#emergency vehicles there when i arrived

[star-crossed-lizards]

yesterday at the grocery store the fire alarm went off (nightmare) (false alarm) (no one was harmed but it was so loud and awful and that store is already so fucking miserable and difficult to shop in but the prices are so good that i try to get over it) and i think i might never go to the store again? we’ll see

[popcornoncemore]

Things preventing me from joining the coast guard:

My skepticism around the us military

My transgender, depressed, adhd, possibly autistic ass may not be able to get the care I need

I unfortunately sustained PTSD in a way that affects how I deal with emergency situations

I want to study arts business

My mom said no

[cerealmilker]

while visiting the doctor he asks you if you’d like to participate in highly important medical research for a bit of extra cash, he says they’ll pay five thousand bucks at the end of the research and all you have to do is “run a few standard tests and stay a couple of nights at a research facility”

you agree, i mean he said it was important and the fact they are paying you is a nice added bonus, what could be so bad about a couple of nights in a medical research facility?

the next day you arrive at the address given to you, an empty secluded carpark, with a black SUV parked in the middle. you get out expecting maybe a doctor or a scientist to happily greet you, they did say it was highly important, surely this is normal right? instead four suited men emerge from the doors of the vehicle and grab you roughly by the arms and legs carrying you into the car, kicking and struggling you notice one reach into his pocket, pull out a small cloth and push it close against your face. you only remember the sweet smell as you blackout.

florescent white light invades your vision when you re awake. groggy, you try to stretch your arms when you realise you cant move them, infact, you cant move anything from your neck down. you look down to see you are strapped down on a padded table, arms pinned to your sides, legs spread apart, naked and vulnerable. you were so confused, what the hell was going on?

you see a man, a clean looking older man wearing a white lab coat enters the room holding a clipboard and a pen and takes a seat next to you in a chair just out of your vision. you try to speak, to ask him what was going on but your words are muffled and barely audible, in your mouth was a small gag. after a couple of minutes hearing him writing on a his clipboard you notice a wet squelching sound approaching you, as it got to where you were strapped on the table you heard the man speak. “time is 22:43, first compatibility test starts now”

you felt multiple long slimy tentacles wrap round your already restrained thighs, more made their way onto your chest circling your breasts and eventually teasing your nipples, they began by gently prodding them, tapping and nudging your nipples before placing one of their suckers on each of them. this can’t be happening. you feel your clit twitch. no this- this is so wrong, you didn’t sign up for this, why was this happening to you? what was this thing? and why….why was it making you wet?

you didn’t get the chance to be confused for much longer, feeling another slimy appendage make its way up your legs, it makes its way up your thigh and then stops, right infront of your cunt. slowly it rubs itself up and down your slit, mixing its slime with your wetness before making is way to your clit. again it prods, pokes and taps at the bud between your legs. you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, you really dont want to be turned on by this but something about the way the tentacle on has now switched to suckling gently on your clit has you gushing.

“the subject responds incredibly well to stimulation provided by the first creature” the man speaks calmly, you cant stop your eyes from rolling in the back of your head, every single movement from the appendages had you twitching. its like they new exactly how and where to touch you.

you felt another appendage press at the entrance to your cunt. this one was thicker than the rest, the tip pushes into your hole, and even the first few inches are a stretch. it pushes further and further in stretching your little tight hole nice and wide for it. you cum just from the stretch alone, and the extra stimulation on the rest of your body. whatever this creature is, it does not care that your pussy has never taken anything this big before, it starts brutally shifting in and out of your stretched hole, rubbing up every wall again and again and again. you start to see stars, the overstimulation way too much for your poor body to handle.

and right when you think your on the edge, about to blackout. it stops and pushes deep down, up against your cervix. you feel its hot sticky fluid invade your womb while it twitches up against your walls. all the other appendages stop stimulating your nipples and clit, hearing them slither off and away from the table. you lie and wait, surely it was done secreting whatever fluid has just entered you and will pull out? a couple of minutes turn into ten maybe fifteen, the only sound you could hear being the mans pen on his paper.

again you hear the man speak “test will resume in 3 days, subject and creature will stay linked until birthing”

you start to cry as you hear him leave, realising you’re stuck there. overstimulated cunt stuffed to the brim with alien sperm, and a huge tentacle between your legs to keep you company till the birth of its offspring. lets hope it doesn’t get bored and play with that swollen little bud of yours.

[loveemagicpeace]

🏹1st house & You 🌌

💕1st house describes you as a person, your appearance. The Ascendant and the 1st house-This area of the chart denotes your body as the vehicle for your life force and vitality, and so suggests your sense of yourself as a physically separate individual. Being the symbol of the birth moment, it also describes your arrival into the world and the pattern of responses this sets up. Your Ascendant (or rising) sign is a powerful indicator of how you feel about yourself.💕

⚡️1st house Sun -the person usually looks proud, illuminated and casirmatic. The charisma of these persons is very noticeable. Many times their hair is noticed because it is like a lion's mane or it melts. They put a lot into their hair and take care of it. I notice that these people often dress in one color or wear various inscriptions, paintings related to childhood (many times you see cartoon T-shirts) or some kind of logos. Many times they like to dress in brands. Many times they come forward very confident, but in reality many times they are not at all. Many times the sun covers up their insecurity or weakness. You know how to enlighten others around you and people with this position are often popular among people. People love you quickly. You almost never experience something very terrible (unless there are aspects and other houses that are darker).

