#and so so detached and so when you jar him out of that detachment...

[suguwu]

villain nanami who isn't unkind—he's just ruthless in his detached practicality. he eliminates those who get in his way with unparalleled efficiency, barely blinking as blood spatters on his cheekbone, drips hot and wet down the sharpness of it. he's unmoved by pleas; he knows what he must do.

until it's you on the other end of his weapon, cowering and tear-stained and lovely, and then—

all of that logic of his disappears.

it shouldn't happen. you're almost a stranger, someone who just frequents the same cafe as him, and nanami knows what he must do. he is practical before all else. he should kill you and be done with it.

he keeps you instead.

[ozzgin]

Omg i love your Yandere serial killer with a split persona so much 😭😭, can you do more headcanon about him?? Like does he aware of his other persona seeing reader kinda scared to talk to him normally thank u

Yandere! Serial Killer Scenarios

Featuring the kind, quiet man who has no idea why you look at him with terror in your eyes. This time with an official character design!

Content: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror, dubious/non-consent

[Main Story] | [More original works]

You only attempted to escape once.

His frequent warnings had begun to wear off, and your mind dared to wander towards hope. One day, during his evening walk, you ran to your bedroom and pulled out a train ticket you'd hidden earlier inside a drawer. The small piece of paper weighed heavy in your hand. Come, now, you scolded yourself. It was weeks of careful planning: anticipating his schedule, erasing your tracks, preparing the essentials. You could already smell the worn leather seats, and hear the jarring whistle of departure. Then you'd be far away from this maniac, all but a terrible memory to be locked away.

There was no time for hesitation. You grabbed a small bag and sped towards the station, frequently looking over your shoulder, muttering silent prayers. Once you made it to your compartment, you exhaled in relief. A relief you hadn't felt in months, washing over your body and relaxing your tense muscles. You climbed the stairs, and searched for your seat. Has someone misread their ticket? You found your spot occupied by a stranger.

"What did I tell you about running away?" his deep voice echoed across the empty hall.

The walk back home was silent. You were convinced this was your end. You'd arrive at the house, and he'd cut you into pieces. Your lips curled in a horrified grimace, mind flooded with foreign feelings: your nails plucked apart with pliers, a burning sting after each detachment. The roots of your teeth grinding and screeching within the bone of your jaw, until all that's left is a fleshy, gaping wound. Plop, plop, as each little souvenir falls into the jar.

He slammed the door shut and stared you down. You looked at the floor, but all you could see were the grimy ID cards of all the women who never made it out of this damned house. You were next.

His large hand ruffled your hair, and you glanced up in disbelief.

"This stays between us. Mother better not hear that her soon-to-be daughter in law tried to run away. Especially now that she's warmed up to you. Are we clear?"

You nodded desperately. God, how pathetic of you. But being trapped was better than rotting underground like the rest of them. You just wanted to live.

You can always tell whether it's him, or him. It's the silence. Or lack of, for that matter. He likes the quietness, the muffled ticking of the clock, the busy rattling in the kitchen, your laughs, your chatter. You'll sit together and listen to the rain, or read your books across from each other. There's no need for words, you know you can be at peace.

He likes music. When you hear the record player, you know it's your cue to perform. You exit your room - it's better if he doesn't call you down himself - and descend to the main area. The stairs creak louder, the wallpaper begins to yellow. It's almost as if the house ages with the music, and you tumble back in time.

He's been waiting for you, naturally. How's a man meant to spend his evenings, if not with his adored wife? He'll reach out for your hand, and invite you to a slow dance. Those are the worst moments. The tight, suffocating hold, his deranged stare drilling into your very soul, the whispered promises: that you're forever his, and you'll never find happiness anywhere else. He knows it. It's the same for him, really. Everything he's ever needed lies within your embrace.

Some days, the charade doesn't last long. You simply won't be in the mood to be kissed, to be stripped naked and fondled by his murderous hands. So you'll just pout and gaze ahead. It angers him terribly.

"Wretched whore. Do I look like a beggar?"

He'll shove you aside and make his way out, taking his tools with him. He hates asking for your affection and would rather take his anger out somewhere else. You know he won't hurt you, or force himself on you, which means someone else will have to pay for your disrespect. And yet, it's the only freedom you have around him - the privilege of refusing him and living to see the next day. The rest aren't as lucky. You'd rather not think too deeply about it.

My honey, I know With the dawn that you will be gone But tonight, you belong to me Just to little old me.

What a bizarre thing, to harbor such hatred towards the one you love. You've never met anyone kinder. He's thoughtful, patient, caring. He knows everything about you and lives to serve you. He's your best friend and your lover. He's the one you want to marry one day. But he's also...well...him. And you can't have one without the other.

"No, Mother, it isn't tacky," he barks at the shattered mirror, adjusting your necklace. "And you know what? It's up to (Y/N) to decide if she wants to wear your wedding jewelry."

"It's nice", you respond curtly. You look into the empty reflection and nod. He likes it when you take his side in front of Mother.

"I knew you'd agree. We're a match made in Heaven, aren't we?" he smiles and zips up the old dress. You shiver: wearing a dead woman's gown was not part of your wedding plans. The corset is tightened, and you gasp. His hands are tense.

"I know he proposed to you. And what a stupid grin you had on your face when it happened! You never act like that around me."

He doesn't call me a bitch, for starters, you think to yourself. You shuffle on the bed, trying to loosen up the garment, but he swiftly pins you down onto the mattress.

"Not that it matters. Would you like to know why?" he inquires with a familiar glimmer of jealousy in his dilated pupils. "Because I'll always be your first. You know it, I know it. He never will.

At the end of the day, you belong to me."

To compete with oneself. Nonsense. Utter madness, all of it. The house; the drawer filled with gory trophies; the nightly talks with Mother dearest, whose bones have most likely turned to dust by now; the bloodied scalpels; the embrace of a man who fills you with warmth and terror.

You're part of it now.

[s1ater]

the only thing that matters.

pairings. finnick odair x fem!reader

about. finnick is the only one to have ever gotten past your quiet and stoic shell, but neither of you think it’s for the good.

warnings. eh idk

ricky rocks. the hunger games series is honest to god one of the best to ever touch screens.

johanna hated watching you and finnick. it killed her.

since day one, johanna, like all of the others were closely fixated on you and every move you made. you were alluring solely due to the fact that you were silent and completely detached from the destruction of your reality. there was a large admiration for you and whether it was due to your great skill in combat or ability to keep an unwavering face when under the worse of pressure, no one could choose. you were a mystery.

johanna couldn’t figure you out; not for the life of her, and it was absolutely frustrating. especially when her greatest competition did.

of course. of fucking course it was finnick. she wasn’t surprised the more she thought about it—finnick could get anybody to talk. so of course it had to be him who would unravel you like a ball of yarn.

he was prying, and had no problem with being a pest if that meant he got what he wanted—and he always got what he wanted.

it was astounding to say the least.

“they’re sickening aren’t they?” katniss almost jumped at johanna’s jarring words that interrupted the silence.

it took her a moment to realize that the girl was talking about you and finnick and johanna had caught her staring.

“i don’t know… i think it’s interesting,” katniss bit the inside of her cheek as she watched finnick smile genuinely while watching you speak. the two of you were the only thing keeping the group from not seeming depressive. “they seem like polar opposites and yet this is the first time i have ever seen her smile… and it’s because of him.”

once you had gotten out of the blood rain with johanna, crossing paths with katniss and finnick and the rest of their group—you had begun to clean yourself off in the water before finnick had dunked you with reunition. there was no reason, and katniss had thought you would kill him once you came back up, but there you had been; gut laughing, trying to catch your breath while also attempting to return the favor.

johanna chuckles, “he’s a fucking dickhead for that,” she tsks, shaking her head, still watching the two of you, “but i guess it’s sweet in some fucked up way. both found each other amidst of all… this.”

she hated watching the two of you, because it reminded her of something she couldn’t have, something she lost, and something the two of you could so fastly lose as well with any wrong step.

“this is where we finally die, isn’t it?” your eyes watch the calm waves as they slowly wash up further onto the shore, just enough to kiss your feet.

your words make finnick narrow his brows, almost frowning real hard as he looks over to you. you feel distant, out of body and too far for him to reach and yet you were more than close. he feels uneasy at the tone of your voice, like you were almost ready to give up.

“far from it…” he slightly tips his head to look at your face, but he sees nothing, receives nothing despite his hope that you’d be in touch and full of emotion like all other times the two of you have been together. “hey, why?”

his hand holds your shoulder, almost reaching for your face, but you meet his eyes before he could further do so. the concern melted into his face made you inhale sharply, feeling slightly bad for causing the borderline stress in his eyes, “finn, i didn’t mean it… like that.”

“you ready to give up on me?” his eyebrows raise, trying to curve his lips in a accustomed smirk, but you can still see the worry.

“not yet,” you shook your head, almost scoffing as you look back out to the sun sinking into the trees, “just thinking.”

“think more logically, y/n,” he settles more comfortably and over the panic, using his index finger to lightly you tap on the side of your cheekbone. “if i die, who’s going to be your friend? keep you alive?”

you rolled your eyes, mumbling, “we both know i’m more than capable keeping myself alive.”

“we do,” it wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “but outside of the games, what’re you going to do with yourself?”

you shook your head at his silly scenarios, now looking to him with something he didn’t like, “we just try to die together then.”

“she’s the only thing he cares about,” johanna stares harder than katniss was, watching the way his hand clasps the back of your neck while pulling you closer to him. “truly.”

“this is unlike you. since when is death a concern to you?”

“since i met you,” you purse your lips, almost in shame that an obvious dent was made in your principles when you met finnick. “you make me feel so helpless.”

he chuckles, shaking his head at the words coming from your mouth that some could find offense in, “oh, i know you love me.” but it was finnick, and he knew your meaning behind them and he knew exactly how you felt.

before, you were both considered some of the capitols top killers with nothing to lose. but now, everything seemed to not be in your favor the moment you met each other. you had everything to lose now and you both knew it.

“we’ll be the death of each other, y/n.”

navigation.

@transias @cc13723things @thehuntress09 @afidiofobia @savedbythegraceofsoutherncharm @demigirl-with-problems @nyx3028 @missaryasstuff @hizziestial @ritz-hell-hotel @kayalect @mystic-writings @stitch-flo @ancientimes @s0urw00lf @straightzoinked @i44nishi @falcvns @alexxavicry @grxcisxhy-wp @lupinsluvbot

[sporadicthingcollection]

Godemiché (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: Do you know it’s him that’s fucking you?

Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader

Rating: 🌶️ Explicit 🌶️

Word Count: ~700

Warnings: Dubcon elements, improper use of Devil Fruit powers.

A/N: i do not know what possessed me to write this.

———

It started as a joke. You, a sprightly young thing with twinkling eyes and a dirty sense of humor, unused to the close quarters that came with crewing on a ship. Him, a dirty old bastard with a detachable cock. He presented it to you in a soft cloth bag, grinning mischievously.

“Use it in the dark,” he said with a wink.

He didn't think you would. He thought he'd hear a scream in the middle of the night followed by you slapping him with it the next morning. He may have grown older, but he never really grew up.

But no.

What he feels that night, just as he's drifting off to sleep, is a delicate hand around his shaft. He jerks upright, head whipping around to catch the intruder and hand going to his crotch.

But there's nothing there, neither tackle nor intruder. He panics a moment, only to remember what he’d done and where it is.

It’s currently in your possession. And you’re using it.

The gentle prickle of hair tickles his shaft. You must be sliding it between your pussy lips. How’d you know he was weak for that? For a woman in her natural, unkempt state?

And then it grows warm and smooth and wet. He’s inside you. He feels your muscles shift as you take all of him, easing him in and out, getting him good and lubricated.

He almost chokes.

You’re already quite wet, and it slips and slides in and out with ease. Hot cunt, cool air. He grinds into the air, gasping with each distant thrust.

You grow slicker with each pump. Finally, you take him to the hilt, his entire cock sheathed inside your warmth. You clench him tight.

The air isn't enough. He groans and flips onto his belly. Grabbing a pillow, he mounts it like a dog in heat.

He squeezes his eyes shut. If he pretends, if he thinks real hard, it can be you. He is fucking you, after all. It’s not like he hasn’t been dreaming of this since you climbed aboard — hell, even before that, when he first saw you milling about the docks.

Do you know? he wonders as his hips grind. Do you know it's him that’s fucking you?

Your walls flutter, pulling him deeper. You’re coming. And coming. And coming. Must have been a long one. He wishes he could see you fold and buck and your eyes screw shut and your breath hitch and—

He tries not to come. He tries so, so hard. But he fails.

Burying his face in the mattress, he whines your name, high and sweet as a cotton candy cloud. He grinds his hips into the pillow, praying that he’s dreaming and that he’ll open his eyes to see you underneath him.

But alas.

He empties fast and plummets back to Earth. Falling to the side, he reflects on what a pathetic, dirty old man he is.

He can't look you in the eye the next morning. Avoids you at breakfast. Dodges you all afternoon. But you corner him in the evening. Quite literally. He's in the aft hold when you get between him and the door.

Your hands darts out. In a few quick movements, you've undone his trousers and jerked them open. He's too stunned to even cover himself.

Pulling his waistband away from his body, you withdraw something from your pocket and drop it inside. He expects an ice cube. Or a firecracker. He braces himself for pain...

... But it doesn't come. Instead, his equipment returns to its rightful spot, a red silk ribbon tied in a bow adorning his shaft.

“You can have it back, but I’m gonna need that again soon,” you say. You give him a saucy wink and slip out the door.

Well. Seems like you did know.

———

To the Mastahpost | To the Tip Jar

[deviousdeliciousness]

Jarred Pt. 1

A tiny is rude to a giant, so the giant decides to teach the tiny a lesson - one they'll undoubtedly remember.

Time-out can gain a whole new meaning when you're four inches tall. (And a jar can feel claustrophobic even if you can so easily fit inside.)

Next: Pt. 2

~~~~~~~~

"-Yeah? Well I think you're stupid!" Tee shouted back up to Jack, stomping his foot on the counter for added emphasis and crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

Jack's expression turned blank, then darkened. His jaw clenched, and there was an audible grinding of his teeth.

Tee couldn't help but falter, physically taking half a step back as a dark scowl settled on his giant friend's face. Suddenly, yelling at the much larger being didn't seem like it'd been such a good idea.

"H-hey-" Tee started to stutter, raising his hands in front of himself in a placational manner, but he cut himself off with a surprised squeak as Jack's hand shot out above him, ripping open a cupboard door with far more force than necessary and snatching up something inside.

Tee craned his neck up to see what, and his heart stuttered in his chest as he saw-

A jar.

A jar.

Jack was holding a large glass jar, one of the tall ones nearly twice Tee's height, and he was unscrewing the lid with vicious efficiency. Tee nearly jumped out of his skin when Jack slammed the lid onto the counter, and fight or flight mode finally hit the tiny like a train as he saw the giant's hand menacingly swoop forward in his direction.

Tee wisely chose flight.

He spun on his heel and bolted, his heart all at once hammering up from his chest and into his throat and his legs pumping frantically as he darted across the counter, the back of his neck practically burning with the undoubted glare of the furious giant behind him.

Tee barely made it ten steps.

He let loose a blood-curdling scream as Jack's palm collided with his back, giant fingers curling inwards around him like a Venus flytrap.

He thrashed wildly in the grip, any semblance of rational thought having abruptly fled his mind in place of pure, unadulterated terror, but he just as quickly froze - as still as death - when the fingers around him squeezed just shy of making his bones creak with the pressure, the threat as clear as day and all the more sickeningly petrifying for it.

He whimpered - a short, aborted sound - as his feet lifted up off the the counter, and he had to forcefully repress the urge to uselessly wriggle like a caught fish as the movement came to a stop with him aloft in the air, knowing - dreading - without having to look that he was being held above the opening to the jar.

He sent a desperate, pleading look to the giant - to his friend - but Jack's expression was closed off and so, so cold.

Tee's tentative hope that this was all a sick, twisted joke to get back at him withered and died a horrible death.

In the next moment, he was dropped. He landed awkwardly, barely catching himself from twisting his ankle as he landed hard onto the cool glass bottom of the mason jar, gasping out a shocked breath. He flinched backwards into the glass behind him as the jar was set none-too-gently onto the counter, and he craned his neck up high to stare with uncomprehending, fear-filled eyes at Jack.

The giant peered down at him dispassionately from the open lid of the jar. As if he hadn't just obliterated the carefully built, more than just tentatively hopeful trust a tiny had fully placed in his giant's hands. A gift so rarely given. A gift that was now destroyed.

There was movement in Tee's peripheral, and in the next second, his line of sight to the giant's face was blocked by a solid black lid, one that clacked gratingly against the glass before it begun to be twisted, Jack screwing it back onto the jar with what Tee could only perceive as a detached sense of finality.

"No," the tiny whimpered, sliding down the side of the jar and curling his knees to his chest, arms wrapping around his calves and gripping tight. This couldn't be happening. His - Jack wouldn't do this to him. He wouldn't.

But he had.

The tiny's head smacked into the back of the jar when he flinched as the giant's hand suddenly wrapped around the container, lifting it once more and making Tee's stomach drop into his guts with the too-quick movement.

There was a squeak of the cupboard hinges, and Tee had to quickly blink his eyes (which stung with tears that he refused to acknowledge or dare let fall for fear of them never stopping) as the light around him suddenly dimmed. He peered muzzily at his surroundings, which were ever so slightly distorted through the thick glass.

His breath froze in his lungs as he took in the cold, empty jars all around him, lifeless and covered in a thin layer of dust. None showing any sign of use, of ever - or only the rarest of occasions - seeing the light of day.

He snapped his neck forwards again and frantically scrambled to the front of the jar from where he saw Jack looking down at him, one of the giant's hands already loosely gripping the cupboard door's knob.

Tee shook his head, slightly at first, then with more desperation as his panic renewed with a stomach-dropping vengeance, his palms pressing up against the glass and his eyes wide and irrefutably pleading. He knew the giant wouldn't be able to hear him through the container, but a litany of frantic pleas and cries fell past his lips anyway.

"Please - please Jack don't do this. I'm sorry - I - I won't yell at you, or-or call you stupid or- do anything bad ever again. I was- I was wrong. I was wrong - please! I - you - you were right! About everything! I swear I'll listen to whatever you say, I'll- I'll do whatever you want - j-just - just don't leave me here!"

Jack just continued to stare dully at him, stony expression unchanged except for the briefest flicker in his eyes as hot tears abruptly spilled over Tee's blotchy cheeks.

They weren't enough.

(After all, Jack would have to care for him for his cries to matter.)

Slowly, inexorably, the cupboard door began to shut, and, tone foreboding and so, so sickeningly empty of anything close to concern, consideration, Jack finally spoke in the moment before Tee's world was pitched into terrifying, solitary darkness.

"You'll learn your place."

~~~~~~~~

OOooohoohooohooooo~ a lillll' angsty I know ;33

This one kinda got away from me, but I had fun hehehe

Also I'm posting this sleep-deprived and with exactly zEro brain matter present at the moment, so fingers crossed that it's actually decent *finger guns*

Next: Pt. 2

[darkestescapes]

Sweet Temptation

Synopsis: Your Step-brother! Eren can't seem to get enough of you.

Pairing: Yan! Step-brother! Eren Jaeger x Fem bodied! Reader. (All characters are 21+).

Warnings: STEPCEST!!!! Eren is obsessed with you 🥺. Non-con. Dub-con. Oral (F receiving). Fingering. Penetrative sex. Unprotected sex. Daddy kink. Voyeurism (hehe you'll see). PWP. MDNI. Don't read if you're uncomfortable.

Before dinner was served, you decided to hop into the shower for a quick bath after returning from the gym. The way your gym clothes hugged your figure made Eren lose his mind. Your breasts perfectly outlined and so tempting all he wants to do is to suck on your nipples and make you cum. Your tight pants showcasing your ass and how your gymming is paying off.

Of course he shouldn't think like this about you, you're supposed to be family, but to be really honest, Eren never considered you as that type of family, not even once. So can you really blame him if he gets hard seeing your cute little ass peek out from below your shirt when you try and grab the cookie jar to soothe your midnight snack cravings. Can you actually blame him for almost cumming in his pants when you take the first bite of the chocolatey delicacy and close your eyes, your face contorting in pleasure and almost moan out loud at how good it tastes?

Can you really blame him for breaking the lock of your bedroom door from outside just so he can hear your soft moans when you try to masturbate using your cute little fingers while he touches his cock, imagining how cute you'd look sucking him off?

So naturally, when you excused yourself before dinner, he knew this was his chance to take you. Slipping away from the gathering in the living room, Eren made his way to your room, slowly entering and closing the door, making sure to latch it shut. He only broke your lock for a reason ;)

He sighed when he heard you still showering but not a moment later the water shut off. Knowing you, you have your music on while you shower and that music doesn't stop till you're ready to leave your room. And boy is he glad that when you come out, wrapped in just your towel, he can easily push you against the wall and cover your mouth with his big hand to prevent you from shouting in fear. Shhh.... He motions with his fingers, mouth stretched in a smirk, your eyes wide with fear.

Tearing his hand away, your chest heaving from breathing heavily, " Eren what the actual hell?", You ask.

"You are so beautiful.", He says shamelessly checking you out with his dark eyes. Wetting his lower lip he suddenly leans forward towards your neck, sniffs your scent and starts to become hard as the familiar feeling of wanting you takes over his brain.

Holding your wrists in place he pulls away chuckling, amused to see your scared expression, like you aren't his little temptress who keeps making him hard by merely existing.

" You smell nice. Why are you so scared? I'm only Eren. Your Eren." He says tucking your hair behind your ear. Gripping your towel, he tears it off your body in one go, leaving you fully exposed to him.

When you try to gasp his hand wraps around your mouth again. Your free hand tries to pry his strong hand away from your mouth but it's of no use. "Shh... I know you want to scream and fuck..., even I want to hear you scream for me really really bad, but I don't think we can afford that right now, can we? You're a smart little girl aren't you? Hmm"

Nodding in agreement, you take a breath of relief when his hand falls. You gasp softly when his lips kiss the top of your left boob. His tongue comes out to lick your nipple that is already protruding from coming in contact with the cooler air in the room. Engulfing your nipple in his mouth he begins to suck on it to his liking, his other hand coming to play with your right boob. You wrap your hands around his neck to push him away, but him being a lot bigger and stronger than you literally makes you weak.

