Fuck,” he mutters, watching as you struggle to take him all the way.

You exhale shakily, adjusting to the stretch, planting your feet more firmly against the bed before you begin to move.

It’s harder than you expected. Your muscles are sore, your legs feel weak, and your movements are shaky as you roll your hips, trying to keep a steady pace. You try your best—bouncing on his cock, grinding down, circling your hips just the way you think he likes it—but it’s messy, your rhythm faltering as you let out little gasps, your thighs burning from the effort.

Eren watches with amusement, his smirk deepening as he lets you struggle for a while.

“Shit,” you pant, frustrated, sweat slicking your skin as you try to keep moving.

“Having trouble?” he teases, his hands coasting up your sides, his thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts.

You shake your head stubbornly, refusing to ask for help. “I can do it,” you mutter, biting your lip.

But your body betrays you. Your pace stutters again, your legs trembling, and Eren chuckles lowly, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure,” he muses, before gripping your hips tight.

Before you can protest, he thrusts up into you. Hard.

A broken cry rips from your throat as his cock slams deep, your body jerking forward, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Eren—”

“Yeah?” he taunts, snapping his hips up again, forcing a strangled moan from your lips. “What happened, baby? Thought you had it?”

You can’t answer. Can’t do anything but hold onto him as he fucks up into you, setting a brutal, punishing pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mixed with your desperate moans and his ragged groans.

Your head falls forward, forehead resting against his as you pant, helpless against the way he takes control.

“Feel good?” he murmurs against your lips, voice dark, teasing.

You nod weakly, barely able to think straight, your entire body shaking from the force of his thrusts.

Eren chuckles, dragging his lips along your jaw before whispering in your ear. “Yeahhh, just need me to fuck that pretty cunt right for you, hm?”

You don’t even care. You’re too lost in the pleasure, too fucking close—

And then you’re gone, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls pulsing, your entire body convulsing as you cry out his name, and he soon follows.

You're still trembling when Eren shifts, his grip firm as he pushes you onto your back. Your body is oversensitive, every nerve still buzzing from your last orgasm, but he doesn’t care.

He’s already moving, kissing a path down your body, lingering on your stomach, your hips, before settling between your legs. His breath ghosts over your drenched heat, and you shudder.

“Eren—” your voice is weak, a mix of pleasure and overstimulation.

He hums lazily, fingers sliding up your inner thighs, spreading you wider despite the way you instinctively try to close them. His lips brush over your clit, teasing, just enough to make you jolt.

You gasp, hips twitching away. “Wait, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “And you will.”

And then his mouth is on you.

A sharp cry leaves your lips as his tongue flicks over your clit, slow and precise, sending a fresh wave of heat through your already wrecked body. You’re still so sensitive, every touch almost too much, and you try to push him away, hands flying to his hair, his shoulders—anything to make him stop.

But Eren doesn��t budge.

His arms loop around your thighs, holding you down with a bruising grip as he eats you out like he’s starving. His tongue dips into you, slow and deep, before dragging up to circle your clit again, his lips sealing around it to suck just hard enough to make your entire body jolt.

“Fuck—” your voice breaks, your back arching off the bed as you writhe beneath him. “Eren, please—”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for. To stop? To keep going? You’re too far gone to tell the difference anymore.

He groans against you, the vibrations sending another shock of pleasure straight through your core. Your hands twist in his hair, pulling, trying to shove him away, but he just growls, tightening his grip, pushing his face even deeper between your legs.

"Stay still, baby," he mutters against your soaked cunt, his voice dark, commanding. "Take it."

You can’t. You really fucking can’t. Your body is twisting, thrashing, trying to escape the relentless pleasure, but he doesn’t give you a choice.

He flicks his tongue over your clit again, faster now, merciless, each movement dragging you closer to that unbearable edge. You sob, pleasure and desperation crashing together in a way that makes you dizzy.

“Eren—Eren, I—”

He chuckles against you, pressing a kiss to your throbbing clit before murmuring:

“C’mon, baby. Fucking give me your cum.”

And you do. You cum so fucking hard.

Your entire body seizes, your orgasm ripping through you with devastating force. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, your thighs trembling, your hands gripping him so tightly you swear you might break him.

Eren groans, licking you through every aftershock, refusing to let up until you’re nothing but a shaking, ruined mess beneath him.

Your body is still trembling, oversensitive and utterly wrecked, when Eren finally pulls away. His hands smooth over your thighs, his breath warm against your skin as he presses one last, lingering kiss between your legs.

You barely have the strength to move, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, your mind foggy with exhaustion. Everything feels heavy—your limbs, your eyelids, the slow, blissful haze settling over your body.

Eren shifts, moving up the bed, his warmth pressing against your side as he leans in, brushing damp hair from your face. The last thing you remember before your vision fades is the sound of his low chuckle, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“I’ll clean you up,” he murmurs, voice thick with something almost tender. “Take a rest.”

And then—darkness.

thank uuuu for commenting on pt 1 <333

@animewhoreswrld @mikazuai

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