🌙1st house Moon- persons tend to appear more kind, caring and friendly. But they can also come forward capriciously (depending on their mood). Emotions are carried on their face and it is difficult to reveal them. Individuals with the Moon in the 1st House wear their hearts on their sleeves and follow their hearts. They have good intuition and are quick to feel things emotionally. Many times the moon creates a cancer look or makes a person's head rounder. People can have gentle soft appearance, a smiling face, and a yearning for comfort, pleasure, and luxury.

🍀1st house Mercury-people look thinner and taller. Usually, when you talk to them, they come across as very smart and intelligent. Many times there are people who have the energy to talk a lot. Above all, their mind and thinking is in the foreground. Many people can ask them for advice. Mercury also gives many thoughts, which you say out loud. You can practically speak your mind. These people also start talking quickly and are the initiators of topics. Maybe sometimes they say things out loud without meaning to. Many times they have multiple personalities and are never really committed to just one thing. They can quickly change their mind if they are not sure about it. What I also noticed is that in reality they talk a lot because they want to get rid of the unpleasant feeling of silence. They do not like the death of silence and many times they prefer noise.

🧚🏼‍♀️1st house Venus-venus usually gives feminine beauty and many people can find you beautiful. You can often get compliments. Your energy is relaxing and often these people are natural (they like natural beauty). This placement gives you a warm, friendly aura and an elegant air that people find irresistible. These individuals tend to be well liked and exude an aura of warmth, friendliness. These individuals tend to be extremely tolerant, accommodating and often compromise their own inner needs and wishes for the sake of maintaining peace and avoiding conflict. You tend to attract others to you quite readily, and rarely come on too strong or aggressively. Venus in the 1st, you might come across as charming, keen to get on with everyone and oil the wheels. There are people who will make you feel that you can be beautiful no matter what u wear. Although they are either very natural without make-up and especially if they have virgo rising. Or they may be obsessed with doing beauty touch-ups and make-up.

🦋1st house Mars- Mars here can come out all guns blazing, a pattern that may reflect emergencies in the birth experience or the early presence of a rival. There may be a lot of masculine energy here. These people know how to do men's jobs and can come forward quite dominantly and decisively. Their energy is usually more intense, strong and strict. You can have a more athletic body or you can have lots of muscles. Facial features tend to be more severe, strong and dark. Many times they emit more dangerous energy (people can be afraid of them). They are people who react quickly and fight for the things/people they love. Very passionate people. They are fearless and dare a lot. They will always be up for crazy things. What I noticed about these people is that thay often attract some situation that are more aggressive or people that following them or something like that(not always).

🐚1st house Saturn- people tend to look older than they really are. Many times they give off the energy of a parent or a more authoritative energy. They are responsible and serious people who do not like someone who is too childish. Otherwise, these people are non-judgmental, you will rarely ever see them judge someone. They may have weight problems and may fluctuate a lot. Their face is similar to saturn, when you look at their face you can see the shape of saturn. They have reinforced bones, especially if they are thin, their body shape is very noticeable. They usually have tattoos. There is one thing about Saturn people that they don't actually look like some kind of business oriented people, but they actually look opposite of that. Many times darker with my style or even emo style I notice many times. Although mostly more chipped/torn style. They love things that are dark or scary sometimes.

🫧1st house Neptune-this people have a magical outlook and energy. When you're in their presence, you feel like they're not real at all or like they're from a movie. They also have the appearance of a mermaid. They have shiny and pearly eyes. When you look into their eyes, it looks like you will get lost in them. They have hypnotic eyes. Their appearance is usually dreamy and many people cannot define exactly how they see their beauty. They have a very energetically magical approach (many times they leave special energy on others). But they can also draw a lot of other people's energy. People often ask them for help or advice. People can often be shy in front of them because they have celebrities energy. Many times they live in their dream world. Neptune's influence endows the individual with a profound understanding of their innermost personality. Eyes are often grey or blue of a rather cold shade.

🧃1st house Uranus-your energy is above all unique and special. People find you unique and different. You have your own energy. You dare to be different and you like to stand out with your appearance, clothes and opinion. Many times your opinion or view may differ from others. Your style can often be very interesting and you know how to style pieces of clothing that others would never do very well. Things look special on you. With Uranus in the 1st house can be described as having unusual and unconventional qualities that person have. You may have a particular body shape or there may be a part of you that is very different from others and people find that interesting about you. This makes you stand out from the crowd.

💘1st house Jupiter-happiness is with you everywhere. There are many happy coincidences. You have a confident and optimistic energy. People can often see you as someone who always finds a way. You can be a very good teacher to others and have a lot of wisdom about things. Regardless of everything, you always find faith and trust in the things you love to do and trust that things will turn out well. You are a spontaneous person who sees life as full of opportunities. You never stop living and many times you live for the moment. Also gives you a charming and attractive appearance, which will draw people towards you. Your charming personality makes you stand out in a crowd and people admire you for the same. You love learning new things and gathering new experiences by traveling around the world. Your personality may be infused with humor, joy, and generosity. You like to experience things even if you never heard of them before. This is like a challenge to you.