Detaching from your nipple, his kisses proceed to go down your stomach, your hips, and finally they reach the treasure he's been longing for for so long. He stands up before doing anything more, smiling as he looks down at you. Taking your hand sweetly, he pulls you toward the bed and nudges you to lay down. Knowing Eren, not listening to him never ended well. Hesitantly, you sit down at the edge of the bed, legs pressed together to stop your embarrassment a little. Kneeling down near your legs Eren clicks his tongue in disapproval and taps your knees and pushes them apart. Turning your face away from his, you oblige.

He is in awe when he sees the sight in front of him. You're wet from just a few kisses, did you want him just as much as he wanted you too?

"So pretty for me" he says, his right thumb coming to play with your folds and to find your clit. When he flicks your clit your body jolts and a surprised gasp leaves your mouth. Temptation gets the better of him and he leans forward with his tongue stretched. He drags his tongue from your clit to your entrance, effectively pushing you onto your back in the process and he keeps eating you till your hands come to pull at his hair. Rubbing his face into your pussy he starts to get drunk in this experience of finally having you to himself.

"You're so small baby, I gotta stretch you out for me." Before you can process his words, he inserts his middle and ring fingers inside you at once. Moaning out loud you involuntarily rock your hips into his hand. You can't help but want more, why is he so good at this, you wonder taking and twisting your nipples in your fingers. Eren continues to fuck his fingers into you, eventually adding a third finger and also rubbing your clit. The juices gushing out of your pussy are being collected in his palm.

"Eren...." You warn him, moaning his name, saying that you're close, but of course he knows that, having watched you cum undone so many times. He captures a mental picture of you like his, at the mercy of his fingers, crying for him to make you cum. You bite your lip and arch your back when you finally cum, pushing through the high and trying to close your legs with Eren in between them.

Quickly he undresses himself. Using his cum stained hand, he pumps his cock, lubricating it with your juices. Hovering on top of you, he bends down to capture your lips in a kiss. The sweet sensation of your lips on his is something he knows he can never get used to. Placing his left knee on the mattress, he slowly penetrates into your entrance, swallowing your moans and cries from the stretch in the kiss.

Eren pulls away and groans loudly, feeling your walls around his full cock. God he knew you are perfect, but he didn't expect you to be perfect like this too. Eren is like a drug, you always want more of him. Making grabby hands at him you beckon him to come closer to you. He smiles as he leans down till your chests are touching. "Aren't you just perfect?" He whispers, more to himself.

He starts to move his hips, his cock fucking into you so good you can almost feel him in your stomach. With a dazed look you look into Eren's eyes, begging for him to go faster. Smirking, he obliges and starts to fuck you faster, the sounds of his thighs slapping yours being masked by the music from your phone. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, pulling yourself up to his chest, back arching every time the head of his cock grazes your spot.

" Fuck Eren... Harder... Fuck me harder... Daddy please!" You whine out to him. Somehow his eyes become darker with lust and with every thrust you feel your high approaching. This is the first time you'll be cumming twice in the same session.

" Yes FUCK.. Fuck me... Fuck me... God yess... Daddy... Daddyyyy" you moan loudly finally cumming for the second time, squeezing his cock and also his body as tightly as you could.

"Fuck...." Eren moans pulling his cock out and painting your stomach and chest with his cum. With both your chests rising heavily, you hear a knock on your door.

" Dinner's ready Y/N..... And Eren." Zeke says from outside the door.

----------------------------------

Zeke's POV (Skip if uncomfortable)

Sighing after being disturbed by his mother, Zeke stopped his reading and unwillingly climbed up the stairs to call you down for dinner.

Before he could knock he heard you moan so loud he had to look around to make sure no one was there.

Leaning his ear onto the door, "Daddy please!" Gasping in shock he pulls away from the door.

This is wrong, he shouldn't be affected by you like this. Yet here he is, his cock getting hard after hearing you moan. Checking the surroundings once again, he palms himself and starts listening again. His shock increased when he heard his brother's moans as well coming from your room.

" Fuck" he groans. He should've been the first to take you. But at least he has something to masturbate to tonight. Once he isn't able to hear any more moans from your room, he calls you both for dinner. Of course that is what he originally came to do.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

"Need a hand?"

@summer-of-bad-batch week 5 prompt Also featuring Wild Guess prompt "Would a hug help?" from @timtwelve Pretty sure I read that there are bonus points for using the Wild Guess prompts ;)

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Crosshair, Wrecker Set after the finale, when everyone is living happily on Pabu Word Count: ~1355 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Crosshair struggles to manage a task one-handed. Wrecker is there to support him.

Crosshair swallowed a snarl as he pinned the jar of preserve between the counter and his hip, fruitlessly straining at the lid with his left hand. The angle felt awkward, his fingers clawing weakly at the smooth metal rim.

No matter how he tightened his grip it was his hand that slid along the surface of the jar, instead of the lid itself turning.

Glaring futilely at the jar, he slammed it back onto the counter so hard that the plate and cutlery he had laid out rattled.

He was still seething in the direction of his aborted lunch when Wrecker walked in. The big clone spotted his brother glowering over the unopened jar, greeted him with a cheerful question.

“Need a hand?”

The line of Crosshair’s shoulders went rigid. Then he spun, grabbing the jar and hurling it past Wrecker so hard that it smashed on the wall behind him, spattering the stunned man with jam and shrapnel slivers of glass.

“I don’t need your kriffing pity!” Crosshair’s voice rose in frustration even as it wobbled. “I can do it myself!”

Wrecker had flinched as the jar whistled past his head, but now he straightened. The immediate shock dropped quickly from his face, replaced by an anguished look.

“I’m sorry, Cross. I didn’t mean it. It’s just an expression.”

“Kriffing rub it in, why don’t you!” As if launching one projectile wasn’t enough, Crosshair grabbed the plate too and threw it in the opposite direction. By the time it shattered on the floor his attention was already elsewhere, sweeping the cutlery onto the floor with a clatter, then opening the cupboard door just to slam it again for the sake of making noise.

“Hey, hey, Cross!” Wrecker moved swiftly to intercept him before the fruit bowl and its contents could be turned into ammunition as well. Catching hold of his left wrist and ever-so-gently wrapping his other hand round his right forearm, he positioned himself in front of Crosshair, holding him steady as the sniper tried to turn his face away.

“Let go of me.” Crosshair’s voice was low and dangerous, but edged with the threat of tears he was holding back. “I don’t need your help. I don’t want it. I can do it myself.”

Wrecker cast a glance at the sodden lump of jam dripping down the wall, then returned his attention to his brother.

“I know that Cross,” he said, voice breaking with gentleness. “You’re the toughest person I know.”

He rubbed his thumb soothingly along the inside of Crosshair’s forearm, willing the tense muscles to relax. The longer he held on, the more the fight leached out of Crosshair, until he sagged his forehead against Wrecker’s chest. His shoulders were shaking.

“I didn’t ask ‘cos I thought you couldn’t do it, Cross,” murmured Wrecker softly, resting his chin atop his brother’s head so that his words vibrated through him. “I asked ‘cos I want to help.”

“I don’t want your help.” Crosshair’s voice fractured on the words. Then, a hiccoughing snuffle, “I don’t want to need help.”

Curling in on himself and pulling his arms free of Wrecker’s grip to cross them over his chest, Crosshair gulped as his body was wracked with involuntary sobs. His eyes were screwed tight shut, shoulders creeping up towards his ears as tension ratcheted through his trembling body.

Wrecker leaned after him hesitantly, but Crosshair had broken their contact and he wasn’t going to re-initiate it. Crosshair hated being touched at the best of times, and the only reason Wrecker had stepped in before was because he was scared his brother would hurt himself if he didn’t.

There was a loud squelch as a glob of jelly detached from the wall and fell under the inexorable force of gravity to the floor. Crosshair brought his head up, a forlorn look on his tear-and-snot streaked face as he looked at the destruction he had wrought. Then he coiled over his truncated right arm once more, left hand gripping the space just below where his right wrist used to be.

“You alright for a minute?” Wrecker asked, gentling his voice. “I’m gonna clean up the glass. ‘Fore someone hurts themselves.”

Despite his tears, Crosshair nodded. He leaned against the counter, letting it take his weight, and watched through watery eyes as Wrecker carefully moved around the kitchen, gathering broken crockery and mopping up jam and shards of glass.

Depositing the dust-pan filled with debris on the counter and rinsing his hands in the sink, Wrecker asked, “Want me to make you a drink?”

Crosshair didn’t reply, other than to give a very small nod. He had his face turned away now, red-rimmed gaze distant and unfocused.

Wrecker filled a glass with chilled water and pressed it gently against Crosshair’s knuckles. It prompted Crosshair to release his grip on his right arm, folding his stump across his abdomen as his left gripped the glass and brought it shakily to his lips.

His throat bobbed as he drank, and even when he finished he kept the glass pressed to his mouth, swallowing thickly. A rapid series of blinks cleared the glaze of tears from his eyes, although his lashes were still damp.

“Don’t know why you’re here,” he muttered, not looking at Wrecker. “Waste of your time. You could be doing something better.”

“Nothin’ else is more important to me,” said Wrecker levelly, refusing to be perturbed by Crosshair’s negativity. “Want me to make you a sandwich?”

“I can do it–”

“–Yourself, I know,” Wrecker finished the sentence flatly. “But do you want me to?”

A sniff. “No. Not hungry.”

“Fine.” Leaning on the counter beside Crosshair, Wrecker rolled his neck until it clicked. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” came the angry reply, despair and self-loathing making Crosshair’s voice rasp even more roughly than normal. He dropped his head to stare at the floor, biting back more tears. “Everyone keeps saying they’ll help, but there’s nothing they can do. I’m useless. I can’t do anything. Can’t…” He trailed off with a ragged gasp, gesturing futilely at the mess of jam and glass in the dustpan. “Can’t even look after myself.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Crosshair’s breath rattled erratically as he tried to compose himself, in contrast to Wrecker’s deep, measured inhales.

Before he spoke, Wrecker tilted his face up and away, making sure not to burden Crosshair with his scrutiny.

“Y’know, it’s okay to stop and feel it once in a while. Feel sorry for yerself, or angry. It’s not a bad thing.”

“I’m better than that,” snarled Crosshair through clenched teeth.

Faced with his aggression, Wrecker lapsed into silence once more. He fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly not wanting to leave but unsure how to continue.

It was Crosshair who spoke next.

“If you tell Hunter I cried over jam,” he warned, “I will end you.”

Wrecker grinned as he placed a hand over his heart. “I won’t tell.” He turned, finally bringing the weight of his gaze to bear. “Feelin’ better?”

Crosshair sniffed. “Not really.”

“Would a hug help?”

Warily, Crosshair glanced up at him. His left hand cradled his right elbow, nursing his abbreviated arm. In the absence of a toothpick he chewed on his lip, worrying the skin until it split and bled.

“Yeah,” he agreed finally, cheeks flushing beneath his tear-bruised eyes. “It might.”

Without a word Wrecker gathered him into his embrace, arms gentle and so-careful around his slim shoulders. Crosshair might be nearly as tall as him, but at that moment he seemed small and vulnerable.

He didn’t return Wrecker’s hug. His arms were still wrapped tightly across his own torso, the self-soothing gesture layered under Wrecker’s. Wrecker seemed not to mind. He tilted his head to rest his cheek against Crosshair’s temple.

“Love you, Cross.”

Crosshair’s sharp exhale puffed against his chest. “Don’t know why.”

Wrecker rumbled a dismissive noise, arms tightening in a protective barrier encircling his wounded brother. “I jus’ do, Cross.” His words were a reassurance whispered into the space between them. “I just do.”

[thebirdandthebee]

Call Him Daddy (18+)

This one’s short and sweet - trying to bust a writing slump. I could very easily do a part two if there’s interest! Smut ahead :) 

Title: Call Him Daddy Bradley’s been waiting for this day for years, but now, you’ve given him the green light. WC: 2187

The first sign of consciousness was soreness. Before you’d even popped your eyes open that morning, you felt the sublime ache between your legs, and oddly, your breasts.

There was no one to blame but your husband, Bradley. Who’d been awake for about half an hour or so, but hadn’t left the confines of your 500-thread-count sheets.

Bradley was on cloud nine because you were officially trying. After he’d been wishing and hoping and being patient for years, you’d finally had the conversation last night. You’d been married for four years after three years of dating and now, you were comfortable with the thought of tackling parenthood with Bradley.

“Babe? Are we out of mayo?” Bradley had called from the kitchen. You’d assembled a nice little table of accouterments, potato salad and chips as he’d grilled burgers for dinner and you were poised to eat out in the backyard.

Bradley, along with the help of a few of his squadron teammates, had finished the fence in the backyard last week and you were now able to enjoy the outdoor space with just a little more privacy.

“It’s on the door!” You called back, excited, nervous energy zipping through your veins. Tonight you were telling Bradley you’d gotten your IUD removed. Your IUD, which he saw as his mortal enemy.

The truth was, Bradley would have been thrilled if you’d gone off your birth control when you’d gotten married four years earlier. He always thought there was something romantic – traditional – about a honeymoon baby. Hell, he would’ve been more than happy if you’d gotten pregnant before you’d tied the knot.

There were few things in this life he wanted more than to be a dad and have a big family. As someone who grew up with so little, the idea of a full house felt like a dream. You had always known about Bradley’s wishes to be a father, and he was understanding that while it was something you wanted to do, be a mother, you wanted to check a few things off your list first.

You wanted to get married, do some traveling, establish a little more financial security and enjoy life with just you and Bradley for a few years. You loved everything about being a pair – Christmas mornings, vacations, nights out with friends – those would all change with a baby. Certainly for the better, but it would be different, and you’d never get that time as just the two of you again.

You’d spent six weeks backpacking through Europe in the fall, and since then, you’d slowly and quietly been making preparations to transition to a family of three.

And tonight, you’d finally tell Bradley.

“Baby, it all looks wonderful,” you smiled as he sat down, placing a big bowl of watermelon, along with a jar of mayonnaise on the table. “Love when you grill,” you leaned over your bistro table to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks Babe,” he grinned, not flinching as you snagged the sunglasses from the collar of his T-shirt and dropped them over your eyes. You’d chatted about the day – your work day was quiet and Bradley was bringing in a special detachment for training over the next eight weeks. Most of all, you enjoyed the gentle breeze and scent of the neighbors’ lilacs.

“I was thinking…” you began, earning a deadpan look from your husband. Anytime you started ‘thinking’ usually ended up in a new project for him. “Now that the fence is up, could we plant some flowers over in that corner there?” You gestured to the far left side of the yard. A simple request.

“Yeah, we can do that pretty easy,” he agreed. “Maybe some bushes in the other, we can mulch around,” he laid out with his hands, pausing to take a big bite of his now assembled burger.

“Mm, I don’t think that corner,” you shook your head, “I want to keep that back wall of the yard clear,” you stabbed a piece of watermelon before taking a bite.

“Okay, maybe back along the right side,” he trailed a finger along the fence line. “Maybe a bonfire pit?” He suggested.

“Oh definitely not,” you shook your head, nibbling away at your dinner.

“Okay – how about a Jacuzzi?” He suggested. “Now that we have the fence, we don’t need to worry about bathing suits,” he grinned, and while it was a great deal of work not to grin back, you somehow managed.

“Nah, I just don’t think we’d get much use out if it,” you shrugged.

“Baby – nothing along the back side, no bonfire pit, no Jacuzzi – what did we fence this yard in for?” He asked, laughing as he polished off his first burger. It was not out of the ordinary for Bradley to put away three or for burgers on a grill night. You wiped your mouth with a napkin, crossing your legs before taking off his sunglasses.

“Know what I’m thinking?” You asked, taking a final sip of your iced tea. “I’m thinking… swing set along the back there – it’s the perfect view from the kitchen,” Bradley set his fork down. “And a bonfire pit will be fun eventually, but little feet running around the backyard make me anxious… and the Jacuzzi – you know I’d love to take a skinny dip with you, but… it’s just not good for pregnant people, I already Googled it.”

Bradley’s brain short-circuited for a moment.

“And how,” he paused to clear his throat,” how long until we need to start worrying about that?”

“Well I just got my IUD out last week, but my doctor said I can get pregnant in my first cycle,” you dragged your fingertip around the rim of your drinking glass. “Not everyone does, but you’ve always been an overachiever,” you said, meeting his gaze.

“Now? We – now?” Bradley asked, sputtering, patting all over his chest and shorts like he’d misplaced his phone.

“Now,” you nodded, barely getting a moment to gauge his reaction before he was out of his seat, shoulder pressing into your midsection as he hoisted you over his shoulder.

You were sure your neighbors heard the terrified scream that morphed into giggles as he all but kicked the back door in.

“Now?” He said to himself in disbelief, suddenly forgetting the layout of his own home, twisting around in circles to find the staircase. “I can’t believe this, I didn’t do anything to prepare!” He said, not even registering that you were swinging around over his shoulder.

“And what exactly would you have done to prepare?” You asked, wondering if squirrels would completely demolish the spread that laid out on the patio table.

“I don’t know, but I would have done something,” he insisted, taking the stairs by two and only mildly terrifying you.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled, setting you down on the mattress gingerly and immediately reaching for the non-existent fly on his shorts, which were held up on a drawstring. His brain, completely scrambled, was not cooperating and he hastily grabbed the waistband and ripped the shorts down his legs.

God you loved his pale thighs.

“Bradley, you don’t need to hurry!” You laughed.

“Of course I do,” he insisted, kneeling on the bed with one leg between yours, getting to work right away on your button-fly shorts. “I want ‘em all, baby,” he insisted. “Boys, girls – lots of ‘em – and I want ‘em now.”

“I thought we said three max?” You asked, peeling off your own top as he made busywork of your panties.

“Three to start,” he elaborated, “fuck I don’t care.” He shook his head. Pausing, he crawled up to meet you at eye-level. “I love you so much,” he said sincerely. “I can’t wait to be a Dad,” he added, “but more than that, I can’t wait to see you be Mom.” You leaned up to kiss him gently, the same mustache you’d been in love with for years tickling you softly. “You’re sure?” he asked, brows furrowing with just a bit of concern.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything,” you replied, pushing your fingers through his hair. “Thank you for being so patient with me,” you added, “it means more than you know.” Bradley, at the risk of getting choked up, simply kissed you once more before pressing his forehead against yours.

“If I get emotional right now I won’t be able to get hard,” he said honestly, making you giggle.

“You’re going to be such a good Daddy,” you breathed into his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

“Just kidding, I’m hard.”

Now, in the morning light, he was watching with moony eyes as you nuzzled down into your pillow. Your eyes fluttered for a moment as you took stock of all the delicious places you were suddenly acutely aware of with a small twist of your body.

“Mornin,’” Bradley murmured, tucking one hand behind his head.

You groaned gently, eyes squeezing shut tight before softly opening.

“Hi baby,” you greeted, blearily rubbing at your face. Eyes not yet focused, you zeroed in on your husband as he gazed over at you lovingly, his hand moving gently up and down beneath his blanket.

“Hi,” he grinned.

“What are you doing, Bradley?” You giggled, feeling like you were catching your 16-year-old boyfriend.

“Waiting for you to wake up,” he replied. “Ready for day two?” He asked.

“Day two?” You replied with an exasperated smile. “What’s your plan here Bradley?”

“Every day till we get a positive,” he said simply. “If you get pregnant in the next few weeks, we can have a spring baby,” he added.

“Bradley – every day?” You asked, eyes wide.

“I text Hondo, he’s covering for me at lunch next week, Phoenix can take the week after him,” he added.

“Bradley Bradshaw, what did you say to them?” You asked, mildly scandalized.

“Don’t you worry about it, baby,” he grinned, loving the way you rolled your eyes at him.

“Can’t you feed me first?” You asked softly, “the midnight grilled cheese was not enough,” you added. It was also the only time you two had come up for air all night.

“I will,” he assured, pulling the blanket off his body. His erection was pink, the tip wet and veins prominent. “But maybe, just to start the day…” he trailed off as his hand continued to pump up and down his length.

“I am sore,” you countered weakly, eyeing up his anatomy with a wanton gaze.

“I’ll be gentle,” he insisted, “you set the pace,” he added. You nodded, holding open your blanket, and soon, you were sliding down onto him, your body pressed tightly against his from head to toe.

“Oh, Bradley,” you sighed. And though you felt impossibly full, you felt complete. He gently rocked his hips up into you as you curled against his chest. “You’re so good to me,” you whispered, gasping as he hit a tender spot within you.

“You’re the one making my dream come true,” he countered, palming your ass in his hand as he dropped a kiss to the top of your head. “Gonna be the best Mama to our babies,” he encouraged.

You whined gently as he hit your cervix, which you were sure he’d bruised last night, but in the best way possible.

“S’okay,” he murmured, “doing such a good job,” he added, making your skin warm all over. “Doing such a good job.”

For moments, all that could be heard were his steady, even breaths and your soft exhales against his neck.

“Want you to come first,” he said, “I’m right after you – you first, baby.” Bradley did his absolute best to hold back as you gripped at his chest, hugging the underside of his shoulder to you as you fluttered around him. “Good job, good girl,” he looked up at the ceiling, a sweat breaking out across his forehead before he couldn’t hold back any longer. Just the idea that today could be the day they made a baby was enough for him.

“Bradley,” you gasped, his warm cum filling you as his hips jerked up erratically.

“Fuck,” he huffed out in a laugh. “I’m in there, babe,” he panted.

“I can tell,” you blushed, pressing your face into his chest once again. “Can you go make me some breakfast now?” You asked.

“You gotta wait,” he said, planting his feet and pushing his hips up to create a 45-degree angle, raising you up from the bed. “Gotta raise those hips,” he said, matter-of-fact.

“Baby,” you laughed. “Is this real or you just made it up?” You asked, bringing you hands up to brace on either side of his head

“I got a feeling,” he replied. “And it feels nice,” he added, making you blush again. “Next time, you’re gonna be upside down,” he commented.

“Upside down? Bradley, no,” you shook your head with another laugh.

“Baby, I’m gonna fold you every which way till Sunday,” he all but purred. “You’re gonna feel me in here for weeks,” he slapped your bare ass, making you squeal. “Your days as the only person calling me Daddy are over.”

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed Call Him Daddy, you might also like Mighty Fine!

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 8

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

Eddie hears the commotion in the living room, and it takes everything left in him to move away from the door. He just crawls himself forward and onto a pile of nearby clothes because he knows he'll be out of the way there when they open his door.

He knows he should open the door and go out there. Wayne's still out there, confused and concerned, and he needs to call Jeff. He can't just not show up. Yet he remains on the ground, cross-legged this time, face hidden in his hands.

Steve is broken. Because Eddie broke him.

He's been so afraid that something would happen to Steve if he wasn't around but given the track record of Eddie's life, he feels like such an idiot for not realizing the biggest threat to Steve and his safety is Eddie himself.

The commotion beyond his door gets louder, bursting open, and then Robin and Dustin are falling through it, stumbling over each other in their haste to get into Eddie's room. Wordlessly, Eddie points to where he abandoned Steve on the floor, knows that they're here for him.

He's a bit startled when the two finally untangle themselves and Dustin goes to Steve but Robin drops herself onto his dirty laundry, all but draping herself over him in a hug. His body moves on its own, wrapping around Robin and all but pulling her into his lap in a bear hug. He's not crying, too numb for that now, but he does shove his face into the side of her neck and let out a dry, sobbing noise as she coos softly.

"Shhhh. We're here. We've got Steve and we've got you," Robin's voice is wet. She's crying, too, silently but tears are definitely falling because one lands directly in his ear.

He feels detached from himself after that. He's aware of things going on around him but doesn't feel sentient. Robin pulls back from him slowly, she says something as she stands up but Eddie's too busy watching Dustin ever so gently pick up Steve's pinky finger and then Steve. He thinks the smile Dustin gives him is supposed to be reassuring but it's mostly just sad.

Eddie's head followed Dustin as he heads out the door and down the hall, at which point he starts to track Robin as she's coming back down the hall, dragging Wayne behind her.

"Can you stand up, Eddie?" she asks, and Eddie feels like he's watching himself shake his head no more than he feels like he's actually doing it.

"That's alright," Wayne says, as he pats one of Robin's shoulders before moving around her. "I'm not so old as to not be able to get down there. I still don't understand what's goin' on, Eddie, but I'm here."

Wayne joins him on the floor, sitting beside him so he can fling an arm around Eddie's shoulders and tuck him into his side. Robin flops down on his other side, once again draping herself across Eddie like a weighted blanket. It's all very grounding, and a little bit jarring, and that's probably what makes Eddie come back to himself sooner than he would have if he were alone in his room.

"You should be with Steve," is what Eddie decides on saying when words return, turning his head to look at Robin.

"Nah."

"He'd want you-"

"No, he wouldn't. I'm Steve's soulmate and I know him better than anyone else in the world. Which mean you don't get to tell me what Steve would want, because I know what Steve would want. And that's me, here, making sure you're okay first."

"What's happened with Steve?" Wayne asks, and Eddie stiffens. Robin starts rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"It's a long story, Mr. Munson. But I promise we'll fill you in once the crisis has passed."

"Is this related to whatever happened last year durin' the supposed earthquake that y'all can't talk about?"

"Well, I couldn't say either way, since we can't talk about it."

"Right. Get one o' the kids to tell me, then. Whatever they signed ain't legal anyhow."

Robin shoots Eddie a look, like she's trying to figure out if Eddie broke his NDA and told his uncle everything. He gives a quick shake of his head, and then Robin looks to Wayne. "I'm certain Dustin would be thrilled to fill you in, then. Now, Eddie, can you tell me what happened?"

He looks down the hall. He can see people crowded into the trailer's tiny living room but none of them look like any member of the Byers-Hopper household. "Uhh, yeah, but where's El?"

"They're in Indy, some family day thing. But don't worry, we went out to the Cerebro and were able to get El on the Walkie, so they're on the way back."

"You went- how long have I been just... sitting in here," Eddie is mostly talking to himself because it hasn't felt like enough time has passed for them to have made it to pick everyone up, get to Weathertop, communicate with El, and come here.

"Well, Nancy called me-" she cuts off, grabbing Eddie's arm and twisting it around so she can read the time on his watch, "-about an hour and a half ago. So, I guess you've been here that long."

Eddie untwists his arm, shaking her off. "You are being scarily calm right now, Queen of Catastrophizing."

"I already had an hour and a half to freak out. You think I need more?" Robin says as she stands up.

"I guess not," Eddie follows after her.

"Hey, help your old man up," Wayne grumbles, hand out for Eddie to grasp and help pull.

They go down the hall and now Eddie can see the full collective of people in his living room. Nancy, Mike, Lucas, Erica, Max, and Dustin, who is still holding Steve. It settles something inside Eddie, that the group he sees before him is the same one that fought tooth and nail to clear his name and keep him alive.

"So, we're all really sure that we can't just glue it back on?" Mike is asking when Eddie, Robin, and Wayne make it to the living room.

"We aren't sure about anything, Mike," Nancy replies, the frustration in her voice clear.

Everyone stops talking, though, as Wayne gives Eddie a thump on his back and wades through the crowd to get back to his chair. "Well, don't stop on my account. If I hear somethin', no I didn't."

That gets a snort of a laugh from Dustin.

Nancy looks like she wants to argue but doesn't. Instead, she wheels on Eddie, full journalism mode seemingly on, "what happened?"

Eddie swallows thickly before answering, "I dropped him. I-I pick him up and something pinched my palm. It surprised me, or something, and I just- I just let go. He landed on his left side before falling onto his back."

Nancy nods, brain processing much faster than Eddie right now, "And the crack appeared before or after you dropped him?"

He tries to remember, "I don't- I think so?"

"You think or you know?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know, Wheeler," Eddie says it more harshly than needed but he doesn't know! He doesn't remember because he didn't even look at Steve for longer than a second or two after Jeff saw him. "I've been having a mental breakdown kind of all day so no, I don't know! All I know is it's my fault because there wasn't a crack this morning, and now he's missing a finger-"

She's not even effected by his outburst, "Eddie! I'm not blaming you! I'm asking for the details because if you didn't do anything to cause the crack, then maybe that's just Steve, breaking the curse or something."

His anger drains from him almost as quickly as it built. "What?"

"I've been reading a lot, researching you know. About magical transformations. But there's not a lot of nonfiction on the subject. Ergo, I've been reading a lot of fairy tales."

"Which isn't really good for research-" Dustin starts, but Nancy just talks over him.

"My point is that, if you didn't do anything to cause the crack, maybe it just happened naturally. Supernaturally? Whatever, maybe it's a sign of whatever curse is on Steve is fading on it's own. That's why I wanted to know," she shifts from one foot to another now before adding, "I'm sorry about your day. I might have broached the subject differently had I known."

"No, you wouldn't have, but that's why I like you, Wheeler. You're a no-nonsense gal and I appreciate that," Eddie says.

Nancy gives him a small, almost shy, smile in return and the room falls into a silence that just this side of uncomfortable.

"Alright, Dustin, since the talkin' seems to be done, you wanna fill an old man in on what the hell's been goin' on around here for the last few years?" Wayne breaks the silence and Eddie barks out a laugh at the look on everyone's faces.

"Uhh, we don't-I don't know what you are talking about," is Dustin's eloquent answer.

Wayne nods and Eddie knows his uncle well enough to recognize the look on his face and in his eyes. Wayne switches tactics, then, and says, "You got any one older than twenty-five that knows what's happenin'?"

The group exchanges looks before Dustin says, "yes."

"Alright. They comin' here?"

"Yes."

"I can wait, then. Anyone hungry? Thirsty?" Wayne asks, and then without waiting for an answer, looks to Eddie and says, "Eddie, get to makin' some sandwiches. What kinda host are you?" Wayne is shaking his head like he can't believe Eddie's audacity.

Eddie sputters out some indignant response, even as he turns to round the corner cabinet to officially be in the kitchen. His first choice is peanut butter and jelly, but when he gets the peanut butter out, he can see there's probably enough for two sandwiches, three if it's a thin layer of peanut butter. Opening the fridge shows a sad amount of lunch meat; the cupboard has two tuna fish cans.

"Guess we're making several different sandwiches," Robin's voice so close to his back makes him jump, which earns a chorus of chuckles from the peanut gallery in the living room.

"Someone needs to get you a bell," Eddie mutters. "Get to work on the PB and J's. I'll get this tuna mixed."

They work in silence, making three different types of sandwiches. Wayne knew they didn't have enough of any one thing to make enough for everyone here, and the ones who will be showing up eventually, but he told Eddie to do it anyway. Asked, but didn't wait for an answer. Wayne's making busy work for him, he realizes. A distraction from what he's done. He's not sure if he should be thankful for that or not.

The only thing separating the kitchen from where everyone is seated in the living room is a counter and cupboards, so when the sandwiches are done, Eddie just shoved them across the counter. "Sandwiches are done."

It's not exactly a rush for the sandwiches on the other side of the counter but everyone does gather to grab one. There's not even an argument about wanting a specific one, except Max, who is offered all three kinds and when she says PB&J, Mike hands over the one he grabbed without hesitation. It's the most mature thing Eddie's seen him do, if only because every other time he does something mature he complains about it, which kind of ruins the 'mature' part.

It's about three minutes into eating that the trailer's front door bursts open and at first no one is there, like a gust of wind had blown it open, but then El comes barreling in and Hopper can be heard shouting something about knocking first.

"Where is he?" El demands.

"Here," Dustin is already holding Steve out to her. She doesn't even approach Dustin, just pulls Steve to her using her mind, grabbing him out of the air with one hand. She examines him quickly, finding the crack. She trails one of her fingers along the crack to where his pinky is missing. Dustin adds, "Do you want his finger, too?"

She shakes her head and turns to Eddie next, and he doesn't even feel the bandana leave his pocket, but he does watch it fly across the space between them. She moves over to sit in front of the TV, Steve in her lap as she's folding the bandana into a blindfold.

"TV," is her final demand as her eyes vanish behind cloth and she's trying off the bandana. Mike moves instantly to the TV, clicking it on to fill the room with static.

Wayne, to his credit, has only the tiniest hint of an eyebrow raised from watching things move about the room seemingly by nothing. El hadn't even stopped to consider someone not In The Know was here. Guess he's In The Know now.

Will, Jonathan, Argyle, Joyce, and Hopper have made it into the trailer, closing the door silently behind them. Hopper finds Wayne among the crowd of kids, eyes going wide, while Wayne just lifts his sandwich in a salute before taking a big bite out of it.

"Steve, I cannot hear you. I do not think you can hear me in your mind. Nod if you hear me now." El's voice breaks the tense silence that had fallen.

Of shit, what did Eddie do?

"Oh, good. Are you okay?" A pause. "He is nodding. Do you know what happened? He is shaking his head. Do you know why you are far away now? Shaking his head again. You can still hear. Can you still see? He is nodding. Steve, there is a crack on your arm-"

"His left arm," Mike interjectes.

"Yes, your left arm. Yes. You are missing a finger on that hand. Do you think that is what is causing the distance? He is shrugging. Do not worry, we will figure this out. I am going to go now."

El pulls off the bandana and uses it to wipe the blood from her nose before setting it on the living room floor. "I cannot get as close to him as I could before. He stays far away no matter how close I walk. But he is okay."

He's okay. Steve's okay. Fucking Christ, Eddie's going to throw up. A couple people call his name as he dashes down the hall. He crashes through the bathroom door and knows he doesn't have time to close it, so everyone gets to hear him lose his sandwich into the toilet bowl. On the third heave of his stomach, cool hands touch his head, gather his hair up and away from his face. He doesn't even have it in him to flinch or jump. "Thanks."

"I'd say anytime, dingbat, but I don't really want to hold your puke hair too many more times. You get, like, two more, tops," Robin says.

"I can't go back out there, Robin," he whispers, "I did this. I cracked him, broke his finger off and now El can't even hear him. I can't- he's gotta go with someone else. I can't-"

"I know. Dustin already asked if you'd be upset if Steve went home with him. I'll let him know you understand he needs to be around Steve right now."

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

"Dingbat. Eddie. You're mad enough at yourself for all of us," she says, reaching over and flushing the toilet. Eddie feels like there's more throwing up to do but he is glad to have the smell of vomit reduced with the flush. He sits up a bit more, so his hair won't fall into his face when Robin lets go. Robin lets go long enough to search the bathroom cabinets for a hair tie, pushing it into Eddie's hands. "Hair up."

"So demanding," Eddie mumbles even as he gathers his hair into the tie.

"Once you're done ralphing just go to bed. I'll get everyone out of your house."

Eddie nods and Robin leaves, clicking the door closed. He heaves a few more times before his body is done. On shaking legs, he makes his way to his room. He feels like he's floating above himself again. He doesn't know if everyone has left yet, or if he hears nothing because he's too out of it.

He tucks himself in and dozes. He wakes up three times; once, when his uncle comes in and puts the walkie near him on the bed, the second time in the evening when Robin wriggles into his bed and forces herself into his arms with a simple I usually hold Steve when I'm feeling bad, but I suppose you holding me will have to do and the final time, almost at midnight, when the walkie goes off.

"Anyone up?" says the disembodied voice of Dustin Henderson.

Eddie's not sure how the quiet voice woke him up, but it does. He reaches over Robin, who has starfished out of his arms in their sleep, to grab the walkie. He doesn't know if he should answer, so he holds out for someone else.

"Hello?" Dustin asks again.

No one answers. So, finally, Eddie does. "I'm here, Henderson. Bad dream?"

"I'm glad it's you, Eddie," Dustin says, something soft in his voice.

"Why?"

"'Cause I wanted to talk to you," says a new voice, a familiar voice.

"Steve?" Eddie whispers, even as his free hand is violently shaking Robin awake.

Robin mumbles something incoherent, head turning to Eddie as the voice on the walkie says, "Yeah, it's me."

[hamsternella]

Have you seen that anime about the elusive samurai?? Could you write something with a reader who is a hashira and acts like the protagonist? +yandere pillars and muzan/other demons🤭

[PART 1] Yandere!Hashiras (+Muzan and demons) x Elusive!Reader

cw: yandere themes, stalking, blood, gore, violence, forced relationship, mdni

SO SORRY but it doesn't allow me to put more images, so here is the link to the second part where the demons + muzan are included: HEREEEE

TIP JAR

Ubuyashiki could be a man capable of predicting the future, and thus save himself a great deal of trouble that would jeopardize the safety of his family or his company of Pillars. But all people have a breaking point—and you were, without a doubt, that point.

No one really knew when you became a Pilar. Not even Ubuyashiki himself was sure. This was because of your elusive and confusing nature; the way you seemed to totally detach yourself from everything and everyone, all the time. You were not a bad person at all. You were just... misunderstood, let's say.

You accomplished all your missions on time, and you were undoubtedly a defender of your people with all your heart and pride on the edge of your sword. You were also known as the 'Elusive Pillar', due to your obvious nature. If anything, the real reason you were still alive was because of your enormous ability to dodge and escape from dangerous situations instead of attacking.

If a demon recognized you, the others knew there was no way to beat you: you were going to make them desperate, and eventually their hunger would turn to frustration. People loved you unconditionally for that reason. It was even funny.

To Ubuyashiki and the other Pillars, the reason for your loyalty to the cause was unknown. Why on earth had you become part of the team? No, indeed, how did you even manage it?

You could go against the evil of the world, the injustices and the demons; but not for a murderous hatred, and much less for money, because clearly your salary was the lowest. Your interest was nil. During fights you preferred to work alone, because you enjoyed the chase and the weight of death on your heels.

And you always laughed. Always. God help us, because at this point you even looked like a crazy person.

Otherwise, you were almost never with Ubuyashiki and the Pillars. Who knows where you would be fulfilling missions; eating or sleeping at night. It was difficult to contact you because even your crow had had enough of you—a peck on your head and never came back. Trusting someone lonely and who seemed to play between life and death was too much even for the natural course of the universe, if even a crow didn't want you around.

But as much fun as the idea of continuing to play blindly with death was, duty eventually came to your door, materialized in the form of Ubuyashiki's crow. The animal announced the arrival of new subjects and a demon that promised scientific advances; and the truth is that it was impossible for you to contain your curiosity.

Your approach to the team not only led you to reconnect with the Pillars, and thus take back the place that belonged to you, but also to meet special demons that promised another kind of glimpse of what was your good friend. The most loyal, honest and eternal companion.

Death. Or maybe something more—something terrible.

Gyomei

The Stone Pillar considers you a necessary member, but condemns your childish attitude. He does not believe that your uprooting will bring positive things, both for you and for them; and he fears, of course, for your safety when you fail to report your condition after many months away from home. Gyomei thinks you could do with some training to forge some character in you, and asks Ubuyashiki to allow him to be your teacher.

Needless to say, the decision doesn't seem like a good idea to you. For the first few days you disappear again; and if you return at all, it's to steal some food from the kitchens and to play with Nezuko, who turned out to be a pleasant companion with whom you can enjoy a moment's peace. Gyomei catches you in the act, but holds back and says nothing. He secretly begins to discover facets that he thought were alien to you—and he begins to like that. His perception of you eventually changes.

Gyomei would gradually become a silent stalker. That would lead him to take advantage of the information he gets from you in your vulnerable moments, in order to connect with you when he can catch you in the middle of your escapades. He uses his wits to avoid being discovered; and although guilt weighs on his conscience, a strange pleasure settles in his heart.

With the delicacy of a petal against the lips, Gyomei rests his against your ear on the coldest nights; sighing sensitive words of encouragement, finding morbid satisfaction in how you melt and surrender yourself before him. When you decide to give him a chance, finding in him a sensitive soul who understands you incredibly, you end up undressing your soul, and you share with him part of your past. Why you are like this.

The story of your family being slaughtered brings the Stone Pillar down completely. You tell him how a distant relative betrayed your parents, selling them with no shame. You survived by the grace of the Gods; while your siblings ended their own lives, terrified that the same demon might return for them. Over the years you found it impossible to end your life as they did. There was something inside you—a flame. It wasn't courage or honor; neither was it a thirst for revenge. You simply wanted to live.

Gyomei understands that you and he are somewhat alike, and if that alone doesn't fuel his craze for you, the fact that you are so fragile definitely does. Fragile for him, at least. A voracious hunger begins to take hold of his being; the need to contain and possess you, to never let you escape again. The idea that you still want to savor the brush of death and enjoy the chase burns within his heart. Gyomei can't believe you're going to go on living like it's nothing; even after that night he confided his past to you too.

Gyomei would be a soft yandere. He doesn't use brute force to keep you in line. He prefers to mold you emotionally and psychologically. He would know how to follow you silently; he would use all the information he gets from this to get you, to make you need him, and maybe make you more docile and to never escape from there. From him. He would use your past misfortunes to brainwash you, considering that he loves your dependence on him.

Gyomei doesn't mind if you remain a Pillar. Although if in the end you decide to give that up he wouldn't mind either…

Tengen

Tengen considers you a curious specimen. He finds it fascinating to meet a person as agile as he is, who seems to understand the techniques of a speed fight. Imagine the surprise that engulfs him when, challenging you to a race, he finds that there is no way to track you by sound—you are quick and delicate as a leaf in the wind.

Nevertheless, the Sound Pillar feels conflicted with other facts. For example, that your loyalty to Ubuyashiki is merely a matter of convenience, since for you none of this is part of honor or revenge directly as they are; and eventually, Tengen feels both distrustful and fascinated at the same time.

How are you supposed to relate to him if the guy is giving mixed signals all the time? As the weeks go by you decide it's best to ignore him—and Tengen, of course, hates that. The frustration of not being able to be with you, since you run away all the time, leads him to put aside prejudice in order to enjoy training and racing with you. On one of those days he finds Gyomei spying on you, and the Sound Pillar can't hide a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't annoyance; the truth is that he was also intrigued to know what you were doing in your free time (which was technically almost all the time).

Tengen would be slow to realize that he is falling on his knees before you. He thinks it's because he has found a good partner, with whom he can enjoy many fun times. But the truth is that it's hard to control his feelings when he discovers that Gyomei has managed to have you in the palm of his hand; not only getting honest about who you are, but also monopolizing your time by becoming your teacher. An accumulation of jealousy leads him to eventually accept that he has begun to like you. You know—more than a friend.

I said it would take him a while to figure it out, didn't I? I hope you know how to prepare yourself very well for when Tengen accepts the inevitable. There's no turning back when he decides there's no reason to hide or repress his feelings for you. The Sound Pillar does everything to hinder your encounters with Gyomei; and even proposes to help you in your training when he notices how close you are to the Stone Pillar. Although it pains him to accept that you appreciate his partner, Tengen understands that he can't simply force you to stop talking to him.

The truth is that I don't think Tengen is a violent or extremely jealous yandere. Of course, as his obsession with having you to himself increases, so does his jealousy or harmful thoughts if he finds you too close to Gyomei, for example. But like the Stone Pillar, he is incapable of laying a hand on you… at least in violent terms—because sexually speaking, the Sound Pillar is increasingly thirsty. Unlike Gyomei, who finds pleasure in the emotional control he has over you, Tengen prefers to be physically dominant and have your attention and devotion on him at all times.

The day he discovers something from your past is the day you can consider yourself lost. Tengen will try everything in his power to familiarize you with his wives —always imagining that you could be among them, as a partner, good friend and lover—, and thus bind you emotionally; taking advantage of the fact that Gyomei opened a past wound. Tengen wants to show you that he can help you forget the pain with his great qualities. Sex, money, fun... Anything you want, he can give you. Do you want to cheat death? He will help you with that! Of course, then you have to be good, and return the favors... And who are you to refuse a good friend?

As long as your attention and adoration are on him, Tengen has no problem with you remaining a Pillar and talking to others. But at the end of the day he must always be your priority! Because, when you have to leave your post, you have to know how to satisfy him to fulfill your role by being at home with everyone else.

Yep, he's made up his mind. He has to be fast if he wants to get you. Even faster than you.