🌌1st house Pluto- Your personality is many times an enigma. Because you always decide how much of yourself you want to share and show to others. Sometimes you can trust the wrong people too quickly, and sometimes it takes a long time to trust new ones. A powerful and transformative placement that can significantly influence a person's life and personality. Although pluto is prominent and the first house is the most expressive house, I would say that sometimes it can be difficult to express how you really feel or to share it with others. It is important that when you meet people / when you are dealing with a certain situation, you always listen to your feelings. It is good to carry a smoky quartz crystal with you. With Pluto you can find strength and courage and show people your strong energy. You can also feel people's souls. The first house is your appearance, it's good to change your appearance evey now or then because that's how you leave the past behind. Also pay attention to the signs around you cuz sometimes people trying to tell you something or the signs itself try to tell you something and you ignored it. Cuz pluto people have the tendency to ignore all of the signs because they don't trust them but it's actually the signs that are good for them (especially if this sign is repeated several times). And many times these people change their appearance when they want to escape from someone or change their life.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🫧♥️🌙

[rottenaero]

Ao3

Part 1

Part 3

Part two to the roommates idea

Whenever the mall ‘burns down’, Eddie is just chilling at home; not doing anything special.

Actually, thats a complete lie. He hadn't seen Steve since he left for his shift the day before, and currently has his band+Wayne scattered in the living room as he paces.

“He may as well be dead, he always calls before staying the night somewhere, and he totally despises that place, so why would he stay after hours?” He comes to a halt infront of Jeff who looks considering. “What?!"

“Maybe, consider, he just forgot to call you." Eddie scoffed, “ ‘Maybe he just forgot’, except you don't know him, Jeff. Steve doesn't forget, tell ‘em Wayne."

Wayne nods from his spot on the lazyboy, “ ‘S true, he'd rather call at 2am than have us worrying.”

Gareth rolls his eyes, “Look Edmund, I get your worried about you boyfriend and all but why did we have to get dragged into this?" He complained, and Eddie began pacing again.

“ Not,my boyfriend, yet, and you’re getting-”

A ringing interrupts him.

The pacing stopped almost as soon as it began, and he darts to the phone. “ Y’hello, it's Eddie talking.” A sharp breath drew from the other end of the line.

“Hey Eds."

Eddie smiled, “Holy shit, Stevie. I thought you died. Wayne and the guys are literally gathered in the living room.” Upon hearing the name, Wayne visibly relaxed, going from hunched over to leaning backwards in seconds.

“Yeah I'm- Well shit not okay but I'm not dead.”In the background there was a noise, barely noticeable but-

“Wait, what? Are those sirens? Are you hurt? What the hell-” Wayne leaned forward again.

“I'm at the mall, there's been, uh, an accident? I don't- they took my keys, I need a ride back home.”

“Who took your keys? Steve you can't just be all ominous and-” The phone line shut off. "Fuck!”

Grant, who hasn't been helpful at all, stood up. "What did he do?”

Eddie groans, running a hand through his greasy hair, “Needs us to pick him up, might be hurt. He's such a- Wayne we're taking my van, you guys coming?”

Turns out the answer is yes.

-

They arrive at the mall five minutes later, mostly because Eddie was driving like a bat outta hell, to every emergency vehicle you can think of, plus thirty more, surrounding the place.

Eddie roles his window down when a cop signals him. “What are you doing over here?"

The metalhead bites his lip, what the hell, “Uh, I'm here to pick up Steve Harrington? He got involved in whatever's happening.”

The cops nods, "Alright, park your vehicle over there, and go get him.”

He does as he's told, a surprising feat showing just how scared he was, because Steve being hurt could mean so many things.

They get out the car, Wayne being the leading man, and head to where the commotion is.

The mall was totally destroyed, a couple kids he didn't know were sitting around, surrounded by their parents, there's a couple teens too, Nancy Wheeler, Johnny Byers, a girl in a sailor costume, and-

Eddie’s heart stopped and he fucking sped forward. “ Holy shit, what the fuck man." Steve looked like hell, understatement of the century but-

His face was bruised and bloody, his hands wrapped in casts, his hair was flat and gross and he was still in his damn sailor costume.

“Hey Munsons, Gareth, Jeff, Grant. It's the whole Scooby gang, or Smurfs, whoever you prefer.” Eddie grabbed his shoulders, and stared him dead in the eye. “ What. The. Fuck. Are you high too?!”

“Just what the hell did you get yourself into. " Wayne said more than asked, shaking his head.

Steve buzzed his lips, his eyebrows furrowed and he brought a hand to them and-

God they were split, and bleeding now. He looked back up at the long haired man infront of him, ignoring Wayne's question-not-question.

“Nah, just recovering from being drugged. Hey this is rivveting conversation and shit, but like, I wanna go home and sleep in your bed, man. Or the couch, or the floor.”

He let out a loud laugh, “Fuck I am not picky right now, I'll even take the back of the van.”

“Christ."

-

They don't talk about it, not after Hellfire goes home, not the next morning, not after Steve heals. They just don't, because the news told them all they need to know, that there was a fire. Eddie just assumed when they said he was drugged, that he meant medically.

(He didn't)

[lightseoul]

zeeeeee !! pretty please if you can, can you do number 13 ??? i love you so much and thank you in advance 🎀🫶🏻🥹🥹🥹🥹

anything for the love of my life @samtf <3 tagging also @irenne-stans, thank you for playing! this one was slightly out of my comfort zone but like i said, biodiversity is important or sumn like that...

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

warnings. minors dni, please!