Kyōjurō

Well, let's see. You didn't like this guy at first. What the hell with that smile? And that voice? God, if anything he can seem like someone so nice, but the first moment he meets you the only thing that comes out of his mouth is: 'I don't accept your ways! But I welcome you, Elusive Pillar!’ And that's not a bad thing—please don't be misunderstood. You didn't expect them to open their arms to you as soon as you arrived; you understood it was going to be difficult if they'd hardly ever seen you in their lives. But this guy was something else.

Although Kyōjurō is not entirely convinced of your participation in the cause, you two now have Tengen in common. He appreciates you both very much, and the Flame Pillar notices it; so he tries with minimal interest to relate to you in order to understand what it is that fascinates others so much. It doesn't take him long to become equally fascinated with your agility and wit. You're quite charming, too! Suddenly Kyōjurō's smile grows naturally—his heart vibrates with excitement as a new day begins with your face in front of his.

The Flame Pillar is a typical sunshine. You quickly grow fond of him, and deeply appreciate his company. At first it was hard to put up with his yelling, and let's not even get started on how hard it is to talk to him because of his poor hearing. But other than that, Kyōjurō is a real sweetheart of a person that you love spending time with; you play together, eat together, and he even supports you unconditionally in your training and everything you do... until these same goals begin to pull you away from him.

You can't wish for things so different from him! The Flame Pillar loves your way of dealing with society's problems —demons or crime in general—, but he knows that sooner or later your true goals are going to lead you to not concentrate all your energy on your training, and with that, to move away from him and the cause. Kyōjurō wants you to stay with them forever... Well, the truth is that he wants you to stay with him forever, rather.

The Flame Pillar knows how to use his charm on others to drag shame and guilt on you. How do you go against the ideas of someone as respected as him? Impossible! Imagine how hard it is to start missing training, meals or meetings when everyone is betting on your participation because of Kyōjurō; the way even Ubuyashiki eats the story that the Flame Pillar puts on the table for him. Gyomei himself proposed it, and Tengen fully supported it.

‘Master! This person is very valuable to us, but it is difficult for them to accept it… Their past haunts them—the pain of loss and distrust of themselves. They are afraid! Master, please propose Elusive Pillar's compulsory and absolute participation with us! We are their friends and we want them to take command of their territory and responsibilities as a Pillar.’

Kyōjurō is an extremely possessive yandere, but not jealous. He loves to imagine that it will be practically impossible for you to escape if everyone starts to get familiar with you. Maybe you'll find a better goal if you see that everyone loves you! Why wish for death, when there is a huge and powerful family that can bring you greater pleasure? Besides, it would be a shame to jeopardize your abilities for an unnecessary whim such as playing with fate; always between life and death, escaping from those who can appreciate and love you.

The Flame Pillar is a delusional man. It doesn't matter how much you show your discomfort; nor how much you fight or escape countless nights, when everyone is asleep. He really believes you do it because you're afraid of the truth: you need them, and especially him. You crave affection, protection and unconditional support. You long for someone like him—a person capable of providing for you in all the ways you lack in your own capacity. But don't be ashamed! Kyōjurō will do whatever it takes to make sure that your ideas —and your legs, which really would be a shame if something were to happen to them— don't get in the way of the dazzling future that awaits with your new family... and partners, too. The Flame Pillar has no intention of abandoning his own yearnings with you.

Giyū

Giyū doesn't give a shit about you. The truth is, he doesn't agree with your actions, and disinterest is his first response to anything to do with you. So what if you're agile? So what if you're resourceful? What good is it if others fight to get Ubuyashiki's word to keep you locked up and forced to work on other terms? Giyū knows you're not going to take it seriously one way or the other. You're not even here for money, food or shelter—you're here for fun!

The Water Pillar finds it offensive that you show your face every morning in the main yards. Your hand on your sword and your back straight; eyes attentive to everyone and everything. He doesn't quite understand your dynamic either. Why are you so good at EVERYTHING you do when you fight? What is your purpose? Giyū feels that the world becomes three times more confusing when he must leave on a mission with you, and until you have the demon stressed you don't give even one cut with your sword. NOT EVEN ONE.

In spite of everything, he cannot deny that the Gods are on your side because of the way you dodge death with every step you take. Every leap is minutely calculated; every turn, every laugh, even. You dare not waste air—your breaths are precise and clean. Your technique is immaculate.

The Water Pillar swallows his prejudices when you end up saving his life. You decapitated the last demon with simplicity, smiling sweetly at him. Giyū didn't know the reason, or maybe he wanted to ignore it; but from that day on he had to give Kyōjurō the reason. To the things he and the others whispered about you on the sly. Because yes, just as you read it: Giyū might be as frustrated as he wanted to show, but he couldn't shake the charm of your smile and the impact of your presence around him.

Don't think this will make him want to spend time with you anyway. This guy is going to go on for a while ignoring you after he greets you in the morning. His eyes will roam over your figure, his hands will trace the fabric of your haori when you least expect it, and maybe he'll allow himself to take a walk to catch you sneaking around playing in the trees, wanting to hear your laughter... But nah, don't think it's because he's interested in you. Right?

Giyū is extremely weird. He doesn't understand that he likes you; and when Tengen makes a joke alluding to it, the Water Pillar can't help but feel deeply hurt that you don't even care about that. The feeling passes, but the disappointment there lingers. Giyū is embarrassed and confused. What is wrong with you? What is this unhealthy interest? The walks among the trees increase; and it's all about learning more about you and discovering what drives him so much to you. It's just that. It really is.

The thing with Giyū is this: the guy ends up coming to the conclusion that it's all due to pure and simple admiration for you. Nothing more. He talks it over with Kyōjurō —for he doesn't trust Tengen and his humor; neither does he trust Gyomei and his need to keep all information concerning you to himself—, and with a bit of manipulation here and there is where the real trouble begins. The Water Pillar is a new man.

Giyū would take a long time to demonstrate his yandere nature, but once he does, for you it's where hell on earth unleashes its first waves of heat. A warning. The Water Pillar is possessive and jealous, but he doesn't communicate it with words; he prefers to punish you physically with light activities, and humiliate you with a kind of ice law to make you feel lonely. Of course he'll join in with the others, and take advantage of this to gain your attention and affection, so that he can get inside your head and manage you as he pleases. And, hey, don't tell anyone, but... Giyū doesn't enjoy having to share you.

His darkest dream is that something terrible would happen to you, to those beautiful, fast legs, so that you would abandon your post and he could lock you away from the world. You would be just for him—to discover together other kinds of morbid pleasures that don't have to bring you so close to death, and thus away from him.

Sanemi

I'll keep it short and clear with this guy: it's going to hurt like hell, and where suffering is optional, with him it's inevitable and unstoppable. Your encounter with the Wind Pillar begins and ends with a fight, where he refuses to 'team up with someone as hopeless as you'. Just as you thought sensibly about Kyōjurō you did so with Sanemi, but of course you came to be offended by his violent behavior. The discomfort was such that you ended up running away for the whole day; terrified at the thought of having to share another space with him.

Sanemi doesn't exactly hate you, but he doesn't appreciate you either. It's a middle ground... that always ends with an explosion on his part. Screams, fists in the air; occasionally your terrified face. That's funny to him—your grimace of terror. You can be unstoppable to demons, and maybe charm others with your wit or shit whatever it is you hide up your sleeve, but he'd rather keep the charm of your fear to himself. You're so small and easy to take down with a scream. You are pathetic.

The Wind Pillar would be one of the most difficult to conquer/accompany. Relating to him means that you're going to have to put up with banging and yelling; although if you decide to walk away, he will eventually find out one way or another about your past. At first it's annoying mutterings, all coming from what he considers to be your 'pathetic followers'. Then the odd encounter with Kyōjurō, where Sanemi can't ignore honorific mentions of you and your achievements in battle; as well as your amazing personality and authenticity. To the Wind Pillar all this is pure garbage. Why should he be interested?

'They are pathetic. Are you telling me that they come to take part in a cause for the fun of it? So what if they fight and defend? It's the minimum and indispensable; I'm not going to applaud them. Nor do I find much merit in them being fast or agile... How else are they going to survive if they're not? Fuck them—with their ways of doing things, here and there. Whatever. I don't want to talk about this again, Rengoku.'

It gets to a point where Sanemi can't get over the frustration. His partner's voice keeps drilling into his head—his words about you; the way you 'so well' fight or handle yourself around, melting into the environment as you carry yourself with simplicity and divine graces... Needless to say, at night the Wind Pillar corners you after witnessing your training. The result? A 'let's fight, you piece of garbage', and a beating that leaves you stone dead for a week. It is humiliating for Sanemi to have to accept what others whispered in the shadows: you were charming. And not just charming, let's be honest; also fast and agile.

Like Tengen, the Wind Pillar would begin to let go of certain prejudices in order to spend quality time with you. In other words, simple training. Sometimes also because of how easy it was to be with you even in the silence, thanks to that way you have of being: so calm, but at the same time on par with the flow of life. It's as if you are aware of things that humans normally ignore. Sanemi didn't know how to explain it—it seemed complicated and therefore annoying. He preferred not to be annoyed with you; who knows if he would end up beating you to a pulp again.

Kyōjurō seizes the opportunity and leaves the rest of the work in the hands of Gyomei, whom Sanemi deeply respects. The latter gives him an account of nefarious events that end your family's story, and of the real reason behind Ubuyashiki's words regarding your new role in the cause. The Wind Pillar since then keeps seeing you with different eyes; his own heart spinning as he imagines your small figure —that of a creature; a child— facing such macabre scenarios. He understands on the one hand why you act the way you do. The image of his own brother dancing in his mind, with bitter memories tangling with yours. He's going crazy and the feeling is strange.

Sanemi will begin to silently admire you. With that comes other particular things, like his drastic mood swings; being bitter, maybe angry at something or someone, and then an appearance from you keeps him shy or silent. It's strange to you—but you don't question anything about it. You love being able to have a normal coexistence together with Wind Pillar, whom you admire greatly for his strength.

Sanemi, along with Iguro and Shinobu, would be the most dangerous once their yandere natures come out. The Wind Pillar is quick to understand that he wants and NEEDS to protect you. He is capable of anything for it, even hurting you enough to cripple you. He is a passionate lover; he wishes he could hold you in his arms, and can only bear to share you normally with Iguro; filling his head with ideas to set his eyes on you. So watch out, because Sanemi is going to do the impossible to make you understand (physical, psychological or sexual punishments. All of it). Maybe it's time for him to share more time with Tengen—something interesting could come out of it to try out with you.

Iguro

How come? Sanemi's on his knees for you? The Snake Pillar feels like the world is upside down when he finds his friend's lost eyes for you. And why is that, by any chance? He doesn't quite understand; but he's willing to find out. Of course it's not easy, considering that even with your reduced schedule due to training and meetings you're still on the run and doing your own thing. In dark times, in pain and illness, you are still you. He admires that very much.

Iguro is another dangerous yandere who accepts his own nature without shame. As soon as Sanemi fills his head with topics referring to you, he marches and includes himself in your routines to learn more about who you really are and the things that make you up. For you it's awkward, of course—the encounters are forced. Iguro judges you all the time, though he soon realizes that you're not at all like Giyū: someone haughty who passes over others. It's a relief to him. How could he have doubted his friend's judgment?

The Snake Pillar invites you to trainings, either alone with him or even when the Wind Pillar is available as well. It's hard for you to keep up when they attack you so eagerly. You can tell how much fun they have with you, fascinated by your movements and your charm when you get caught up in the moment; for Iguro it's a feast for the eyes and ears, with your laughter vibrating in his memory when you're not there. It doesn't take long for the Snake Pillar to feel repulsed by his feelings for you as they begin to emerge. He finds it bold on his part; considering himself unpleasant and unable to live up to you.

Just like Giyū and Gyomei, Iguro will start stalking you to satiate his need for you. In one of those many silent pursuits he'll end up hearing a couple of curious murmurs from the others, and as if his fascination for you wasn't enough, with whispers about your past and a couple of more private details he ends up accepting that he can't —nor wants to— tear you out of his head. From here the stalking increases, and you know he's there, but you don't say anything. You think it's halfway understandable; you weren't going to be marching with freedom so easily yet. Although the reason you had in mind was totally different from what they had.

Once the contempt stage passes and your words of encouragement reach the Snake Pillar's heart, considering that your friendship with him increases over time, Iguro will be more than willing to be faithful to you completely. He will attend to your needs whenever he can and you need him to; he will give you emotional support, as one would imagine a man devoted to his lover; and he will be defending the territory around you like an animal. He is a possessive yandere, and quite violent with the reason of his obsession if he doesn't get what he wants: your attention and reciprocation. Needless to say, just like Giyū, Iguro hates having to share you. When he learns that Tengen has plans to take you into his domain to fulfill alongside his wives, fury consumes him.

The Snake Pillar is not entirely okay with you continuing to take on your responsibility as a Pillar. What's more, with the Wind Pillar they had wicked conversations; full of plans on how to get you to retire forcibly. At first it's a soft thing—the sweetness falling from his lips like a whisper. As desperation takes over his mind, and with it bitter fantasies where he loses you completely, Iguro loses patience and accepts Sanemi's help to humiliate and break you mentally. Who knows... maybe even this will lead you to despair; and with it, to a terrible accident.

But you don't have to be afraid! Iguro has suffered for a long time from confinement. He understands that your charm comes from that beautiful freedom, with which you can walk around and sing for him. Iguro loves to hear your laughter. So when you retire, he will be more than willing to accompany you and keep an eye on you; always attentive to your needs, and then you can calmly return home, where you will lie for the rest of your life in a quiet and safe routine, far from death. The Snake Pillar trembles with excitement, unable to process how happy it feels to dream of that future where he has you tamed. Where you are docile and always by his side.

Muichiro (platonic)

Muichiro forgets you as soon as you introduce yourself after a meeting. The Mist Pillar, who is just a child at your side, not even acknowledges you from then on; passing you without greeting, losing his attention on the shapes of the clouds, and remaining silent, his eyes fixed somewhere when you speak to him. It's strange—but you don't question much else.

The only way I can see this boy ending up obsessing over you is after a messy fight. Not that he will be immediately attached to you; but he will certainly remember your face and voice clearly when you have saved his life. It's as if you've reached a weak spot inside his mind, in a dusty corner. The honorable way in which you risked your life to save a couple of children from several hungry demons, with a speech directed towards the Mist Pillar and his behavior, undoubtedly interfered with a barrier in his heart.

Muichiro is jealous, but only if he loses his priority for attention. If you put him at the top of your agenda, rest assured that you won't have to deal with his bad temper, which is pretty funny—but don't let his tenderness blind you. The Mist Pillar may do unpleasant things, never directed at you, in order to have you all to himself.

The loss of his family at such an early age, and in a traumatic way, leads Muichiro to cling to you in order to feel the normality he lost years ago. At the beginning it's something soft: glances, smiles, training sessions together, meals... By the time you realize it, you have the Mist Pillar inside your territory. It's like having a little brother. It's tender, but over time it becomes insistent.

Kyōjurō takes this opportunity to try to mimic Muichiro within your family picture—convince your brain that the wounded boy could be saved by you, just as you never could with your own siblings. It's cruel, but at the end of the day it works successfully. You may not see the Mist Pillar as normal at all; but he is patient, and he is willing to pull the strings to force you to like him if necessary.

Muichiro is a soft yandere, who enjoys being affectionate and receiving equal treatment. Like others of his peers, he doesn't quite agree with you being a Pillar; but he also can't imagine a future where he can't fight by your side. He loves to watch you dance among the leaves, moving your legs almost as if you were flying—never touching the ground enough, looking like a bird about to dart toward the enemy with the edge of your sword as its beak.

But as much as he adores you, Muichiro understands that he has to take care of you if he wants to continue to enjoy your presence and your affection. The way? By ruining your wings a little... just enough for you to flap them when he wants you to; but to make it impossible for you to fly away. You'd lose the charm if you have to be put in a cage, no matter how much others think it's optimal.

The Mist Pillar has dark ideas, but they are born out of the fear of losing you. From his affection for you. He is mostly someone tender and possessive, willing to mental manipulation rather than physical punishment. The latter would be the one he would never choose, unless you force him.

Shinobu

Sadistic and unstoppable. That's how Shinobu can be described. She would have been obsessed with you long ago, perhaps since you arrived with the other Pillars; but she would not be close to you completely until time passes, and with the arrival of Kyōjurō and his confirmation about the popular interest in you is when she decides she might join the plan.

The Insect Pillar is someone who enjoys good conversation, medicine and peace. She is too quiet and can barely care deeply about anything other than her job as a Pillar. Other than that, forget about it. So imagine her surprise when she learns of your arrival—Ubuyashiki's words echoing in her head as she prepares everything to inspect your health.

Suspicion blossoms first. Shinobu doesn't quite buy the reason you became a Pillar, but feigns understanding about your case and listens with sincere interest to your anecdotes. Discovering that you have traveled and fought around many new places, with demons of all kinds and a secret past, begins to sting deep inside her. At the beginning it is just that: curiosity and distrust. She refuses to so freely allow anyone who has been away for so long. I mean, you're the first Pillar in history to have been away from their post for so long! What's the point of that?

Because you have to attend often for the beatings Sanemi gives you, or for regular checkups for health issues that Ubuyashiki is concerned about, Shinobu finds herself starting varied conversations with you, because she finds you a good companion. You learn new things about medicine, and impart to her techniques you learned far away, having to meet doctors from hidden villages. The Insect Pillar considers you an interesting and powerful member.

The moment where Shinobu starts to like you is unclear. As if that wasn't enough, her signals are confusing, and she doesn't fully share her feelings with you or anyone else. To you, the Insect Pillar is terrifying with her empty eyes and inaccurate temperament. To her, you are charming and interesting; with a bright personality that helps her dispel anger and sadness.

You don't often see the Insect Pillar, but she is always one step behind you. There's no escaping when her obsession grows and is fed by Kyōjurō and the others. Just like Iguro and Giyū, Shinobu is a potential stalker, feeding her delusions with whatever she can gather from your daily routines. These same fantasies grow with the help of her companions, and it won't be long before she starts using her poisons to create new drugs to use on you.

Shinobu has no problem using physical punishment. What's more, her regular talks with Sanemi always end with a topic referring to you. She agrees with the Wind Pillar about leaving you immobilized so that you will never again endanger your life by being a Pillar. Needless to say, she is not easily moved; there would be no way for your tears or pleas to do anything in her heart.

The Insect Pillar has lost someone very special in a cruel way at the hands of a demon. Of course, you are much more agile and quicker, able to play with death without fear climbing up your back. But how long until your legs fail? How long until no one can ever hear your voice again?

Birds continue to sing even inside their cages.

Mitsuri

The Love Pillar is enchanted by you from the first moment she lays her eyes on you. She is fascinated by your ways: from the way you run, to the way you train, to the way you laugh or fight. Everything about you is incredibly cool and, of course, attractive. How could anyone hold back when they see your smile? Even your voice and shyness when Ubuyashiki introduces you to the whole team is charming.

Mitsuri is by far the Pillar you like the most besides Gyomei. Both are sweet and understanding; although just like Kyōjurō, the Love Pillar is delusional about what you want, and what she thinks is really what you should want. You don't pay enough attention to everything she says about it; you don't think there's anything you need to change. You are very clear about what you want and what you don't want.

Mitsuri doesn't agree with your escapades at all. She loves to see you being happy, and especially if it's because of her that you laugh so beautifully. But is it really necessary for you to seek such cruel things as death to give your life meaning? What is it that you are really looking for, deep down in your heart? The Love Pillar is worried that something terrible will happen to you and you will no longer be able to use your legs. It would be unfortunate if you could no longer dance and train together.

Unlike other Pillars, this girl wouldn't find satisfaction at all in having to hurt you to make you stay. Mitsuri prefers to use words... and well, let's be honest, maybe a LITTLE bit of force—but only to scare you. For her the best thing is to have you psychologically handled; the purest emotions, such as love, will keep you tied to her with honesty.

The Love Pillar has no problem sharing you—the more the merrier! There may be Pillars that she likes more than others, but in general she doesn't believe in having preferences when it comes to taking care of you and loving you. Mitsuri is not jealous; her security reaches to the skies, and her concern to have you satisfied is greater than any other negative feelings that could take place in her regarding your other partners (even if you don't think they are, but now you have them!).

The truth is, it would be hard to tell when she becomes obsessed with you. The Love Pillar may seem casual in showing her love for you, but it only takes a moment of desperation where it seems like you're going to vanish from her life to find her obsessive nature. Mitsuri is capable of crying, begging, and in one last —and terrible— instance even outright manipulating you, just so you won't leave her side.

The Love Pillar is very sweet and attentive, but also capricious. If it were up to her, she would do everything she could to be glued to your side so she could kiss you, hug you and live as your shadow. Her biggest dream? To have a family with you, of course! Imagine how beautiful the two of you would look together; a beautiful western style house in the background, with a traditional garden where you could sit and eat pancakes and watch Muichiro train, who of course is part of the family and Mitsuri already adopted —secretly— as your little brother.

But I would like to, you know, give you a little warning. Notice well how much Kyōjurō starts to impact on Mitsuri. Especially if you decide to reject her attempts; because then her obsession would become violent, and that means that maybe the impact on you would no longer be solely psychological. I tell you this in case you cherish your legs very much, for example. I don't think you would want to lose them.

Just as I don't think they would like to lose you.

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

ch1

Description: this is my first fic. Please be nice. It’s an A/B/O verse fic, not sure how it’ll end yet but it’s probs gonna be poly!141 in a pack situation. It’s a reader insert. Y/n will be used. It is going to be multi chapter so please follow / notify yourselves for updates. Happy reading. It’s going to be pretty traumatic. Mdni - there will be everything in this fic. Reader is she/her and omega. Taskforce 141 are all alpha. Alejandro is alpha, Rudy is omega. Others will be mentioned as and when they appear in the fic. Hugs and kisses, Wizz! Xx

"Bring Laika to me" Dr Dimitrov demands.

*Y/N's POV*

It is the middle of a harsh Russian winter. It is now approaching the 6th year, I think, of being held in this facility under the control of the ultranationalist terrorist group led by an Alpha, Vladamir Makarov. I have never actually met Makarov, but have heard stories and segments of information that I could pick up thanks to my very broken knowledge of the Russian intellect.