13. "YOU DO KNOW THAT WE'RE IN PUBLIC, RIGHT?" (1.3k)

if you were to be completely frank, galas aren’t exactly your thing.

sure, the getting ready part can be extremely fun. there’s nothing like jamming to your favorite playlist while a full-on glam team bedazzles you with a shit ton of makeup and hairspray.

wearing designer gowns that cost way more than an arm and a leg for a night is great for pictures, too—pictures that you make sure to keep for days when the insecurities get to you more than they usually do and you need a reminder that you are a badass.

being able to reunite with your pro-hero friends is also an added bonus. you rarely get to see each other mainly because of their hectic and often conflicting schedules—usually, when most of the group are miraculously available, one or two are either assigned to an overseas mission or get called as an emergency contact.

but right now, as you’re moments from pulling up to the red carpet of the annual heroes’ gala, you wish for nothing more than to be in your comfy pajamas and baggy t-shirt, snuggled in your king-sized bed under a freshly washed duvet cover, finally making a dent on that new book you just picked up until you can’t keep your eyes open.

you take a shaky inhale, bracing yourself for the impending flash of cameras and the unfailingly overwhelming paparazzi experience.

your third year of this, and it’s still not getting any easier.

you sometimes forget why you endure this kind of torture.

but then that familiar, gruff voice reaches your ears.

“you okay?”

you look to your left and you’re instantly reminded of your why.

the smile that breaches your features is instinctive and not at all strained, despite the anticipatory anxiety stewing in your gut. you can’t help it—not when you’re met with the sight of him—all dapper in a freshly minted black suit with his usually unruly ash blonde hair styled and pushed back, revealing his handsome forehead.

you drink in the view a bit more, eyes roving over his face and down to his torso then back up.

you feel your smile growing.

“i am now.”

as if on cue, a tinge of scarlet shows up high on bakugou’s cheeks, and the man averts his gaze, evidently flustered.

“shut up.”

a delighted laugh erupts from you, which only causes the pro-hero who’s now staring at the road ahead of you, to flush even more.

relaxing into your seat, you sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes until you finally arrive at the designated drop-off point, tens of cameramen and women pointed towards the car you’re in, all in anticipation for the arrival of #2 pro-hero dynamight.

you’re peering through the tinted window to your right when you feel a hand cover yours, and you shift to see bakugou looking at you expectantly.

“ready?”

taking your nod as the signal, bakugou opens the door to his left and gracefully steps out of the vehicle. almost instantaneously, the flashes and clicks of the cameras go off, and you find yourself having to squint from the waves of light that permeate through the barrier separating you from the crowd.

you’re shielded from all the ruckus in a matter of seconds, however, when bakugou arrives just outside where you’re sitting. he knocks on the door twice—in warning—like he’s done the last two times you’ve been his plus-one, before grabbing the handle and officially revealing you to the press.

a new surge of camera flashes greets you, and you fight the urge to scrunch up your eyes. the pro-hero offers you a hand, which you happily take, legs wobbly as you extend a heeled foot onto the pavement below. the gown you went with for the evening wasn’t the most forgiving in terms of movement, the high slit being the only reason why you even have mobility in your lower region in the first place.

once you’re stable on your two feet, bakugou completely encases the hand of yours he’s been holding with his, before dropping them low between the two of you and leading you toward the main red carpet.

you smooth down the nonexistent wrinkles of your satin burnt orange gown with your free hand as you walk, acutely aware of the tens of eyes on you. you hear a man shout your boyfriend’s name, then another, and another who throws in yours, too.

you plaster on a smile when you hear them call out your name, like you’ve been instructed to by bakugou’s pr manager.

eventually, bakugou stops right at the center of the photo-op area, and you follow suit, pausing to stand at his right. you put forward your outer leg, the one that’s revealed under the slit, in order to elongate your form. at least, that’s what mina advised you to do while you were getting ready together back then for your first-ever red carpet event.

the motion prompts bakugou to glance at you, or your exposed leg, really, before mimicking your movement and forwarding his outer leg.

and that’s when you notice it.

“babe,” you start, “your—”

you turn toward the man, deciding it’s better if you just do the job yourself, before bending down to quickly tie his shoelaces. it takes you a minute, what with the heavily restricting fabric you’re wearing, but you eventually get it done.

when you straighten back up, though, you’re not greeted with a thanks.

instead, bakugou’s looking everywhere except at you, and that shade of scarlet from earlier is now back, decorating his beautiful features.

“what—”

you pause when bakugou shifts awkwardly beside you, and you barely catch him just as he hastily adjusts his suit pants.

the suit pants that are seemingly getting tighter by the second…

…because of his growing bulge.

you couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to—you snort the second you see it, which immediately grants you a side-eye from the man.

“shut up.”

“bro,” you cough out, “are you being for real right now?”

“shut the fuck up,” he hisses, just imperceptibly enough so that your spectators can’t read his mouth.

you’re failing to fight the grin that’s threatening to take over your entire face. “you do know that we’re in public, right?”

“this is your fucking fault,” he spits, his body now angled a bit more toward you, maybe in an attempt to hide what little modesty he has left.

you gape at him. “wha—how?”

at that, he turns his back toward the cameramen just enough to shoot you a glare without them seeing. “it’s that fucking v-neck.”

he pauses for a second, red now creeping down his neck and his gaze dipping down to your chest before he spews, incredulous: “are you even wearing a bra?”

you’re about to tell him you had to forego the undergarment because of the relatively plunging neckline, but you decide last minute there’s something you want to try out.

shifting slightly so that bakugou’s somewhat facing the crowd again, you lean forward, invading his space just until your mouth’s a breadth away from his ear. the movement is so minuscule that you almost miss it, but the pro-hero shudders when your breath tickles his skin.

hook.

line.

and sinker.

“…i guess we’ll find out, huh?”

and just like that, you pull away and wrap an arm around the man’s waist, once again posing for the cameras.

and as you feel him turn and wrap his arm around your waist a few beats after, you find that, if anything, at least you’re sure of one thing that’s going to get you through the rest of this cursed evening.

and that’s seeing the exact look on his face later in the news.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 7

When Kara receives a text from Lena that her ride to the restaurant has arrived, she half expects to see Lena waiting for her inside. She's only a little disappointed when to find the seat empty. What's more strange is that the driver doesn't take her to a restaurant, but rather a hotel.

Before she can wonder if maybe the restaurant is inside the hotel, a young woman emerges from the lobby and approaches the vehicle.

"Kara?" she asks a little breathlessly. Kara nods. "Hi, I'm Jess, Lena's assistant."

"Oh," Kara says, her stomach dropping. "Did she need to reschedule, or...?"

"Oh! No! Nothing like that, she's upstairs waiting for you." Jess hands her a keycard, offering a congenial smile. "Penthouse."

Blinking in surprise, Kara accepts the card with numb fingers. "And I just..."

"Yup! Staff and security are expecting you, so just go on in."

"Oh-kay..."

Jess holds the lobby door open, but doesn't follow her inside. When Kara pauses to look back, the woman is slipping into the same car Kara had just exited. As the car pulls away from the car, Kara takes a moment to collect herself.

This is fine. This is happening. And she's fine. She can do this.

Drawing her shoulders back, Kara presses further into the lobby, navigating herself to the bank of elevators with minimal fuss. When she presses the button for the penthouse suite, the car doesn't begin to move until she swipes her keycard against the sensor.

Catching sight of herself in the reflection of the doors, Kara feels flushed but exhilirated. For the first time in a long time, she feels... desirable.

When the elevator doors open, it spits her out directly into the middle of an expansive living space. Though a savory aroma fills the air, there's absolutely no one in sight.

"Hello?"

"In here!" Lena's disembodied voice calls from Kara's left. Kara drifts towards that direction, eventually turning a corner into a kitchen area bearing evidence of intensive cooking. Lena looks up from a saucepan she's stirring to grace Kara with a warm smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Kara echoes. Lena wears a stained white apron over what looks to be a black jumpsuit, pants long and elegant against her fair skin.

"I figure this is probably not what you expected for tonight, and I should have warned you, but I promise the food'll be as good as any restaurant's."

Only then does Lena seem to actually absorb what Kara is wearing. Green eyes widen minutely, then track up and down Kara's figure.

"Wow," she breathes.

A rush of pleasure floods Kara. She'd been mindful of her look even beyond the dress. She'd left her hair in a chignon, exposing the understated dangling earrings that brushed her bare neck. A gold cuff encircles her right wrist, catching the light as she leans against the island between them.

"Wow yourself," Kara returns in a low voice. She gives a teasing smirk. "I admit, when you said 'something fancy' I didn't think you meant chef boyardee."

Lena blinks, then throws her head back in a peal of delighted laughter. By the time she turns back to the pan, she has to scramble to save whatever is cooking.

"Oh shit!" she curses, still giggling as she  fumbles to turn off the heat. "That was close--- you're a menace!"

Kara lets her grin linger, watching Lena slide the pan onto a trivet. Then it's her turn to stare when Lena removes her apron, revealing a neckline that swoops lower than her sternum, accented by several strands of long, delicate chains looped around her neck. When Lena removes her hair tie, long hair spills around her shoulders.

With the intense styling from the show, her hair is soft and silky, as dark as ink in the overhead lights-- which Lena soon dims as she nods towards a small table set up with a pair of place settings.

"The wine cabinet is on that side. Care to pick something while I serve up?"

Kara readily obeys, if only to have a moment to calm her racing heart. She settles on a white she thinks will pair with the chicken she'd seen in the pan. She pretends not to see the label, one she does not recognize that she's sure is worth her half her yearly salary.

"Oooh, good choice," Lena observes when they converge at the table. As Kara sits, and Lena leans a little to deposit a plate in front of her, the inner curve of one breast becomes visible for the briefest moment.

Kara clears her throat, waiting for Lena to take her seat across the table. "You're full of surprises today," she tells her host.

"Let's just say I like to keep a girl on her toes." A mischievous glint sparks in Lena's eye as she lifts her wine glass. "To you," she toasts. "For making a certain niece slash goddaughter very happy."

"To both of us, then," Kara counters. Their glasses clink, and she's suddenly struck by how intimate her circumstances currently are. It's quiet in the penthouse, the only noise the sounds of their forks and knives clicking.

"Thank you," Lena says quietly. "For coming. I should have told you I didn't intend to bring you to resturant."

"I understand," Kara reassures her. "I can't imagine what the press would say if we were seen together--"

"What? NO. That is NOT what I meant." Lena leans forward, placing her hand on Kara's. "Are kidding? I would have absolutely zero shame being seen with you."

Kara flushes. "Oh."

"I wanted to spend time with you," Lena continues. "But being out there... it would mean sharing myself with the entire city. And the only person I want to share myself with tonight is you."

Her words descend to a low rumble, a tone that sends heat straight to her groin. She shifts in her seat, subtly adjusting in an effort to ease sudden arousal. It doesn't work.

"I hope you know how highly I think of you."

Kara's brow furrows. "That's part of what I don't understand. You don't... you don't know me."

She expects a denial, a claim of some profound connection that somehow explains everything. But Lena doesn't do that.