My room, or cell, to be more precise, is damp and dark.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound of water falling from the ceiling sounds like the ticking of a, slightly out of time, clock. I close my eyes and count the ticks inside my own head, as far as I can go, before losing my place in the thousands and starting at one again. A sad metaphor for my life, really. After a few hours, the drips fade into heavy footsteps. I sit up and brace for whatever was about to happen. Like an obedient, albeit unstable, mutt. Hackles raised, but too scared to actually bite.

The door of my cell smashes open, jarring me from my self prescribed detachment from reality. I blink away the sound of dripping and concentrate on the two guards standing in front of me. I bow my head and submit. The guards stand proudly and sneer at my submissive nature.

"Pfft How is she the last one standing Sergei? I had my money on the ex-military Alpha. Not this little mutt... what even is she anyway? I can't scent her.." The guard jeers.

The other, less chatty, guard scents the air and seems to agree, all the while, I stand, offering my wrists for them to cuff in order to move me to wherever it was they were sending me this time.

"Such a good little bitch you are, Laika" the first guard sneers at me. I stay still, staring at my dirty, cracked shoes.

I am escorted by both guards toward a larger room. I have been here many times. It wasn't a nice room.

"Dr Dimitrov.." the guard announces "Laika - as requested" before they both turn and leave me to face the Doctor and his two assistants. The door closes and I am maneuvered to sit on a hard chair with restraints on the legs and arm rests. The assistants glance at the restraints and then to Dr Dimitrov, who is shaking his head. "No, she won't need those. Laika here, is an obedient little mutt. Isn't that right, Laika?" he mocks. I do not respond, continuing to look down, submissively.

"We have a new task for you Laika. Requested by Makarov himself. Now, personally I think its above your skill set, what with you being the weakest of our three original assets, but sadly we have no other choice now the other two are... expired" I glance up at him and scan the creepy, slimy smile on his face, and immediately drop my gaze back to the ground.

Should I be thankful to be the surviving one? I don't feel very thankful. I feel hopeless. I never had much hope, but to now feel completely and utterly devoid of it is really rather terrifying. I can feel heavy globs of tears well up in my lash line, but I refuse to let them fall. I can only pray or..hope.. that I - what was the word..? 'Expire' during this task too.

I snap out of my own thoughts and realise that the Doctor and his assistants had been discussing my mission and I had not been tuned in. I try to follow but they are talking in Russian so I only pick up segments. Something about a task force, 5 - or was it 4 - men. I am roughly uncuffed and I feel a hard hand grip my chin, wrenching my gaze upwards to meet Dr Dimitrov's. "You WILL comply, Laika. You remember what happened last time you acted up? And the time before that?" I weakly nod my head with wide eyes, terrified of the consequences. I didn't think I 'acted up' but when your controllers are as evil as this, any small fault is picked apart.

*3 years earlier*

I had been dropped discreetly, by Dimitrov, on the verge of a small Spanish village where a supposed cartel gang were holed up. My task was to, simply, eliminate the leader and one other assistant. I tailed the group for days and took stock of what they did every day and how they interacted. I'd been told that these men were responsible for bombing an airport and killing innocent civilians and children. The facility had been testing drugs on me for the past 18 months and they'd finally settled on the cocktail that suppressed my designation and kept me fully under their control. I was just a puppet on a string, but I was always reassured that I was on the 'good side' of history.

I had been away from the facility for a few days now, loaded with my weapons, maps and drugs, that I obediently took, three times a day as scheduled. During a scuffle with a small sub-group of the cartel, my bag was damaged and burnt during my escape. I dont realise what that actually meant until the following morning, when my head felt a bit clearer and my senses less foggy. I continue to go through the motions of tailing the man and his second in command. I had learnt that the leader of the Cartel was called Vargas and the other, Perez, or Parras, or something along those lines. The second day without my drugs, I realised that they were a bonded pair, and they actually were kind to those they met. My brain was telling me to follow orders and get back to the facility sharpish, but my heart wanted to observe the pair. It all blew up when another group rolled into the village and I was caught in the middle of a huge battle. I needed to complete my mission. I sneak round a building that I know Vargas is holed up in. I had seen the other man surrounded by armed men so assumed he had been taken care of already. I get to a rooftop and set my sniper rifle up and as I am about to take a shot I feel a sharp tug on my leg. I immediately roll and hold a knife to the neck of whoever had touched me.

I drop the knife, allowing it to clatter to the floor. The tap on my leg was a boy -maybe 4 years old, covered in blood and looked like he had been charred slightly in a fire. I feel some sort of instinct to protect him so I tuck him under my arm, tell him to be quiet and set back up at my rifle, readjusting the sight. I see Vargas through the cross hairs, and then behind him, I see one of the guards who work at the facility. This guard in particular is a brute of a man, always touching and groping me. Something comes over me then and I line up my sights and shoot him down. Vargas glances in the direction of the sniper and I can't be certain if he catches my eye or not, but I run, with the small boy under my arm.

I call in to be collected after the mission had failed. I had done as briefed and walked clear of the village. Three black trucks pull up and heavily armed guards step out alongside Dr Dimitrov. The child is pulled from my grasp and shot between the eyes. "You will learn to obey, Laika" he bellows down at me. I must have collapsed in shock when I saw the boy shot. "LOOK AT ME YOU USELESS MUTT" I hear but cannot collect myself to understand what is happening. I am ripped from the ground, jabbed with a needle, and thrown into a cage in the back of one of the cars. I wake up numb and strapped to the chair in the dreaded room I had come to hate so much but now I couldn't remember why I hated it.

"Dr Dimitrov, you'll be pleased to hear that the asset has been topped up with suppressants. This won't happen again. We are working on a long lasting injection which will enter her blood stream and alter her DNA for up to 8 weeks. This will remove any risk of this happening again. We apologise for any responsibility we may have in the failure of this objective" I hear from behind my chair. My brain is fuzzy, I feel like a spectator trapped in my own body.

"Good, Whatever the timescale on this injection is... Half it" Dr Dimitrov orders.

"Yes Sir" I hear from behind me, before hurried footsteps rush from the room, followed by the sharp slam of the door.

*Present Day*

I am returned to my cell with the instruction that I am to be collected at midnight for drop off at an undisclosed location. For the past 3 years, the facility had been successfully using the injectable suppressor drug, which kept me obedient and free of any symptoms of my designation, whatever it may be. They knew I wasn't an alpha due to my anatomy which left two options - Beta or Omega. They don't want to test as they know I am undesignated and had never experienced a heat when I was captured and still hadn't, possibly thanks to the suppressants but most likely due to the fact I am a Beta like my late mother and father, and two siblings. I try to sleep but thoughts plague my mind which is unusual in itself as my brain is usually in a constant haze due to the chemical alteration it has suffered for the past however many years.

I am tucked up the corner of my cell listening to the ticking of my imaginary clock.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I smell them before I hear them. And then I hear them before I see them. Or I hear the facility's alarm blaring, anyway. I try to hide in my cell but there is nowhere to go. They always remove my weapons before putting me away. I hear heavy, but fast footsteps splash down the hallway outside my room. I tuck myself immediately next to the door so anyone looking in through the small window wouldn't be able to see round the angle of my hiding spot. I hear the footsteps stop.

"Looks clear in my hallway, over" a strange accented voice speaks roughly, attempting to be quiet. His position from directly outside my door gives him away though but if he doesn't think I am here, then I will stay as quiet as a mouse until he leaves. I hear a radio muffle to life on his shoulder "Clear here too, over" a smooth, recognisably English voice radios back.

I feel my eyebrows furrow as a trace of a scent starts wafting through my door. It smells like rain and grass and...gunpowder. There are other scents too that I cannot place. Scents I haven't smelt before, or, it had been so long since I had, that I no longer knew its name. But I knew rain, grass and gunpowder. I try to chase the scent slightly, seeming to be distracted for a split second. I am broken from my thoughts when the crackly radio crashes to life again.

"Soap! Hostiles coming your way. They are wanting something - fuckin loads of them.. stay sharp" I try to muffle the gasp at the voice. He sounds like he could take on a bear in a fight, and win, just by shouting at it to piss off. I had never heard such a rough, strong voice. That was the voice of their leader. I just knew it.

The man with the strange accent starts buzzing about in the hallway, trying to find somewhere to fight from. He starts whispering to himself. "what the fuck are they lookin' for eh? Thought I'd cleaned the place out for fucks sake. Fuck it.. in here will have to do".

The handle of my cell starts shaking roughly, the rattle gets louder and louder. I am stuck, just out of view, like a deer in the headlights of a fast moving car. I hear him attach a small blast to the door and he blows the locks out, the door swinging open. He catches it before it hits the wall, avoiding the usual crash that occurs when the door swings open like that. He gently turns and shuts the door to make it look as if nothing had moved. I stay frozen. He steps back, and as he takes his first proper glance of the room, our eyes meet.

[targaryenluvs]

Fluffy married life with peeta? 🥺

SWEET LIKE SUGAR!

pairing: peeta mellark x fem!wifereader

warnings: fluffy af, kisses n hugs - blurbbbb

summary: peeta teaches you how to bake since you’re nowhere near as good as you thought, not that you’d admit it.

a/n: SOMEONE FINALLY RQ FLUFF I LOVE U ANON MWAH

“make sure to wear mitts when you take the other cake out sweetheart.” peeta shouted from down the hallway as you dumped chocolate chips in your mouth, they were out in the open, and as you liked to say-

“if it’s out in the open it’s fair game!”

“y/n that was baby food.”

peeta ran back to the kitchen after freshening up to which you raised an eyebrow, “you can walk yknow, it’s what the normal people of this world do babe.” peeta fake laughed as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, “i know that, but i can’t leave you alone for too long, especially in the kitchen.” the last part of his sentence came out muffled, which definitely peaked your interest, “care to repeat that last part mr y/l/n?”

“y/l/n? am i the woman of the relationship now?” he joked as he bent down to check on the cakes. “well only one of us bakes for a hobby.” peeta feigned shock, clutching his chest. “well one of us has to be able to cook, otherwise we’d starve.” your eyebrows furrowed, “i can cook and bake.”

“anyone can!” peeta smiled as he kissed your temple, but as he turned away his reflection showed him holding in his laughter. “what’s so funny? i can cook! i can do anything!”

ding!

the cake was done and as you slipped on your mitts and side eyed your husband as you took it out. “see? it looks phenomenal, it raised well too!” peeta actually looked impressed, “it looks great y/n/n.”

the two of you clinked your forks as you each took a bite, before promptly spitting it out into the sink and grabbing the detachable water hose.

as peeta checked the cupboards, his eyes landed on a glass jar, with bold writing on the front.

SUGAR

his head whipped to the kitchen island, an identical jar came into view labelled,

SALT

as he laughed and you hid your face inside your hands he couldn’t help but fall more in love with you.

“well even if the cake isn’t sweet, at least you are.

sweet like sugar.”

[seeingivy]

sick with sadness

actor eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

content: mentions of depression/anxiety, getting taken advantage of, pure sadness NO happy in this chapter

an: I am alive. I am convinced I have some underlying chronic disease or illness going on with the way the past three weeks have gone, but I am alive. we are all going to close our eyes and read this chapter and then move on.

previous chapter

--

Eren’s tenth birthday is the first time he feels it. 

He sits on the spiral staircase to watch the crowd roar on outside, well past the normal time he’d be asleep. He can feel the tiredness sitting in his eyes, the stuffy, starched suit his mom forced him to wear digging into his neck. There’s a mix of blue, green, and yellow confetti littered on the floor, a sticky grime to the usual pristine house his mom’s meticulousness affords - and he hates it. 

From his vantage point, he can see every corner of the party, the expansive glass doors letting him catch every person laughing, enjoying, swinging to the beat of the music. Armin and Bertholdt are pouring salt into Historia and Annie’s drinks while they use the bathroom, Sasha and Jean are being way too aggressive with the pinata, and Mikasa’s braiding a little flower crown for a very smiley Marco. 

His parents' friends, people whose movies he’s spent years watching when he grew up, studied when he was at the SHWA are on the right side of the lot, sparkling dresses getting ruined by the mud in the backyard and their expensive jewelry discarded on the tables. 

And all Eren can do is watch. Whatever it is, the block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - it’s gluing him down to the seat, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose. 

If souls were real, his would be hundreds, thousands of miles away - detached from his real body. 

He hears a loud pounding and turns his neck to find Ymir and Reiner poking the little aquarium to the left of the staircase. The fish he picked out with Zeke on his last birthday, the picture perfect day of quiet solitude, are frantically swimming around the tank.

He watches the two of them, their inquisitive eyes laughing as the fish duck around the tank after each respective smack. The lights flicker every time Ymir pounds her closed fist against the glass, the sound so loud that it smacks against the wall behind it. 

And suddenly, the sound, that sound, is all too loud, so jarring that before he knows it there’s thick tears pouring out of his eyes and his voice is getting all tangled in his chest. He’s not sure how he got there, but suddenly he’s standing up, freed from the stairs, and yelling at the two of them. 

“Stop smacking against the glass, Ymir! They don’t like that.” 

Ymir looks over, a confused and almost bored look on her face. Reiner's eyes, he's so puzzled, only make his skin burn more. Reiner’s looking at him like there’s something wrong with him. 

Is there something wrong with him?

“It’s just a fish, Eren. They don’t even care.” Ymir says, bending back over to focus her eyes on the glass. 

“They do care! Every time you punch the glass they swim away because they’re scared.” Eren says, his chest heaving too hard, his mind not catching fast enough to stop it. 

Reiner and Ymir shrug as they walk away, the two of them giving Eren pitchy awkward smiles as they each squeeze his shoulder once. And when they’re finally out of their vantage point, the tears are only hotter, faster, scalding hot as he stares at the fish in their little cave, instead of swimming freely in the tank. 

The fish, long gone, are always what come back to Eren when the feeling returns. 

When the sadness takes residence in his chest.

--

“Sorry…line?” Eren says, giving an awkward smile to the director as he turns his neck to the right. 

The director, David Lance, rolls his eyes as he cuts filming on the scene, very aggressively calling for lunch. Eren feels his throat sink into his chest, the regret settling in regardless, as he watches him angrily storm off, the cast and the crew awkwardly shuffle behind him. 

He should have spent longer memorizing his lines. Or at least reviewed them this morning. Eren shuffles his feet to the coffee cart as he starts apologizing to the cast and crew, who are all but kind to him about his performance. Truly, his only saving grace in the personal hell that he’s living in.

Deep down, Eren knew that whatever he worked on next, wod never compare to the work that he did on Attack on Titan. Getting to work with his biggest role models, all of the people he grew up with, the girl he was in love with right across the door from him - it was virtually impossible for anything to shape up. 

He just didn’t realize it would be this fucking bleak on the other side. 

The plot of Satellite Port is mediocre at best. Another cheesy astronaut movie, clearly trying to catapult off the success of the feature film that won best picture last year. A half-assed director - who can’t even fucking direct - and maybe the stupidest dialogue he’s ever seen in his life. 

Eren’s a good actor. But even he can’t fix this. 

And he’s had enough when he hears an irritated sigh behind him and turns around to find Gianna de Anola, his prissy co-star, glaring at him. An ice-cold supermodel, Gianna’s making her break onto the acting front, trying to fall in the footsteps of her world-famous triple threat mother. 

“You know, maybe if you didn’t stay up jerking off, we’d actually be able to finish this movie on time.” she says, slouching down in her chair as her assistant brings her lunch to her side. 

If Eren could, he’s strangle her assistant every time he walked over. And then her for good measure too. 

“I wasn’t jerking off.” Eren mutters, grabbing his script from the table as he flips to the end of the pages. His lines are all highlighted and he can feel his frustration growing even deeper as he remembers he spent two hours doing this scene yesterday. 

“You want to know something embarrassing, Eren?” Gianna says, twisting the straw in her soda can with her perfectly manicured fingers. 

From the look on her face, Eren already knows. She’s going to say something that’s going to ruin his whole day. 

“Please, Gianna. I’m dying of fucking curiosity over here.” 

“You spend all your time watching your little pop-star girlfriend perform on her world tour. You wake up at the ass crack of dawn, sacrifice the movie you’re working on, probably text her good luck before every show of hers and I’ll give you twenty bucks she won’t even come to your premiere.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” 

Eren drops his script on to his lap, his ears burning with irritation, at idiots like Gianna. The picture perfect image of nepotism.

Eren’s not trying to be hypocritical. He knows that his parents are famous actors, his brothers at the top of the industry, which sets him out to be a premier face in the industry. But Gianna is a whole different breed. 

Because Eren’s trying. He- he has a reason for wanting to do this. There’s a difference between him and her. 

There’s a part of him, deep down, that’s enthralled with the job he gets to do. That encourages, cherishes, deeply acknowledges that what he gets to do is a privilege. 

Eren is making art. He gets to tell stories about people's lives and take every broken part of him and make it into something great. He can pour every negative, disgusting, boring, happy, ecstatic moment he’s ever had into a scene to make it something better. 

Have someone watching his work at home feel seen, have their chest stir and their eyes water because someone out there feels the same thing he does. Make people feel nostalgic, excited, sad - to feel the feelings with him. To be with him from the beginning of the story till the end, to be excited about what he has to say and what he has to do. 

Eren’s parents are famous. And by definition, so is he. But there’s a part of him, deep down, that wants to prove himself. Show that he has feelings, emotions, something to share with people that’s true, authentic - and not just because it was what he was meant to do. 

And he knows that’s not the case here. 

She’s a specific type. Part of the clear cut, mindless army of people with famous parents - living, thriving off what gets them attention next. It makes Eren sick, makes his stomach turn over in circles and circles until he’s churning with anger. So angry, so negative that it makes his skin itch like he’s covered in dirt. 

He looks over at Gianna, a smirk pressed on her perfectly airbrushed face from the makeup team, and he can’t help but feel the burning in his chest sink lower and lower until it’s replaced with ice cold. A hollow wind, rustling through trees.  

It’s because he knows Gianna is right. And that if an idiot like her can catch onto it, it won’t be fast until everyone else follows, until he’s the radio clown in the papers next week. 

Because despite your best efforts, Eren knows deep down that she’s right. 

You won’t be coming to his premiere. You’re above it. 

--

Eren swirls the fizzy drink in his hand as he leans against the wall, eyes focused on every person and almost no one in the room at the same time. And he’s trying to push that feeling down, the block in his chest, as he tries to memorize all the faces here, everyone celebrating in front of him. 

He’ll remember this moment as the sweetest one. When he can finally say goodbye to this godforsaken movie. He feels a smack on his shoulder and a sudden flash in his eyes, all his senses bombarded all of a sudden. 

“TMZ! TMZ! TMZ!” 

“Connie. Would it kill you to be quiet for maybe like five minutes?” Jean mutters, rolling his eyes as he shoves Connie to the side. 

Eren finds Connie, Jean, Armin, and Marco in his periphery, the three of them smiling big at him. Connie and Jean have clearly already had too much to drink - from the way their ties are loosened against their necks and the pink tints on their cheeks. 

And from the way they’re currently trying to wrestle each other at his wrap party. 

“Do you ever think about that? Armin is literally like paparazzi with that fucking polaroid camera. He’s been a little bitch like that since he was fifteen.” Connie says, squishing Armin’s cheek, as Armin frantically tries to swat him off. 

“Like you’re any better, Connie. You’ve been doing the same thing to Eren and Y/N since like the first day of filming.” Marco responds, taking the spot next to Eren, giving him a smile. 

“See but. That was me helping a brother get it. I got so tired of seeing his little horny, wimpy eyes I just had to help him out.” Connie responds, snickering with Jean.

“Oh my god. Connie look, it’s that girl from Death Note.” Eren says, pointing in an ambiguous mention. 

Connie’s so frazzled by the mere mention of her - and the alcohol in his system surely can’t help - that he’s dragging Jean to the other side of the room where Eren pointed, the two of them creating a mess of knocking things over as he leaves. 

In another life, and probably in this one too, Eren thinks that Connie was raised in a barn. 

Armin and Marco lean against the wall with Eren, the three of them staring across the room together now. After six months of pure torture - the most irritating director known to man, the biggest diva as his co-star, and the sweltering heat of Tampa, Florida - Eren’s finally been freed from the godforsaken Satellite Port movie. 

The day he’s been looking forward to, since he started all this, is finally at his front door and he can’t be more than relieved. He gets to hear the ratings for the movie at the end of the party, celebrate with his friends, and finally see you after seven months. 

And stick it to Gianna di Anola’s face that you still love him. Granted, she doesn’t know that you two are actually dating or that you even love each other - no one does besides your friends - but he can still have the satisfaction. Of imaging her stupid face pursed up in irritation at being wrong. That he has something she doesn’t. 

“Can I say something you potentially might not like?” Armin says, tucking the polaroid he just took - the tops of Connie and Jean’s eyes and a very confused looking Eren in the back - into his coat as he leans back. 

“Sure.” Eren responds. 

“I really hate your co-star. She- she’s so annoying.” Armin responds, sighing. 

Eren laughs as he pats Armin on the shoulder, amused that Armin thought something like that could offend him. 

“Imagine working with her for six months.” Eren deadpans, eliciting laughs from both Armin and Marco. 

The feeling - the overwhelming, all consuming wave of panic - is subsiding in his chest as Marco laughs at his side, the three of them nitpicking everyone in the room to pass the time. No one’s safe from the three of them - every stuck up friend of Gianna’s, the coattail hanging out of David’s outfit, and the godforsaken designer - they're not safe from the three of them

“David Lance has a stick up his ass and that’s what he used to write that dogshit script.” Eren says, his face hurting from smiling. 

“And the best part? Gianna di Anola thinks the script is amazing because she can’t even read it.” 

Armin, Marco, and Eren turn their heads to find Sukuna at their side, a devious smirk pressed onto his lips. They all laugh as Sukuna slides against the wall next to Eren, taking the glass from his hands, and downing the last of the liquid. He makes a weird face as he swallows, turning to Eren.

“Are you drinking apple cider?” 

“I don’t like to drink.” Eren responds. 

Sukuna gives him a polite nod before rolling his eyes, his glare focused toward the front door. Hyla Clarkson - the girl that Sukuna has publicly been feuding with for the past few months - just entered, pressing kisses to Gianna and her family. 

All he knows is that if he tallied up every time Hyla and Sukuna argued and fought, she would win - by a longshot. Sukuna’s still blacklisted from getting hired by certain studios - a fact he only knows because he only ever took Satellite Port because Sukuna was supposed to be there with him. It was a rude surprise when he showed up and got left to fend for himself. 

“So are you on again or off again?” Armin asks. 

“On. But- I. I don’t know - they’ve got this way of sucking you in.” he responds. 

“Wasn’t she dating that model last week? What’s his name again, something-” Marco starts. 

“No. You know how tabloids are, they-they’re always on some shit.” Sukuna responds. 

Eren puts a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder and squeezes, pushing even further. 

“So did they photoshop that picture of them kissing or-?” Eren says, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“She was just trying to piss me off, it-it’s all part of the chase. Plus, you should know of all people, Eren. You’re telling me everything that the tabloids write about Ricky and Y/N is true?” 

Eren lets go, his throat dry at the mention of it. He can feel his knuckles turning white against the empty glass Sukuna handed back to him, Marco and Armin finishing off the conversation for him. Eren’s too busy seeing red to even pay attention, at the thought of Ricky James. 

Eren's never met Ricky James. But he knows far too much. He’s read every Wikipedia page, scoured every tabloid, fan page, supporting comment, Reddit thread about him. 

One of the worst parts of being famous? People can comment, theorize, and speculate about every aspect of your life. Even worse? That there’s a breadth of information to pit yourself against, to pinpoint all the perfections and none of the flaws for his self-imagined competition.

And Eren hates to think that way, to take the words of teenage girls and tabloid writers to heart, but there’s a small part of him that feels sick from the entire ordeal. Because everyone thinks Ricky James is better for you than him. 

He’s a twenty year old singer-songwriter from a small town in New York, who's recently been breaking into the acting scene. Like you, he’s one of the few premiere actors who has pulled in the industry who doesn’t come from a famous family. And like you, he’s charming and mesmerizing - beloved by the people. 

And ever since you both got cast in Little Women together - him as Laurie and you as Amy - and the press tours started all people can do is talk. And Eren, every self-preservationist thread of him gone - can only listen. Watch fans edit videos of you two being cute together for ten minutes, listen to podcasts where the two of you gush about each other's talents, see that Ricky was able to get time off in his schedule to go to your tour when Eren was stuck on Satellite Port. 

It fills him with rage. And it makes him feel less than. And every time Eren tries to shut the voice in him down, to convince himself that it’s not true and that you’re still at your best, he comes out short. Granted, a personal affliction for negative thoughts is easier to shut out. To convince himself that he’s making it up. Seventy thousand people affirming his worst fears makes it harder. 

“Wasn’t it their fault you got fired from the ensemble of Last Voyage? And Satellite Port?” Armin asks, remembering the tabloid blast from the past few months. 

“Yeah, well not her but the people around her. Her dad especially - they have so much pull, it’s insane. And-and they play mind games and shit, I couldn’t even tell you the half of it. It’s-” 

Right on cue, Hyla walks up to the four of them, a sickly sweet smile on her face. She’s wearing a long, willowing green gown and watches her stick her hand out for Sukuna. And Eren’s floored when he watches Sukuna purse his lip and give a polite excuse me as she whisks him away, leaving the three of them on the wall. 

Armin gets pulled off the wall by Connie and Jean who have returned with Misa, who is apparently a really big fan of Armin’s. And by how pink Connie is, giggling like there’s no tomorrow, Eren knows it's better to stay away from him to avoid any chance of second hand embarrassment. 

“I always miss this.” Marco says, a soft smile on his face. 

“Connie being a dumbass?” Eren asks.. 

“I mean, not particularly that, but all of us being together. It feels weird to be so far away from everyone when we’re all doing things so different.” Marco responds. 

Eren knows Marco far too well to be doing this. 

“Quit trying to psychoanalyze me, Marco.” Eren asks, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“That’s my job.” 

Eren and Marco turn their necks to find Historia in a pale blue dress, a soft smile on her face. They both rush forward and immediately wrap their arms around her, both taking a second to press a kiss to her cheek. 

“So what are we psychoanalyzing Eren about, Marco?” Historia asks, the two of them giving teasing smiles. 

“Nothing. We’re not psychoanalyzing me about anything. I’m fine.” 

“Y/N. Ricky James. Everyone being so far away, but her specifically.” Marco responds. 

Historia pinches her mouth into a straight line, the look in her eyes making Eren feel like a scolded child. If it was a different person, Eren would feel pitied. By both of them. But he knows them both far too well to know they’re the few people in his arsenal who would fight for him. 

“Ricky James. Huh? Seems like an asshole a little bit.” Historia states, swiping two ice cream cups off the tray. She hands the extra to Eren, leaning towards Marco as they share the other.

“You’re just saying that because you feel loyalty to me, Hisu. I’m sure he’s a nice guy and Y/N seems to like him.” Eren responds, his chest feeling like an anvil all of a sudden. 

Historia frowns as she turns to his side, her eyebrows knit together in frustration. 

“Yeah. I don’t like him because I feel loyalty to you, Eren. But I also don’t like him because he was friends with John.” 

Marco and Eren both clear their throats and swallow hard at the mention, the regret sitting in Eren’s chest for even saying that in the first place. On instinct, Eren wraps his arm around Historia’s shoulder, Marco following suit as they both rest their heads against hers. She sighs at the touch, squeezing both of their shoulders in response. 

Mentioning John is basically like saying the devils’ name for Historia. The music producer that she had been working with since she was seventeen and the one who all but pounced on her the second she turned eighteen. Eren thinks it’s disgusting that the same thing happened basicallly happened. Levi told him that he has forewarned him.

The two of them had made so many hit songs together, he’d basically helped Historia start her music career. When they got together that no one batted an eye. They were charming and celebrated - ignoring the fact that Historia was only nineteen and John was in his thirties. That Historia looked awkward and uncomfortable near him. 

Everything came crashing down a year ago when Historia got dumped, for lack of a better word, on the side of the street and left to a swarm of paparazzi after an argument she had with him. Ymir and Sasha were the ones who got to her the fastest, ducking her into a car, and hiding her for the time being. 

But in true Historia fashion, she was never one to be quiet. She wrote Dear John. Made art out of her pain, something Eren could only admire and love her for. Her effortless way of bouncing back, of jumping straight back into what hurt her for the sake of art was something only Eren could dream of possessing.

Something he envied when everything weighed so heavy on his mind. 

“I’d kill him if he did anything like that to her.” Eren states. 

“I’d help you.” Historia responds. 

“Speaking of, I haven’t talked to her in a while. Is she taking breaks with the tour and movie and all?” Marco asks. 

“She doesn’t take breaks. From the way she’s going, I don’t think she’ll stop till she gets what she wants. Which, you need that type of drive to do this. To get what she wants.” 

Historia brings her hand up to Eren’s shoulder again, squeezing. 

“Eren. When was the last time you talked to her?” 

“It’s-it’s been a while with the time differences. When she’s not performing, she’s writing. And when she’s done writing, she’s practicing lines. There’s not really any time for that and I’m not going to be the one to pull her back when she’s in the zone and-” 

“Eren. I’m sorry.” Historia says, her voice borderline pleading. 

“It’s okay, it’s not a big deal-” 

“Do you know how rare it is to have what you do? It’s insane that two people can even like each other at the same time but to be in love, so fully and unselfishly, you-you can’t let that get away from you.” Historia says, her eyes turning red and her voice getting louder as she goes on. 

“Hisu. I-” 

“We’re seeing her next week for the awards and your birthday. Just-just tell her, okay? I’ll kill you if you let something like this pass you by. Or I’ll haunt you from my grave if I’m dead.” Historia says. 

“You sound like me.” Marco says, giving her a teasing smile. 

“Shut up, Marco.” she responds. 

Eren leans into their touch, their limbs all still tangled together, as he sighs into the air, trying to focus on the good. That they’re here with him, even if you can’t be. And that'll be you instead of them in a week. 

It doesn’t work. The sadness still creeps in. 

--

Eren closes out all the tabs of his laptop as he sees your picture flash against his screen, accompanied by his ringtone. He slides the video call open, the mere sight of you making his heart ache. 

“Hi Eren.” 

“Hi Y/N. Ready for your show?” 

“Eh. Almost.” 

Eren glares, narrowing his eyes at you as he waits for your laugh. You’re basically primed to perfection - your hair perfectly blown out, your sparkly silver dress pinned down, and your glittery makeup shining. 

“Okay, okay. I’m ready, I just wanted to call you.” 

Eren frowns, realizing that his shortcomings were so horrible, that they were enough to illicit a call from you when you were this busy. 

“Because I’m a failure?” 

“Eren. You’re not a failure. You-when have we ever cared what the Elms have said?” 

The Elms officially released their gold standard review of Satellite Port last night. Eren wasn’t expecting much, knowing that this was far from his best work, but the review was scathing. And the articles that followed were even worse. He’d spent all morning reading them, his chest burning and his head becoming a solid rock weighing him down with every last word. 

The worst thing that we see nowadays is a waste of talent. A true, self-actualized potential fall short. Our latest example? Attack on Titan star, Eren Jaeger. After garnering himself a total of three nominations the Institute last award season, it seems that the actor is on the come down. His work in Satellite Port was described as insanely mediocre, almost painful to watch knowing that this is the same boy who acted in the infamous Thank You scene - which garnered him his first Institute Award win. Eren is nominated for four awards at the Institute TV Awards next week - Best Actor in a Lead Role, Best Actor in a Drama Series, Best Scene, and Ensemble Cast - which will most likely be his last nominations ever with the work that he’s been putting out. We’ll see if Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman can wrangle him in place for the last season of Attack on Titan and salvage his career. 

“The things the Elms said about you and Armin back in the day were baseless. You- they just didn’t like you because of your parents. You’ve proved yourself over time and time again. I had all these things stacked up against me, there should have been no reason I failed and I did anyway.” Eren responds. 

He watches you frown on the other side of the screen as you lean forward, your eyes washed over in concern. Eren immediately feels guilty for worrying you right before you’re about to perform, trying to save face as fast as possible. 

“I’m just going to be upset about it today and I’ll be okay tomorrow, alright?” Eren asks. 

“Just today, Eren. I’ll kill you otherwise, you little bitch.” you respond, giving him your best angry look. 

Eren laughs at your profanities, which elicits a smile from you. 

“You kiss your mom with that mouth, Y/N?” 

“Mhm. And I kiss you with it too.” 

“You’re so vulgar.” 

“Wanna know something cool? Yesterday, when I was performing New Year’s Day at the start, the applause literally went on for n-” 

“Nine minutes. And then they cheered your name for another ten after you walked off for your outfit change.” Eren responds, finishing your sentence. 

“You watched?” 

“Don’t be stupid. I watch you every time you perform. I like watching you - the faces you make when you’re singing your songs and smiling at people - it’s cute. Makes it easier when I miss you so much.” 

He watches you sigh, your face contorting into a frown. 

“I miss you too. I-I’m really excited to see you next week.” 

“Me too.” 

He watches you finish off your routine - as you clip on your earrings and fiddle with the ends of the hair as your team starts moving around you, pointing at their watches to indicate that you’re going to go on soon. 

“Wanna know the stupidest thing about your tour, Y/N?” 

“There’s stupid things on my tour?” 

“Just the one.” 

“Please enlighten me, wise one.” 

“You sing New Year’s Day with a piano backtrack instead of playing the piano.” 

“What’s the point of learning how to properly play the piano when you’ll always be there to do it for me?” 

He feels his chest stirring at the words, even more when you blow him a kiss before hanging up to perform. His phone screen is left on your contact, the picture of the two of you making him smile. 

He closes out all the tabs of the reviews, replacing them with the live stream of your show as he crawls back into his bed. And when he watches you wink at the camera right before you start singing New Year’s Day with your piano backtrack, he knows its for him.

--

“Ymir. This isn’t even half convincing.” Eren says, trying to swat her hands off his covered eyes. 

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t even know what’s coming.” Ymir responds, pushing hard against his eyes as she swings him into the little foyer. 

“It’s my birthday. Almost everyone we know is in town for the award show tomorrow. None of you guys have said happy birthday to me and now you’re inconspicuously leading me somewhere with my eyes covered. Oh, I’m dying of curiosity here, Ymir.” 

“You’re no fun.” she responds, lifting her fingers off his eyes. He’s met with the sight of everyone popping confetti in his face at the same time, an excited amount of cheers filling up the air. 

Mikasa and Armin reach him first, almost everyone wrangling them in his arms and smacking him on the back. Connie offers him his first legal shot as a twenty-one year old, which Levi confiscates in three seconds. Reiner rolls his eyes as he swings a sash around Eren’s neck, which elicits an insurmountable amount of laughter from everyone.

“Mother to be?” Eren asks, reading the sparkly cursive writing on the sash. 

“They ran out of birthday sashes. And giving birth is basically adjacent to birthdays, so I figured it was the best one. It was either that or a quinceanera.” Reiner explains. 

“A quinceanera is a real birthday dumbass.” Eren responds, shoving him to the side. 

Everyone’s too overzealous and excited to hand him gifts because they’re immediately sitting him down, handing him packed boxes. Hange and Levi gift him an expensive watch, the pair of them pressing a kiss to his head, before retreating upstairs to their rooms, arms locked together and whispering in each other's ears as they go up.

Reiner and Bertholdt give him gag gifts first - which are just framed pictures of every time he’s flipped off paparazzi - before giving him his real gift, their annotated versions of the original Attack on Titan script. 

Eren’s been a big fan of Reiner’s blocking notes since they were students together at the SHWA, because Reiner clearly has no conception of what the blocking notes are actually supposed to be. Instead of writing in his own staging spots and directions from the crew, he writes his own commentary on the script. 

Eren flips to the marked page, the big reveal scene, and finds Reiner’s handwriting at the button. 

Reiner: I’m the Armored and he’s the Colossal. 

And underneath, Reiner’s inscription. 

fuck. 

He flips forward a few pages to find the Thank You Scene marked as well, his handwriting on the side. 

Eren: I’ll wrap that scarf around you, as many times as you want. 

And Bertholdt’s commentary. 

yall fucking? 

Eren snorts as he closes up the script, giving the two of them a smile, as Historia and Marco plant a gift in his lap next, skillfully packed in wrapping paper with his face on it. 

“I’m not sure if I should ruin something so perfect. I just look so good here-” 

“Eren. You’re a five on a good day.” Ymir responds, unbothered to look up from the game of soccer she was watching on the screen. 

Eren frowns as he opens up the gift, a glass showcase filled with polaroids. The first is a framed picture, one of the first of the entire cast. Underneath, Historia’s handwriting is inscribed, loopy letters spelling out Long Live. Eren smiles as he sets it to the side, observing Marco's gift. A Maya Angelou poetry book.

Eren gives the group of them a smile as he scans his eyes around the room, noticing the only face missing. The only one he was looking forward to seeing. Marco grabs his hand and drags him up the staircase, as he whispers over his shoulder. 

“She left a while ago to set up her gift for you. She should be in your room I think.” 

Eren’s nearly sprinting up the staircase as he pushes open the door, a defeated sigh leaving his lips when he stumbles in. There’s a half wrapped gift on the bed next to you, where you’re face down and fast asleep. He can see that you’re still in your party clothes - the dress and birthday hat still stuck to your head - as you nearly drool onto his sheets. 

“Nonsense, Eren. We’ll just wake her up, she was really excited to-” 

“No.” Eren responds. 

Marco swallows hard as he looks over at Eren, jaw half clenched and eyes narrowed down as he moves around him, shutting the door behind him. Eren carefully yanks the party hat and the shoes off your feet as he tucks you into the sheet properly, the tears burning his eyes. 

He takes the halfpacked gift and note from the bed, shutting the light off, as he escapes into your room to open them. To take a second, to calm whatever burning, irritating sensation is ripping his chest right now. 

The gift is a vinyl, the cover art is the same as the tattoos that you guys got together nearly two years ago. There’s a note inscribed on the front, your messy handwriting on the front. 

Eren. Our music is the best music. Here’s to many more to come :D 

He turns the vinyl over to find one song on each side - New Year’s Day on the front and Invisible String on the back. There’s a list of untitled listed underneath them, clearly meant to be future songs you and Eren write together. 

And all Eren can feel is despair. The gross, disgusting feeling that sits in his chest and never goes away is going to drag you down too. 

Isn’t it?

--

Nearly twenty four hours later and Eren’s standing on the other side of the red carpet, his palms sweaty and burning. He was supposed to walk out twenty minutes ago but his feet are glued to the foam, his throat dry. 

It always comes at the worst times. His birthday party, when he saw Zeke at Christmas, when he met Ricky James at the cocktail hour and then Gianna right after. 

Every little thing that’s been bothering Eren for the past day, the past few months is tumbling into this moment, where he’s staring at the red carpet and hearing the cameras flash behind the curtain but can’t summon his feet to move beyond them. 

Eren’s embarrassed. He’s ashamed. He’s trying. He’s trying to swallow it, trying to move his feet, to get out there to stand next to you. 

It’s humiliating. 

He feels a tap on his shoulder to find Armin at his side, readjusting the collar against his neck as he gives him a smile. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi Min.” 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

Eren tilts his head to the side as Armin gives him a smile, before turning his face back towards the curtain. 

“I hate walking on red carpets. But they’re easier when friends do them with me.” Armin responds. 

Eren sighs, a third person now catching on to him, as he stares at his shoelaces, evenly knotted against his leather shoes.

Is he that obvious? It's like it's written on his forehead.

“So, Eren?” 

“I-I don’t know if I can be a good friend right now, Armin. I think I should leave and-” 

“You’re the only friend I need. Just come on, okay? No one’s going to talk about Satellite Port, especially if I’m with you. They’re just going to try and wrangle spoilers out of you for the next season.” Armin responds, holding his hand out. 

Eren look down at his outstretched hand, blue eyes filled with such a vote of confidence that Eren agrees, stepping out into the flashing lights with Armin at his side, the two of them gaining a considerable amount of cheers as they walk out. 

Eren walks down with Armin, snapping a few pictures, before stopping to talk to a few of the interviewers, letting Armin carry the bulk of the weight as his mind spins in thirty different directions. About where he’s standing, if he should leave, how he’s a fraud and everything in between. 

Armin tugs him nearly all the way to the end as he pushes him into the auditorium, Eren’s chest heaving as he settles into his seat in between Hange and you, though your seat is still empty. 

“Eren. You okay?” 

Eren gives a halfhearted nod as Hange and Levi pinch their eyes in his direction, sharing a look, before leaning back in their chairs. Hange’s hand is squeezing his shoulder, which is all he tries to focus on as more people start piling in - cameras, lights, sounds getting brighter and brighter. 

Eren feels a tap on his shoulder to find you at his side now, a big smile on your face. 

“Oh my god. The interviewers out there were so fun.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I really liked them.” 

He feels you pull for his hand, nestling it under the pleats of your dress, obscured from the public view, as you squeeze his hand three times. Eren tries to ignore the pounding, burning, twisting happening in his mind as he focuses on the announcer, giving his opening monologue. He’s clearly doing a bit of crowd work as he’s walking around, pointing and poking fun at the stars around him. 

And Eren’s worst fear is self-actualized when he walks over to the two of you, his voice booming in his ears as the lights flash in his face. He can feel Hange’s grip on his shoulder tighten as he starts talking. 

“Here we have an international pop-star, Y/N L/N. Originally a small town girl from Canada, her soft spoken love songs, phenomenal acting, and insane dance act have left no heart untouched.” 

Eren looks over to find your cheeks pink, a big smile spread on your face. He can’t help but smile - thinking about you crying in your room after your first panels to be what you are now. 

“And you. What’s your name again? It’s sweet they let fans sit with stars now.” the headliner asks him, eliciting a large amount of laughter from the crowd as he walks on. 

Eren swallows hard, his eyes and throat burning as he sounds echoes in his ears. 

It’s funny. It’s just a joke. It’s a joke because it’s funny that no one knows who he is. It’s funny because he’s no one compared to you and-

“I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom.” Eren says, standing up and walking out. 

“Eren.”

He shakes your fingers off his wrist as he nearly springs out, loosening the tie around his throat and yanking the heavily starched collar around his neck. And it’s back. That sickening, sickening feeling in full flesh. The block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - making his legs feel like lead, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose. 

Eren reaches for the closest room, an open bar playing a video of the ceremonies as he settles onto the bench, head pressed against the concrete as he murmurs out for a glass of water. 

Eren stays there - trying to feel the concrete cold against his forehead, his breath making his entire chest tremble, and his knuckles pressed white. He feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and lifts his head expecting Hange. 

Instead, he finds an older man - nearly in his fifties with gray hair smiling down at him. 

“Eren. It’s nice to see you again.” 

Eren lifts his head, trying to rack his fried brain from where he knows him. 

“You know, Eren. We’ve been in the same room hundreds of times. Yet, we’ve barely talked for two minutes.” 

“Ss-sorry. I don’t mean to-” 

“You and I could be really helpful to each other.” 

He slides over his card, the name gleaming back at him as the memory comes back. Years ago, at that panel, where he met him the first time. Scott Clarkson, the Stone Studios producer. 

“If you want your reputation back, if you don’t want to be the butt of the joke anymore, if you want to be the one talked about next to her instead of Ricky James, you’d give the number a call. Instead of ripping it half on principle this time.” 

Eren watches him slide off the bench, a smile pressed on his face, as he turns his face back to the screen, watching you accept the Best Actress in a Drama Series Role. He looks back down at the card, the silver shine reflecting on his face. 

Eren tucks it into his pocket. And calls the next day. 

It's the worst mistake he makes.

--

next part

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[muiitoloko]

heyy, I don't wanna bother you, but can we have some eli x reader? 🥹 maybe someone who after sex is actually attached to him for the first time and he's like

wait

that usually doesn't happen

why are you sweet to me?

😭😭

Title: Beneath the Surface

Summary: Eli struggles with his own feelings towards you.

Pairing: Eli Michaelson × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, denial of feelings.

Author's Notes: Sorry this isn't exactly what you asked for, but I kind of lost control of the wheel while writing this 😭

Also read on Ao3

As Eli parked the car in front of your building, he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket with a practiced nonchalance. The screen illuminated his face briefly as he tapped out a message to you:

Eli: "Arrived. Outside."

He smirked as he sent it, knowing you'd be quick to respond. It wasn't long before your message came through:

You: "Almost ready ;). Be down in a sec."