"You're right. We don't know each other very well. But do you know what I see when I look at you?"

"Honestly... no," Kara confesses. "I really don't."

"I see a busy woman who took time out of her evening to take her niece to a concert. Someone ran into a celebrity and didn't ask for a single thing except directions. And I see someone who saw a phone number on the back of a ticket, and had the courage to call it."

Lena gazes at her with even focus. Kara does her best to hold eye contact, until a flush creeps up her neck.

"I want to know more," she continues. She shrugs, lifting her wine glass to her lips. "Does it have to be any more profound than that?"

Kara considers her words, and to her surprise her anxiety about the whole thing begins to ease. Maybe Lena is right. Maybe Kelly is right too.

Maybe, sometimes, it's nothing more than two people enjoying each other's company. And sometimes, it doesn't need to be anything more than that.

"No," Kara agrees softly. "I suppose it doesn't."

The woman in front of her brightens even more, somehow. Lena leans back in a dignified sort of slouch, and Kara feels herself respond in kind. Her muscles loosen, and her grip on her fork eases.

"In that case," Lena says, "we have a whole evening ahead of us. Whatever shall we talk about?"

Kara meets her gaze, and relishes the energy she channels into it. Time to meet Lena exactly where she is.

"Anything you like."

---

'Anything' ends up spanning Kara's work, her family and even her limited travels, and she can't bring herself to feel self-conscious about how little it is. Despite having three times the worldliness at half her age, Lena listens with rapt attention, drinking it in.

It's easier to share than Kara thought it would be. She goes on and on, but it doesn't feel like too much, even when she figures it should be. Still, she makes a point to redirect the conversation to Lena, when they transition from the table to the couch for their second glass of wine.

"What about you?" Kara asks.

Lena snorts. "What about me?"

"Well, do you like to travel?" Kara settles into the cushions, letting her legs stretch a little. She notes the way Lena's gaze flits towards them for a brief moment before lifting back to Kara's face. "I mean, clearly you do travel, but do you like it?"

To her surprise, Lena shrugs. "It's part of the job. I don't really ever get the tourist experience, though. I think this afternoon is the closest I've come to it."

"Well, I'm always happy to be your travel guide to National City." Kara grins. "Next time I'll show you the karaoke bars I went to in college."

Lena stares at her, eyes sparkling pleasantly. "You said next time."

Instead of denying it, or trying to explain it away as a slip of the tongue, Kara tilts her head. "I did, didn't I?"

"You know..." Lena purrs, shifting to sit a little sideways, letting one finger brush the skin of Kara's shoulder. "I only had dinner in mind when I invited you out tonight."

"Mhmm," Kara hums.

"But ever since you showed up wearing this..." Lena's finger strokes the strap of Kara's dress. "I can't stop thinking what it might look like on my floor."

Kara's breath catches.

"No pressure," Lena continues, voice deep in her throat as she leans a little closer. "I just want you to know that you look.... ravishing." Lena's nose bumps the skin of Kara's neck. "And that I'd love to make you feel so, so good..."

Before she can think twice about it, Kara turns her head to meet Lena's lips with hers. Almost immediately, Lena gives a little moan, her hand coming up to cup Kara's cheek, deepening the kiss.

Kissing Lena feels less like fireworks, and more like a languid descent into velvet bliss. Lena feels soft, tastes sweet, and responds to Kara as though she lived inside her brain. Just as Kara reaches to tug Lena closer, the woman levers herself over to straddle Kara's lap. Now, both of Lena's hands are on Kara's face, and Lena's long hair brushes Kara's chest as she perches there, chin dipped to give Kara all her attention.

It's not until Lena's right hand begins to drift down towards Kara's chest that Kara pulls back for air.

"Wait," she urges breathlessly.

Lena pulls back immediately, concern plain over flushed cheeks. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"No, it's-- you're-- it's fine," Kara stumbles over her words. It's a struggle to form any words, let alone rational ones, past the cotton of desire stuffed between her ears. "It's just-- I haven't--"

Lena's brow furrows. "Ever?"

Kara barks a laugh. "No. Just a while." Letting her head fall back against the cushion, she sighs. "I don't want to do anything we both might regret..."

"Regret?"

Suddenly, Lena sounds small. Young in a way she hasn't before. Kara opens her eyes in time to see Lena's brightness dim, a shutter close behind her eyes.

"No, hey--" Kara reaches for her, but Lena pulls back, refusing to meet her eye. "Lena..."

"If you don't want this, you've got a shitty way of saying so."

Kara blinks in surprise at the shift in the woman's tone. But it's not anger that undercuts her words, but hurt.

"Not wanting isn't the problem," Kara murmurs. She reaches for Lena's wrist, and this time she lets her. "Usually, it is. But not this time. Not with you."

Lena looks at her, expression guarded, but says nothing.

"But I'd be lying if I wasn't afraid of what where this might lead. If tonight isn't... enough."

What had Lena said before? That she felt drawn to Kara... and if Kara were a magnet then Lena is the sun, with a gravitational field that could swallow planets-- and Kara-- whole.

"So... what do you want?" Lena asks soft.

"You." The answer is an easy one. "But maybe, whatever this is..." Kara waves her hand, encapsulating whatever invisible string was drawing them together. "Maybe it can last for more than tonight?"

Finally, Lena features soften into a timid smile. "Pen pals are cool too."

"Pen pal--!" Kara's incredulous exclamation gets swallowed by another kiss, this one soft and gentle, lingering.