Eli reclined in his seat, making himself comfortable in the plush leather interior of his car. It had been two months since the two of you officially started dating. You met at a bar, where Eli's initial attempt to seduce you into bed that night failed—a rare occurrence for him. The challenge intrigued him, so he took your number and persistently pursued you, asking you out on dates and exchanging texts until, after 11 dates, you finally relented.

For Eli, you were merely a means to an end. He enjoyed the sex, and that was it. He often took you out to dinner, had sex with you, and then left the next morning without any complications. The only hassle was the obligatory texting and occasional dinners he had to endure with you.

Eli leaned back, replaying the last few months in his mind. He had gotten used to your presence, your body, and your quirks. It wasn't that he found you particularly interesting or attractive beyond the physical realm, but you served a purpose—a regular, accessible source of pleasure. And that was enough for him.

He glanced at his phone again, noticing your text.

You: "Coming down now."

When you finally appeared at the entrance, he watched as you hurried towards the car, your heels clicking against the pavement. You slid into the passenger seat, a small smile on your face that made him wonder if you genuinely enjoyed his company or if you were just eager to get the evening started.

"Hey," you greeted him, leaning in for a quick kiss.

And it was one of those moments that Eli Michaelson rarely allowed himself to dwell upon: the brief, fleeting instant when his desire overtook his carefully maintained façade of detachment. As you leaned in for a quick kiss, he responded with a hunger he refused to acknowledge, his lips eager to taste yours, savoring the sensation of your warmth and the faint flavor of your lip gloss.

Why did you have to be so good? Eli pondered internally, even as he kissed you back with a passion that defied his own self-imposed rules. He knew better than to let himself get attached—after all, you were just like any other woman, nothing special. He had told himself this repeatedly since the day you met, yet here he was, struggling to maintain the distance he thought he had established.

The kiss deepened momentarily, and Eli found himself wanting to pull you closer, to lose himself in the intimacy of the moment. But the confines of the car prevented such abandon, and it was you who eventually broke the kiss, your voice pulling him back to the present.

"I hope this doesn't mess up my makeup," you remarked lightly, a practical concern that jarred Eli back to his usual self. He felt a pang of disappointment, irrational as it was, at the interruption. He wanted to prolong the kiss, to explore the depths of his feelings, even as he denied their existence.

"You look perfect," Eli said softly, his tone almost reverent, though he quickly masked it with a faint smirk. "Makeup or no makeup."

You smiled at his compliment, and the air between you shifted subtly. Eli cleared his throat, attempting to redirect the conversation.

"Are you ready for dinner?" he asked, keeping his tone casual, as if the kiss had not affected him in the slightest. "I made reservations at that new French place you mentioned last week."

You nodded eagerly, seemingly unaffected by the charged moment just past. "Oh, I can't wait! I've heard such great things about their wine selection."

As Eli started the car, he couldn't help but notice the way your eyes lit up with excitement. It was moments like these that made him wonder—what would it be like to truly let himself care, to let go of his carefully constructed walls? But then, he quickly squashed the thought. He was Doctor Eli Michaelson, renowned scientist and expert in his field. He wasn't supposed to be attached to anyone, especially not you.

Throughout dinner, Eli maintained his usual facade of charm and wit, engaging you in discussions about various topics that interested you both. He expertly steered the conversation away from anything too personal, always keeping a safe distance emotionally. Yet, as the evening wore on, he found himself enjoying your company more than he cared to admit.

When you reached across the table to touch his hand lightly, Eli felt a flicker of something warm and unfamiliar stir within him. He withdrew his hand subtly, a faint crease of concern marring his otherwise composed expression.

"Everything okay?" you asked, a hint of worry in your voice.

"Of course," Eli replied smoothly, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Just thinking."

But as the evening progressed, Eli's internal struggle continued unabated. He was torn between maintaining his aloof persona and the growing attraction he felt toward you. At one point, as you recounted a funny story from your childhood, Eli found himself genuinely laughing—a deep, rich sound. It startled him, reminding him of the genuine connections he was capable of making, despite his best efforts to the contrary.

As he drove you home later that night, Eli found himself grappling with conflicting emotions. He liked being with you, enjoyed your company, and yet, there was a part of him that resisted this feeling. He was Eli Michaelson, a man who prided himself on his detachment, his ability to remain untouched by the emotional entanglements that ensnared others.

When he finally parked the car in front of your building, he turned to look at you, his gaze lingering on your face. The streetlights cast a soft glow across your features, accentuating your beauty in a way that made Eli's heart skip a beat. He felt a surge of something—affection, perhaps—swell within him, threatening to burst through the carefully constructed walls around his heart.

"Would you like to come up?" you asked, your voice gentle and inviting.

Eli smiled, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. This was what he came for, after all. He nodded, his arrogance returning full force. "Of course," he replied smoothly, his voice laced with confidence.

Exiting the car, Eli followed you into the building, his steps purposeful and assured. He tried not to think too hard about the conflicting emotions swirling within him, focusing instead on the anticipation of what was to come.

As you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, Eli allowed himself to be pulled closer to you. He relished in the warmth of your touch, the simple intimacy of your connection sending a thrill of excitement coursing through his veins.

Entering the elevator, Eli leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on you with a hunger that betrayed his inner turmoil. And then, unable to resist any longer, he pulled you into another kiss, his lips hungry and demanding as he tasted the sweetness of your mouth.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your body melting into his as he deepened the kiss. Eli's hands roamed over your curves with a possessiveness that left you breathless, his arousal evident as he pressed his erection against your stomach, letting you feel just how turned on he already was.

Feeling emboldened by his desire, Eli moved his hands down, trailing them along the smooth fabric of your dress until they found purchase on your ass. With a low growl of approval, he squeezed the firm flesh, relishing in the way you gasped and arched against him in response.

"You feel so good," Eli murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "I can't get enough of you."

And then, with a fierce determination, he claimed your mouth once again, losing himself in the heady rush of passion that consumed them both. In that moment, all thoughts of his inner conflict faded away, replaced by the overwhelming need to lose himself in the intoxicating embrace of your love.

You scratched the back of Eli's head, your nails lightly raking against the nape of his neck, eliciting a deep, throaty moan from him as he kissed you fervently. His hands roamed hungrily over your body, his touch electrifying against your skin. You could feel his arousal pressing insistently against your stomach, a testament to how much he desired you in that moment.

With your other hand, you trailed down his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt, and you teased the edge of his waistband. Just as things were heating up, the elevator announced its arrival with a soft ping, signaling the end of your private moment.

You reluctantly pulled away from Eli's kiss, a breathless smile on your face. "Looks like we're here," you murmured, bending down to retrieve your bag that had fallen to the floor in the passion of the moment.

Eli followed you out of the elevator, his gaze dark with desire as he watched you, taking in your every movement. He stopped behind you as you rummaged through your bag, a playful smirk playing on his lips as he pressed his body against yours, his erection evident against your ass.

"Come on, baby," Eli whispered huskily into your ear, his voice dripping with desire. "Open that door soon, or I might just have to break it down."

You chuckled softly at his impatience, the sound mixing with a breathy moan as Eli kissed your neck, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you closer against him. His arousal pressed more urgently against you, his eagerness clear in the way he nipped and kissed at your sensitive skin.

"You're so damn impatient," you teased, your voice low and sultry. "I like it. Maybe I should make you wait a little longer."

Eli growled low in his throat, his grip tightening around you possessively. "Tease me and you'll regret it," he warned, his tone a mixture of arousal and threat that sent a shiver of desire down your spine.

"Maybe I like it when you're all riled up," you shot back, enjoying the playful banter that only added to the tension between you.

With a defiant laugh, you finally found your keys and unlocked the door, stepping inside with Eli right behind you. He wasted no time in pulling you into his arms again, his lips claiming yours in a fierce kiss as he kicked the door shut behind him.

"Fuck, I can't wait any longer," Eli muttered against your mouth, his hands already tugging at the hem of your dress.

"Then don't," you replied breathlessly, your own hands making quick work of his shirt buttons.

As the two of you stumbled towards the bedroom, clothes quickly discarded in a trail behind you, Eli's internal conflict raged on. He told himself that this was just physical, that he didn't need emotional entanglements. But with each touch, each kiss, each shared moment, the barriers he had erected around his heart weakened just a little more.

And as you lay tangled together in the aftermath, savoring the intimacy of your connection, Eli couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was fooling himself. Maybe there was something more here than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, content to revel in the pleasure and the heat of the moment. Tomorrow was another day, and tonight, he would simply enjoy being with you, his feelings be damned.

As Eli helped you slip off your high heels, his touch was both tender and possessive, his fingers trailing along the curve of your ankle with a possessiveness that sent shivers of anticipation down your spine. You lay on the bed in just your lace panties, the cool fabric against your skin contrasting with the warmth of the room. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to tell Eli what had been on your mind all evening.

"Eli," you began, your voice soft but determined. "There's something I need to tell you."

But Eli ignored your words, his attention focused solely on you as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a heated kiss. You tried to protest, to insist that this couldn't wait, but Eli silenced you with another kiss, his hands wandering over your body with a hunger that left you breathless.

As he deepened the kiss, you found yourself getting lost in the heat of the moment, the urgency of his touch driving all thoughts from your mind. You decided to let go of your worries, to tell him what you needed to say later, when the passion had cooled and you could think more clearly.

Eli released your mouth, a thread of saliva still connecting your lips as he trailed kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He reveled in the taste of your skin, the warmth of your body pressing against his as he explored every inch of you with his lips and tongue.

With a low growl of desire, Eli turned his attention to your breasts, their nipples erect from the coolness of the room. He took one in his mouth, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh with a hunger that bordered on desperation. You moaned in response, arching against him as pleasure coursed through your veins.

As you grabbed the back of Eli's head, a low moan escaping your lips, you called out that nickname you knew he loved, even though he never explicitly admitted it: Daddy. Eli smiled against your breast, his lips still teasing the sensitive skin, before his expression shifted to a faux frown. He released your nipple and lifted his head enough to look at you, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Daddy, huh?" he said, his tone playful yet warning. "I've told you before, sweetheart, I don't like that. You know better."

But you only grinned, knowing full well the effect that nickname had on him. You let out an exaggerated sigh, feigning innocence. "Oops, my mistake," you replied with mock contrition, though your eyes sparkled with mischief. "Won't happen again... at least not tonight."

Eli chuckled, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "You're incorrigible," he muttered, though there was a hint of fondness in his tone. "But for now, let's focus on more pressing matters, shall we?"

And as you squirmed beneath him, your movements eager and frantic, Eli watched with hungry eyes. He could see the desperation in your actions, the way you were practically begging for his touch. With a low growl of desire, he reached down, his fingers trailing lightly along the lace of your panties.

"Looks like someone's eager," he teased, his voice dripping with lust as he leaned in closer. "Let's see just how much."

With deliberate slowness, Eli lowered his head, his lips trailing a path of fire along your skin. He watched intently as you stuck your fingers under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with a sense of urgency. Eli couldn't help but smile at your eagerness, the sight of you squirming beneath him igniting a primal hunger within him.

As you struggled to free yourself from the confines of your lingerie, Eli decided to lend a helping hand. With a swift motion, he grabbed the lace panties, pulling them down your legs and tossing them aside. He smirked at the surprise in your eyes, relishing in the anticipation of what was to come.

You eagerly reached for Eli's underwear, your fingers trembling with anticipation as you sought to free him from the fabric that trapped his throbbing erection. But Eli had other plans. He intercepted your hands, guiding them to his shoulders with a firm yet gentle touch.

"Stay still, baby," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky with desire. "Just relax and enjoy."

With a soft sigh, you acquiesced, allowing yourself to sink into the sensation of Eli's lips on your sensitive flesh. He returned to sucking and nibbling at your nipples with a skill that left you breathless, his teeth grazing against the hardened peaks in a way that sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body.

But even as he lavished attention on your breasts, Eli's fingers teased the eager lips of your pussy, tracing lazy circles around your clit with a tantalizing slowness. You squirmed beneath him, your hips lifting instinctively in search of more contact, but Eli held you firmly in place, denying you the release you craved.

Instead, he dipped his fingers lower, parting your inner folds with a deliberate gentleness that belied the hunger burning in his eyes. With practiced precision, he slid two thick fingers inside you, curling them just right to stroke that sweet spot of yours that made you moan uncontrollably.

"Oh, Eli," you gasped, your voice a breathless plea as he worked his fingers inside you, setting off fireworks of pleasure with each skilled movement. "Don't stop... please."

Eli smirked against your skin, his lips trailing a path of fire along your collarbone as he whispered dirty promises in your ear. "I'm just getting started, sweetheart," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "You're gonna scream my name before I'm through with you."

With that, he intensified his ministrations, driving you to the edge of ecstasy with a relentless determination. His fingers moved with a practiced rhythm, plunging deep inside you to hit all the right spots, while his lips and teeth left a trail of fire along your trembling skin.

You were lost in a haze of pleasure, your senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating blend of sensations Eli evoked within you. Every touch, every kiss, every stroke of his fingers sent you spiraling closer and closer to the edge, until you were teetering on the brink of oblivion, your body trembling with the need for release.

And then, just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Eli's fingers found that perfect angle, that elusive spot that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. You cried out his name, your voice echoing in the room as ecstasy consumed you, your walls clenching around his fingers in a tight embrace.

Eli watched with hungry eyes as you unraveled beneath him, your body writhing with pleasure as you rode out the waves of ecstasy. He felt a surge of satisfaction wash over him, knowing that he was the one responsible for bringing you to such heights of pleasure.

But even as you lay panting and spent, Eli's hunger remained unabated. With a predatory gleam in his eyes, he shed his underwear with practiced ease, revealing his throbbing erection in all its glory. He hovered over you, his gaze smoldering with desire as he positioned himself at your entrance, ready to claim you in every sense of the word.

As he pushed inside you, inch by agonizing inch, you gasped at the delicious stretch and fullness, your walls clenching around him in a tight embrace. Eli groaned in response, his hips rocking against yours in a primal rhythm as he buried himself deep within your welcoming warmth.

"You feel so fucking good," he growled, his voice thick with desire as he set a relentless pace, driving himself deeper and deeper into you with each powerful thrust. "So tight and wet for me. You're mine, sweetheart. All mine."

You could only moan in response, lost in the overwhelming tide of sensation as pleasure washed over you in relentless waves. With each thrust, Eli claimed you more fully, staking his claim on your body and soul with a ferocity that left you dizzy with ecstasy.

And as the intensity of your passion reached its peak, Eli's movements became more erratic, his thrusts growing harder and faster as he pursued his own release. With a primal roar of ecstasy, he finally reached his peak, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled himself deep within your core.

You cried out his name as pleasure consumed you, your entire being consumed by the overwhelming intensity of your shared passion. As the intensity of your shared passion slowly ebbed, you and Eli remained entwined in each other's arms, your bodies still humming with the aftermath of ecstasy. Eli's breath was hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses there, a stark contrast to the fervor that had consumed him mere moments ago.

And you felt the weight of your secret pressing down on you—the need to share it with him, to unburden yourself, outweighing the potential consequences. But you knew Eli, how he valued detachment, how he kept his emotions at arm's length. You wondered if revealing your feelings would change everything, if it would drive him away.

Despite the doubt nagging at the back of your mind, you decided to follow your heart, to cherish him in this moment before the storm of uncertainty hit. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady against your chest. His vulnerability, so rare and unexpected, tugged at your heartstrings.

Without a word, you pulled back slightly, catching his eye with a soft smile. Eli raised an eyebrow, the usual smirk replaced with curiosity. He wasn't used to tenderness, especially not after sex. It was always just sex with Eli—pleasant, satisfying, but always leaving a bitter aftertaste of detachment.

But you were different. You always made it seem like more, like Eli had made love to you, not just fucked you. He found it silly, unnecessary. He wasn't in love with you, and he was certain you weren't in love with him either.

Your fingertips traced patterns along his jaw, down to his neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. You leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw, slowly making your way to his ear. Eli's breath hitched, a shiver coursing down his spine as you whispered softly, like a secret meant only for him.

"I love you, Eli."

He froze, his eyes widening in shock. It was the first time you had said those words to him, and the weight of them hung heavy in the air. For a moment, Eli couldn't find his voice, couldn't process the rush of conflicting emotions that surged through him.

You pulled back slightly, searching his face for a reaction. Confusion, disbelief, and a hint of fear danced in his eyes. You bit your lip, suddenly unsure if you had made a mistake, if you had pushed too far. But then Eli's expression softened, just a fraction, and his gaze met yours, a storm of emotions flickering in their depths.

"Why?" Eli finally asked, his voice rough with emotion, though he tried to keep his tone steady.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the vulnerability that threatened to overwhelm you. "Because, despite everything, despite how we started, I can't help how I feel about you," you confessed, your voice trembling with raw honesty. "You're more than just a casual fling to me, Eli. You've become someone I care deeply about, someone I want to be close to."

Eli listened in silence, his jaw clenched as he processed your words. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with unexpected tenderness. "You shouldn't," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "You shouldn't care about someone like me."

"Why not?" you countered softly, your hand resting on his cheek, your touch gentle and reassuring. "I know you have your walls, Eli. I know you don't let people in easily. But maybe it's time to let someone in. Maybe it's time to let yourself feel something real."

Eli closed his eyes, a mix of frustration and longing etched on his face. "You don't understand," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. "I'm not... I can't..."

Before he could finish, you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him gently. "Shh," you murmured, your voice filled with understanding. "I don't need you to say it back, not right now. Just... think about it, Eli. That's all I'm asking."

Eli gazed at you, his expression unreadable as he searched your eyes. You saw the turmoil there, the conflict between his arrogance and the vulnerability you had stirred within him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

Then, Eli shifted, pulling you close against him, his arms wrapping around you in a gesture that was both possessive and protective. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin in a tender kiss that sent warmth spreading through your entire being.

"I don't know if I can," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to try... for you."

You smiled, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you held him tight. "That's all I ask, Eli," you replied, your voice filled with love and understanding. "That's all I ask."

And as you lay there in each other's arms, the world fell away around you, leaving only the two of you lost in the sweet afterglow of your shared passion. Tonight had been a night to remember, a night filled with pleasure and ecstasy beyond your wildest dreams. And with Eli by your side, you knew that there would be many more nights like this to come.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x Borrower!reader: The Secret World of Borrowing

A/N: uh, so, yeah…making it so borrowers have little wings in this, so I guess you could just call them fairies at this point.

Warnings: none???? for once??? maybe like bad language if I’m really trying???

Word Count: 3,327

-Part 2-

Anything in excess will do your body no good.

Initially, you had dismissed the thought—living off sugar cubes sounded like absolute heaven. But after about a month of surviving solely off the sweet substance, you’ve begun to dread your next meal.

Your stomach’s rumbling again, so you hop from the burnt out candle pot—cramped as it is—hidden behind a stack of books, perched precariously at the edge of the fae’s desks. So far, you’ve managed to avoid them all, darting behind teacups or ducking beneath the lip of a plate, and soon, you’ll be done with them. Just one more week, and your shimmery, iridescent wing will be fully operational.

It’s already been three since that dreadful storm that had sent you whipping through the air, smacking into the wooden frame of what you’ve now pieced together was a window ledge. From there on, you’d used your small reserves of magic to bind and set your wing, but it’s been lessening your healing powers—hence the exacerbated pain and elongated recovery time.

Slowly, carefully, you peek out from behind the towering stacks of parchment, spotting the sugar jar that’s kept on the desk. A quick scan of the room tells you the fae that inhabits it is not around at the moment. While you’ve made a point of remaining hidden and out of sight, you’ve noted a few peculiar things about the male. There’s a strange darkness that wafts around him, a bleakness that surrounds his wings—great things, that stick out from his back and loom over his shoulders! He has an odd sort of schedule, too. Blasted male. He often works late into the nights—confining you to your too-small candle pot that’s cramped, and stuffy, and really not good for your healing wing.

But you can blame him for all those wrongs until the day you die—for now, your keen nose is picking up a delicious smell. Doing another scan, you peek out further, to spot a plate laden with food.

Dear Mother, it’s one of the most beautiful sights you’ve ever seen. You ignore the meat at the side, instead staring at the beans, and salad, and beside the plate— Berries! You could dance, leap for joy, cry, or sob, at the welcomed sight. You rush out, darting over the grain of the wooden desk. The small, glass bowl comes up to your stomach—a little taller than the plate—and you eagerly grab a berry.

The food is still warm though, which means he will likely be returning at some point soon. You turn, scanning the flat expanse of his desk. There’s a metal-looking container, housing some ink pens. That will do perfectly well should he return.

You open your mouth, poised to chomp down on the berry, when the hairs on your neck rise. Then something snags your ankles, pulling you off balance. A tiny scream spills from your lips as you drop the berry, face smacking into the desk. Quickly, you flip over, ignoring the blood dripping down your upper lip. It’s that darkness he’s always wrapped in, but—why is it bothering you? You didn’t know it could detach from him? That’s unfair!

You shoo it away, kicking your legs but it curls higher, tentatively. You snarl, writhing more frantically as it creeps up your knee, over your thigh. A growl rips from your throat in warning, but it doesn’t listen. Instead, more darkness swells, wrapping up your hips and around your waist. You shriek in anger, practically vibrating as the shadows press and push at your skin.

The final straw comes when you receive a pinch on the ass, red colouring your vision as magic wraps around your hands and you grip a strand of darkness firmly, yanking it off your body as if it were some weak rope. The darkness twitches, writhing in your hand, suddenly desperate to get away from you. “That’s what I thought,” you snap, indignantly, tossing it off you.

It slinks away, once again leaving you to the berry. You huff, wiping your nose on your forearm, attempting to get rid of the blood. But then you’re knocked into from behind, making you stumble. The shadows coil, springing forward, tackling you to the wooden desk as they keep you pinned. You struggle and writhe, worried about what this position will do to your wing, but then you hear the ominous scuff of boots in the hallway.

Panic surges in your chest, and you once again coat your hands in magic, but the shadows have learned from last time, shackling your wrists to the wood so you’re unable to touch them. You snarl in fury, pushing the magic to your mouth as you sink your teeth into the shadow. It twitches and jerks about, but you hold fast. The constraints remove themselves from your wrists, and you take the chance to flip the shadow over—the others that had been holding you down skittering away, scrambling for cover.

With your hands now free, you keep it pinned to the table, slamming your magic coated fists into it, beating it off you until—

Reinforcements have come, and they’re dragging you off the smaller shadow that’s twitching and flickering. ���Let me go!” You snarl, tugging against the restraints, “it started first! Let me finish it!”

The door swings open, and you all freeze.

It only takes a second, but then his hazel eyes have landed on you, piercing into your form as he stiffens. His shadows release you, darting away as if they were completely innocent, and then you’re scrambling for cover. You were mistaken though, his shadows didn’t go into hiding. They were grabbing a jar.

You slam into the glass, a fresh wave of blood running down your upper lip as you smack your palms into the glass—to no avail. On the bright side, the berry’s in here with you. You grab it, placing it between you and the edge the desk, between you and the approaching male.

His eyes are marginally widened as he comes to a stop, pausing warily as he takes you in. You go rigid under his scrutinising gaze, crouching down behind the berry. It only comes up to your knees, but it’s better than nothing. A shadow curls over his ear, and you hiss at it, backing as far against the glass as you can, keeping your magic on hand.

Slowly, he pulls out the chair, lowering himself into the seat, still staring at you. You offer him your most scathing glare, trying not to be too intimidated by his size and piercing eyes. “Let me go,” you shout, scrunching your hands into fists over the berry. His features shift into mild shock, or surprise. “You can…talk.”

You don’t lessen your glare, instead you make it harder. “Of course I can talk, you blithering idiot! Why wouldn’t I be able to talk?” You snap furiously, nails sinking into your palms. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, bracing his fingers on the table. Your eyes dart to his hands, cringing further back against the glass.

He lowers his hands, and you stop trying to push through the jar.

“You…what are you?” He asks, settling his hands on the wooden chair arms. Your nose wrinkles as you stare at him for a long moment. Then, “I’m a Borrower,” you spit out, “and you have no right to keep me here. None. So let me go.”

Again, he shifts in his chair, those great, powerful wings at his back catching in the light, showing off the gilt looking membrane of the inner skin. “You’re a what?” He asks slowly, as if your size would somehow interfere with the speed you hear. “I’m a Borrower. And I’m not dim. I can hear you perfectly fine. Just a bit muffled through the glass,” you snap pointedly, eyeing the confinement he’s trapped you in.

He’s quiet for a while, and your heart spikes. What’s he going to do with you? With his size, and shadows, a number of cruel fates await, all because you’re a little too small for him to consider a life form. He raises his hand to rub over his mouth, appearing in thought. Then, “you’re the creature the made those little footprints, aren’t you.”

You blink, caught of guard, “I— What?” He nods his head, as if confirming something. “You got stuck in the gravy, didn’t you? That’s where those marks came from.” You flush with embarrassment, baring your teeth at him, “it’s your damn fault for swamping your food in that rutting sauce,” you snarl viciously, remembering how the gloopy liquid had come up to your thighs in some places. It had taken a lot of work to get clean again.

He nods quietly, watching you with those piercing hazel eyes of his that make you want to curl up in your candle pot. “I’m Azriel,” he says at last, making you jump. “What’s your name? Or are you just called Borrower?” He inquires, seemingly earnestly. It doesn’t stop the fumes pouring from your pointed ears, “is my name Borrower?” You repeat, rage building in the pit of your belly.

“Insolent! Arrogant! The lot of you!” You shout at him through the glass, magic flaring in your palms, but you tamp it down. “We have names, just like you. How would you like it if we all insisted on calling you by your kind’s name?” You snap aggressively. His brows raise a little at your outburst, raising his palms in what you guess is supposed to be a calming gesture. Red tints your vision, “don’t you try and placate me! Condescending brute!”

“I meant no harm,” he says, “but I want your name. So I know what to call you.”

You hesitate, pausing your rampage. “Why should I tell you my name?” You ask, eyes narrowing on the male. He makes another calming gesture, and you settle a little, “I’m not trying to antagonise you—you’re a creature I’ve never even heard of before, so I’m going about this as logically as possible,” he replies smoothly. You deflate a little at how genuine he sounds. “So,” he says, sensing your mood calm, “what is your name?"

Your head dips down for a moment, hands wringing in your lap as you keep near your berry. “I…I don’t know,” you stammer, softly. His brow furrows in confusion, “what do you mean you don’t know?” Your eyes flit about, darting away from his. “My mother… I can’t read. She wrote my name down for me, so I would never forget it, but I was never told what it was.” You laugh quietly to yourself, “three hundred years, and I’ve never gotten the chance to learn. Or ask…” His eyes soften at your harrowing tale.

“I could read it,” he offers. You peer up at him with wide eyes. “Provided it’s in a language I know,” he adds, hastily. You suppress the urge to snap at him that you have the same language, why would it be written differently? Instead dip your head almost imperceptibly.

You get to your feet, hesitantly making your way to the front of the clear glass jar. He leans in closer to be able to see and you reach into one of your pockets, then pull out your fisted hand, holding it out toward the glass. Azriel squints a little as he peers closer, hoping to at least give you the knowledge of your name…and after three hundred years, too.

Daintily, you raise your middle finger, effectively flipping him off, “eat shit and die, asshole.”

Silence stretches between you, a storm brewing in the air, and you tense, waiting for him to break upon you. But then he huffs out a puff of air, and his eyes are crinkling and he’s laughing, chuckling softly to himself. You stare with wide eyes, tiny finger still raised in defiance as he laughs to himself.

You flush with indignation—he should be furious! “Hey!” You snap. “I don’t know what the hell you’re laughing at. It’s not funny.” He laughs harder, hiding his face in his the crook of his elbow and you watch his shoulders tremble as he attempts to control himself. “Hey!” You repeat, a little bewildered, “Azriel!”

After a few moments, and a few more deep breaths, he raises his head so he can peer at you. You take a few shuffling steps back away from him, returning to your berry. “If you won’t tell me your name,” he says, smiling faintly, “will you at least tell me what you were getting into a scrap about with my shadows?”

“They attacked me first,” you snap at him, scowling. His eyes flick over your bloody nose, “you were stealing my food.” You narrow your eyes at him, “I was hungry.”

“So you thought stealing was a good idea?”

“You shouldn’t leave food out where nasty little Borrowers can get their grubby little hands on it,” you counter, folding your arms over your chest.

He pauses, eyes running over you properly. “Why are you in my room?” You know he marks the way you stiffen, but you force every ounce of nonchalance you have into your body as you shift your weight to one hip, examining your nails that aren’t as clean as you would like. “Because I seem to come by a lot of free meals.”

It’s his turn to furrow his brows, leaning closer, examining you, “how long have you been in here?”

“Long enough to know you’re a cranky old bastard who’s so obsessed with his work he’s unable to notice when a little thing like me sneaks in,” you reply smoothly, holding your own as he stares at you. He nods again, “a while, then.” You nod, giving him a smarmy little smile.

He leans forward more, resting his cheek on his forearm as he looks at you sidewards. Gods—he’s so much bigger than you. “Where have you been relieving yourself, then?” You’re stunned for a moment, before you dig your nails into your palms, stomping forward to the edge of the glass cage. “In your food,” you snarl angrily, flushing at the rude question. His lips quirk up at that, crossing his arms over the desk as he rests his chin on the table, “I’d been wondering what that sweet flavour was.”

“You crass, brazen, pig,” you snap indignantly, absolutely appalled.

He chuckles again, seemingly enjoying getting under your skin. “You Big Ones are all the same,” you hiss. “You’re rude, disgusting, and have no concept of manners.” He blinks as you blow off some steam, going on a rant that matches your size. “Big Ones?” He asks, “is that your name for my kind?” You nod in response, a stern dip of your chin. “So are you a Little One, then?” He asks, mildly pleased when your lip curls back from your teeth. How can something so small carry so much anger in her little body? He’s surprised you can fit it all in. “Don’t call me that,” you snap, plumes of smoke practically shooting from your little ears, “it is rude.”

His smirk widens, “what about Tiny? Or Goblin?” Your lips part in astonishment, “I am not a goblin.” A tiny foot stomps down on the desk. “You might be a goblin,” he says, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes. “They’re old wives tales. Folklore, nothing more,” you snap indignantly, tapping a tiny, impatient foot on the wood. “I don’t know what they look like,” he reasons.

You scowl at him, “they’re ugly little things.” He smiles a little, a single dimple appearing beside the edge of his mouth, “they could be lovely, little things with ugly tempers.” You snarl at the taunt, practically vibrating with anger.

“Is this how you’re going to torture me? By boring me to death? Pretty unimaginative, if you ask me,” you snarl, nails digging into your palms as you glare at him. He regards you silently; it’s an effort not to shift beneath his gaze. “What makes you think I’ll hurt you?” He asks softly, watching from beneath dark, silky locks that curl over his brow. You narrow your eyes at the male suspiciously, “it’s what you do. Don’t try and make a fool out of me. I know your kind’s tricks.”

His frown deepens, watching you in his glass jar. “I’m not going to hurt you, or torture you, for that matter,” he says at last. It’s your turn to frown, “you’re letting me go?” His eyes narrow a little as he peers at you closely. “Do you want to stay?” You take a subconscious step away from the edge of the jar, then shake your head.

Azriel sighs, then removes the confinement, releasing you back into the world. “Go on,” he says, nodding to the window. “Get a move on.” You flush, eyeing the distance from the opening far above to the level of his desk—to your eyes, at least. Turning back to him, you scowl, “I’m not even allowed my food?” He arches a single brow, lips quirking at their corners, “I would have thought you’d be leaping at the chance of freedom.”

“Well, I don’t want you watching me,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest standoffishly. He smirks, “oh yeah?”

You scowl. “Yes.”

He leans back in his seat, wings flexing at his back, making your working one twitch in response. “So it’s nothing to do with the bandage around you wing, there?” He points, and you try to tuck them in tight, but a spike of pain licks up your spine, making you bite your lip. You shake your head adamantly, “I’m fine.”

He hums in response, and before you know it, his shadows have you by the waist, the ankles—everywhere. You shriek with anger as he lifts you into the air, depositing you back into the jar, this time with it the correct way up. His shadows give you an unfriendly shove once you’ve settled, and you snap your jaws at them, making them hurriedly scuttle away.

“So if I leave you now, you’ll be gone when I return?” He asks, brow raised in silent taunt—he knows something’s wrong. You narrow your eyes, but say nothing. Amusement gleams in his gaze, triumph and satisfaction quietly mocking you as you scowl.

He rolls his shoulders, muscle shifting beneath his leathers, “I don’t think I can trust you not to go through my things, or to try and escape only to get yourself killed in the process…” He drawls. “How long until it’s healed? You can stay until you’re ready for flight.”

You’re too stunned to speak.

He’s offering to…help you?

Can’t be.

“In exchange for what, exactly?” You ask warily, squinting at him. He laughs a little at that, and you’re confused why. “Can’t it just be for the pleasure of your wonderful company?” He asks, deep voice lilting with mirth. Still, your brow narrows into a scathing glare, “you want me for your pleasure? Is that it?” You spit out, feigning fury even as terror warms your lower belly.

His grin widens, “with your size? What could I ever do with you?” He inquires, laughing, “have you run up and down my skin with those tiny, bare feet of yours?”

A wild flush warms your cheeks at the image, making you snarl. “Laugh all you want. I know what your kind is like.” He gives you a challenging look, “pray tell.”

“You’re crass, cruel, and lewd. You won’t trick me,” you declare.

“‘Crass, cruel, and lewd,’ huh?” He repeats, smiling faintly, leaning in a little, “sounds like a good night, to me.”

Your jaw drops open, rendered speechless. Then red is seeping in, and magic coats your hands as tiny fists slam into the glass. “Big! Arrogant!” You snarl, fractures spiderwebbing through the jar.

“You’re going to rot in hell for that, Azriel!”

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

[wildechildwrites]

Pink Mugs And Painful Expressions

John Price/Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: You go to the gym regularly

No Use of Y/N

Summary: While on leave, Price gets fixated on a girl at his gym with a painful running face

A/N: Price seems so domestic, this premise is so silly but so soft

AO3 Link: Pink Mugs And Painful Expressions

The first thing Price noticed about you when he saw you the first time, sweat covered and finishing up his gym routine, was the immaculate look of pain on your pretty face. You were running on the treadmill at a steady but punishing pace, and the expression on your face reminded him, oddly enough, of a baroque painting of a martyr being tortured. Eyes cast up, eyebrows tight, your mouth slightly parted and aggressively downturned. He'd seen that same look of agony on men who had lost limbs. It jarred him enough that he openly stared for almost two minutes before coming back to himself and quickly leaving.

You went to the gym at the same time everyday, he realized, seeking out the striking expression on your face everytime he came to train. Leave made him restless, antsy, often resulting in multiple gym trips a day. He adjusted his schedule to match yours, because the tortured look on your face gave him something to focus on outside of the combat he was itching to go back to. He wondered why you ran so often if you loathed it so much. He wondered if you were just a particularly expressive person. He wondered if you were constantly miserable and not cognizant of the face you made at the gym. He wondered if this fixation was inappropriate.

It was one of your usual gym days, and John had just finished up his last set, head turned over his right shoulder to look back at the treadmills when he knocked into someone. His head snapped forward as he instinctively grabbed onto the person's wrist, steadying them before realizing who it was he bumped into.

"I apologize," he said, looking down at your slightly red face, "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"It's alright," you replied, your voice clear and slightly breathless, "I wasn't paying much attention either."

There was a beat. John realized he was still holding your wrist and snatched his hand back with another apology. You smiled at him shyly and he felt the world shift. Your eyes were lovely.

"I'm John Price," his hand shot out almost reflexively. You shook the offered palm gently and introduced yourself as he marveled at how small your hands were compared to his. "I apologize for knocking into you, love." You smiled again, laughing away his apology, ducking your head and gently detaching yourself, turning to leave. He was too caught up replaying the sound of you laughing to realize you were walking away before you were already gone.

The quiet was the worst part of being home. In the field, there was always noise. Gunshots. The murmur of his men conversing. Even when silence was required you could hear the shift of a uniform, the quiet footsteps. His flat had no noise. Price was a man accustomed to company, and his empty flat was silent as the grave. He forced himself into the shower, letting the water wash over him for over an hour. He'd go out tonight, he decided. Go get something to eat, maybe go to a pub. Hear the clinking of glasses and the sounds of conversation. He'd get his mind off your sweet voice and the feeling of your tiny wrist in his hand. He just needed to breathe. He got out of the shower and smoked a cigar.

The pub turned out to be a brilliant idea. With good food to fill his stomach and good bourbon to dull his senses, he felt himself unwind slightly. The bell over the pub door jingled and he looked up reflexively before he caught his breath. Of all the gin joints in all the towns, he thought. You're haloed in the doorway, leading a group that must be your friends. John feels a distinct pleasure at the cheerfulness of your expression as your eyes survey the room, zeroing in on an empty table. He watches you order food and drinks, watches your cheeks flush and your smile widen with every sip and every comment. It delighted him, your overly expressive face being so brilliantly cheerful outside of the gym.

Eventually, you volunteer to grab the next round, slightly stumbling as you rise from the table. You beeline for the bar and land next to his elbow, anchoring yourself against the corner of the bar as you wait for the bartender to take notice of you. You smell incredible. John can feel it when you see him, really see him, because you startle like an animal. He waits a breath before hearing a small throat clear. His eyes meet with yours.

You smile, embarrassed, and blurt, "I don't want you to think I'm a stalker," eyes wide with sincerity. "I've just noticed you at the gym before and then I bumped into you today and now we're at the same pub…" you trail off. "I like your hat." You duck your head and a quiet laugh bubbles in John's throat.

"I'd never accuse you of stalking me outright," he said, his eyes twinkling.

You reward him with a giggle that would bring him to his knees if he wasn't already sitting.

"Buy you a drink?" John asks, but your eyes dart towards your friend and his heart sinks.

"Maybe not tonight," you say, regret coloring your tone, "maybe we could go another time? I'm free Friday," you say shyly, "I can give you my phone number?"

He pulls out his phone embarrassingly fast, swiping past his home screen (the entire team dogpiling Gaz, laughing harder than a man with several very heavy grown men on top of them should be able to.) and opens the new contact page before sliding it to you. You type your info in quickly before gracing him with another one of your shy head bobs and breaking off, completely forgetting the drinks you were supposed to retrieve.

John calls the bartender over and asks him to send your group another round on him. He can see the bewildered baby deer eyes you give him all the way from across from the room. He tips his hat, unable to completely drop the smirk on his face, and settles his tab before heading out, the bell tinkling merrily behind him, sending him into the night.

The gym was now the focal point of John’s day, eagerly waiting for Friday, drinking up every interaction he had with you. You’d stop to say hi to him now, and he could feel your eyes on him when he was lifting. On Thursday, he could’ve sworn he caught you staring at his ass, your guilty eyes rising up to meet his. He wanted to laugh, settled for a grin, just to watch the way you flushed, a slight crease in between your eyebrows.

He asks you for dinner instead of drinks, decides a meal is the proper way to do things, not entirely trusting himself to be a complete gentleman with liquor running through him. He picks a quiet restaurant, something he knows, a place with all the exits mapped out in his brain. He offers to pick you up, and is rewarded with a line of smiley faces that would irritate him from anyone else. He thinks of the time he made Soap do push ups for slipping an emoji into an official report, and the memory of the Scotsman’s indignance makes him laugh, carrying him lightly out the door and towards your flat.

You open the door with a flourish and it takes all of John’s self restraint to keep his jaw from dropping. You’re in a sundress, soft and flowing, shoulders bare and your hair down. You smell like peaches. Price freezes, staring at you silently until you bite your cheek nervously.

“Do I look alright?” You ask, and it’s John’s turn to flush.

"You look lovely,” he says, remembering his manners, “are you ready?”

You nod, and he offers you his arm, leading you out to his car, opening the door for you. You smile at him in delight as he shuts the door, and he uses the walk around to the driver's side to try and recover some composure. He needed to pull himself together, couldn’t spend the entire time just staring at you. In the car it’s worse, the radio playing quietly, the scent of peaches stronger. He had lost his advantage, a feeling he disliked on principle, but fumbling for conversation like this hadn’t happened to him since he was a teenager.

"So what do you do?” You ask into the silence, pulling John out of his thoughts. He pauses, trying to decide what he could reveal.

"I work in the military,” he says vaguely. “What about you? Professional marathon runner?”

You let out a snort, and Price smiles at you, eyes creasing at the sides as you launch into an explanation of your job. He likes the way you talk, he decides, the way that you constantly move your hands, your face changing, becoming more expressive the more you speak. He’s only half paying attention to the road now, relying on muscle memory to get you two to your destination, trying to memorize the way your nose crinkles, the quirk of your lips when you say something you think is funny. When you get to the restaurant, you wait patiently for him to come open your door, taking his offered hand with a small smile as he pulls you out of the car. When he orders a Bourbon, he laughs out loud at the look of disgust on your face.

“Not a fan of the finer things, are you, love?” Price teases.

"Not a fan of the taste of jet fuel, more like it.” You respond with an eye roll. John wonders if he’s ever smiled this many times in a day before. He loses himself in you, doesn’t realize the night has grown long until the candles on the table have burnt low. The energy shifts on the way back to your flat, and Price finds himself covertly stealing glances, trying to decipher your thoughts. He can feel your stare branding his skin, turns to meet your eye to find you’ve conveniently turned away just in time.

"May I walk you up?" He asks, watching the streetlights shift and change your face.

"You're quite the gentleman," you respond, smiling softly.

Price didn't realize he was capable of loving a flat before yours. It was full of life, posters and photographs covering the walls, brightly colored mugs cluttering the sink, your clothing shed haphazardly around, the bed unmade and stuffed to the brim with pillows.

You make nervous apologies for the mess, clear him a place to sit down. He takes his hat off and thinks of his own flat, bare and cold with the bed made to army regulation every day, clean but dusty, an empty shell. He likes it here, in this cluttered, lively place, more than he thought he would. He would help you keep it clean, he thought to himself, make the bed in the morning, do the dishes. His chest got tight at the idea of waking up next to you, of being allowed in this sacred, private space. He dug his nails into his palms and cleared his throat. For God's sake you'd only been on one date.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" You ask, rustling around in the kitchen, and John wonders what mug you'll pick out for him.

The mug is pink and heart shaped, ridiculous in his large, rough hands, and you're laughing at him.

You're laughing at him and the tea is warm and strong and perfectly made, and your eyes shine in the low light as you sip from your own mug, a perfectly respectable blue, shaped like a normal mug. John sends you the disappointed look that normally sends people running, and you let out a delighted squeal, nearly spilling your perfectly made tea in your efforts to mock him.

"If I'd have known you were gonna be funny, I wouldn't have walked you up," he grumbles, but the twitch of a smile underneath his mustache gives him away, sends you into another round of laughter.

It's late when he finishes the last sip of tea, and he wonders if you can feel the switch. You're closer than before, heads leaning together unconsciously, nearly whispering. It's been a long time for Price, longer than he'd like to admit, but he still knows the game, leaning down towards you, his eyes on your lips. He places one of his large hands on your knee, feeling the soft material of your dress. It stings his ego more than he'd like to admit when you pull back, eyebrows pinching together.

"I have an early day tomorrow " you say softly. Your eyes drift towards the door, then back to Price, apologetic and regretful. He wonders if he's spooked you and pushes down the impulse to touch you again. He pulls back, shifting out of your space.

"Don't let me keep you up then, love. I'll just get out of your hair." Price says, standing up and grabbing his hat. He places it back on his head and turns towards the door, wondering if this is goodbye. You trail after him.

"I'd like to see you again John." You say quietly, your voice suddenly shy again.

He pauses, one hand on the doorknob before turning to step closer to you. You let him enter into your space, but John wonders if he placed a gentle hand on your throat if he'd feel your heart humming. Instead, he reaches out, gently tilting your chin up. Your eyes slip close instinctively.

"I had a really nice time, love." John's voice rumbles low from his chest.

Then he leans in and captures your soft lips with his own, and he doesn't need to feel your pulse to know it's fluttering like a bird. He pulls back and smiles softly, before turning to leave your flat.

Part Two Sweet Wine and Rain Checks