"Friends, then," Lena murmurs. She looks into Kara's eyes, her gaze unfathomably deep. "And a reason to come back to National City."

When Kara leaves that night, Lena kisses her cheek one last time.

"You have my number," she murmurs, letting her hand run the length of Kara's arm as they part. "Use it."

When their fingers tangle together, Kara gives Lena's a squeeze goodbye.

"I will."

[rahuratna]

A gift fic for @courtneedsleep ! Happy birthday, beautiful Court! 🧡🎁

Summary: Gojo x Reader

A chance mission allows you to encounter the conundrum that is Gojo Satoru.

Genres: Romance, angst, humour, suspense.

Sunrise stretches insidious fingers across the horizon, and you're still keeping watch. Hours ago, four young sorcerers had entered the veil you'd dragged from the evening sky, the finality of each step they'd taken ringing in your memory.

Where were they now? Why hadn't they succeeded in removing all of the cursed spirits from the area yet? Had they encountered some kind of anomaly? Were they in hiding, waiting for reinforcement that would -

You tugged at your scarf, attempting to even out the staccato fogging of your breath.

If they hadn't emerged by now, then -

Your phone buzzed insistently. It was Ijichi. He'd been calling for the better part of the night. You'd refrained from answering, only sending him single line message updates.

Still here.

No change.

Sorcerer team still under veil.

As one of the trainee assistant managers, you weren't supposed to be here. You should have been back at the office, filing your paperwork for the day, and then taking the Jujutsu Tech vehicle back to your small apartment.

None of those things had happened. Your conscience would never allow you to abandon this terrible vigil. You think, as you crack your knuckles fervently (an old, nervous habit) that even if you did stay, nothing much would come of it. You know, and yet, you remain rooted to the cooling pavement, watching for the potential reinforcements, waiting.

The chill of the morning air, the rumble of your protesting stomach, the slow catch and release of your eyelids as you fight sleep, almost cause you to miss his arrival. It's a wonder, really, that a man like him can be so quiet. He is suddenly in the periphery of your blurry appraisal; tall, white hair burnished to a dozen softer shades, pale fire in the dawn.

Gojo Satoru turns towards you, face uncharacteristically sombre. You've seen him many times in passing, his reputation preceding him far beyond the confines of Tokyo, but this is the first time you've had direct contact. His voice is low, deeper than you remembered, devoid of the exuberance that you realise is cultivated for his day-to-day interactions.

"Ah. So you waited here all night?"

You catapult to a more upright posture, arms stiffening at your sides.

"Yes. I ... I didn't see any sign of - "

He turns away, waving a nonchalant hand in your direction.

"You're new, right? Transferred in from another branch?"

"Yes, Mister Gojo."

"You can drop the formalities. Never liked 'em."

"Yes, M- Gojo."

He strides forward, towards the veil and you hurry after him. He raises a hand, taps gently against your construct, and the resonance of his energy pulses throughout the darkened layer. You shiver slightly and he turns to you.

"Undo it."

"But what if -"

Your response is almost a knee-jerk reaction to what he has asked for. Everyone knows the risk of lifting a veil when the danger within has clearly not been nullified. The corner of Gojo's mouth, however, has begun to turn up. You're not sure if the expression is sympathetic or mocking. It's hard to tell with him.

"Come on. Get this thing out of the way. There's no need to worry if I'm here, ya know? Once I'm in, put it up again."

The casual manner in which he states this is both breathtaking and painful. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak as you raise your fingers, the veil falling away.

If there were sorcerers as powerful as this available to rid the world of curses, then why had those four fledglings been sent into -

"I got here as soon as I could. Just finished with a job in Shinjuku."

His voice is quiet, so quiet that you almost don't catch the words. Immediately, you step back, eyes widening slightly as you realise the magnitude of what you've been thinking.

Of course he couldn't have helped earlier! He may be the most powerful, but he's also just a sorcerer, a man. He can't bend the laws of the universe to this extent and -

"My apologies, Gojo!"

You voice is uncomfortably loud in the early morning hush. His laugh is light, airy, in spite of the fact that he does not turn to look at you.

"What do you mean? You haven't said anything. Keep watch. Nothing gets past me, but it always pays to be alert."

So saying, his tall, rangy form strides forward, never pausing, never slowing to take stock of his surroundings, until he vanishes from your sight. You wait for a few minutes before lashing your consciousness to a new concealing curtain.

Two of the four young sorcerers died that night. The two who had survived had holed up in the uppermost floor of an abandoned high rise, waiting out the swarm of flesh eating curses circling below. Gojo's arrival, as you'd learned later, had diverted the shoal of piranha-like creatures, each of them riccocheting with reckless abandon across the length of the interior in an attempt to impale, tear, rip him to shreds.

None of that happened, of course. Gojo wasn't hailed as the strongest for no reason. He'd dispatched the remaining curses within minutes and rescued the surviving sorcerers.

It was a full month before you saw him again.

"Oi oi oi. Miss Daydreamer. Earth to - "

"Mist- Gojo! Please don't creep up on me."

He leans back, seemingly satisfied at the reaction he's pulled from you, and you briefly understand why Ijichi mutters about how annoying this man is under his breath as a constant litany.

Gojo is dressed in a light shirt and jeans today, a pair of designer sunglasses shading his eyes. Without the blindfold, his hair falls around his ears, soft as the first snow of the season. He is beautiful in a way that you refuse to allow your body to acknowledge, fixing your glance on the dark, reflective surface of the glasses.

"Gojo ... are you helping your students with training today?"

"Hmm hmm. Maybe. Set 'em up for a good old sparring session. Nothing better than seeing the ducklings beating each other into the dirt."

He laughs, but he won't distract you with that. He had obviously recognized you from that mission, meaning it was still clear in his memory. And if he remembered you, then ...

"Are you okay?"

The words are out before you have a chance to think, really think, about how clumsy and stilted they sound. What you've said has had some effect, though. He pauses, cocking his head slightly, as if he'd assumed he'd misheard you.

"What was that?"

You suck in a breath. Now you're really in for it, but you can't stop and-

"I asked if you were all right. After ... the mission last month."

His silence is unnerving now, but he remains where he is, eyes unknowable behind those lenses.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Well ... you did find those sorcerers ... you know. Dead. And you had to handle everything afterwards -"

The fresh peal of laughter assaults your ears like a sudden thunderclap. You start in disbelief as he doubles over, clutching at his sides. It's only after a moment of standing there in shocked consternation that you recognise the uncontrollable nature of it, the fact that he simply can't help himself, that he genuinely doesn't care how his laughter seems to you, or anyone else watching. The realisation sobers you, causes the heated flush of outrage to fade from your cheeks.

When he recovers, he heaves in a large breath, exaggeratedly patting his chest.

"Well now. That's the first time in ... hmmm. Actually, I don't know!"

"First time for what?"

You frown slightly, wondering if he was just teasing you again.

"That anyone asked if I was okay."

"Gojo, please. That's something people ask each other every day, and-"

"And seldom mean it."

His voice has changed, carrying that quiet note of sincerity, as it had that day outside the veil. It makes you stop short. Gojo continues, musingly.

"People who ask me that question don't really want an honest answer. I'm the strongest after all."

You raise an eyebrow, obstinate.

"So? What does your strength have to do with a simple query like this? Being the strongest doesn't mean that losing comrades hurts any less, does it?"

This time, his smile is genuine, sharp-edged, more vulnerable than anything you'd seen adorn his face before, if sinfully brief. He turns away from you again, before you have time to fully absorb it.

"No. No it doesn't."

When you were little, there had been a documentary on television that you'd found quite fascinating. The subject matter was prehistoric life of various kinds, and one of the episodes focused on a genus of pterosaur, the Quetzalcoatlus.

You could picture it, from back then, the massive wingspan, the conical beak slicing through the atmosphere, the serpentine neck, the fabric of its flesh stretched over a hollow, light framework of bone. Majestic, isolated, doomed.

His strength, as great as it is, will fail. His power will fade. The magnificent scope and breadth of his life, burning so fiercely, will eventually run out of fuel. Sorcerers aren't immortal, their power finite. Gojo Satoru is no exception to the rule.

The Quetzalcoatlus of your childhood had haunted you, in many ways. In the present, you think of it sometimes, when you look at Gojo.

You see it in the way he accepts the death of those weaker than himself, the way he still takes on the education and training of future generations in spite of this. Gojo has accepted, fully, his responsibility as the strongest, the weight of the lives that lie heavy in his hands. You gather that he has found his own way of dealing with the responsibility.

What you can't understand is why everyone else assumes he'd find it easy.

You determine that, from here on out, you will make it a point to speak to him whenever you see him, like any of your regular colleagues. Isn't that essentially what he is?

As concerned as you were over his possible reaction to this, you needn't have worried. Gojo's face now lights up with unholy glee whenever he sees you in the corridor, his taunts loud and effusive. He often pinches the 'teabags' under your eyes, as he seems fond of calling them, and asks you obnoxiously about which man you'd been losing sleep over.

On one occasion, you'd snapped out that the man was him.

"Me?"

"Yes. You, oh divine Gojo, of the brilliant hair and eyes that burn like the flames of a heavenly torch."

He hands pause in their fitful pinching, dropping away from your face, and he pouts.

"Why you gotta say it like that?"

"Do people not compliment you?"

"All the time."

"Then why aren't you happy with my compliments?"

"They don't sound very sincere."

"Oh, it's sincerity you're after?"

"Why, yes."

"You're exceptionally irritating."

Eyebrows wiggling over the dark rim of the sunglasses, his glance drifts suggestively south.

"I've been known to cause some irritation in the nethers of many, many people."

"So now you're a yeast infection?"

"Oh, come on."

Abruptly he straightens and looks past you. You follow his gaze and spy three distinct shades of hair pass by, the light pink of Itadori Yuuji, the burnished orange of Nobara Kugisaki and the spiky black of Fushiguro Megumi. Gojo's students. Your glance briefly at him, trying to guage the expression on his face.

The three students meander on their way to the canteen, oblivious, chattering amongst each other, Megumi seeming slightly irritated at the antics of the other two. You watch as they spot Gojo and yourself, prompting a cheery wave from Yuuji, and then they pass out of sight. You watch as Gojo's grin shifts to an echo of melancholy, one of memory. Your words seem to jog him out of his thoughts.

"They're good kids."

He nods absently.

"They'll be great sorcerers someday. They're my students after all."

"I didn't mean 'good' in that sense."

Gojo pauses, then removes his glasses, turning them over deftly in his long, clever fingers. The crystalline purity of his glance pierces you like a spear. 

"Say, who recruited someone as soft as you? I think I'm gonna have to have words with our HR."

His words are light, but betray the scrutiny with which he regards you.

"I wouldn't call it soft."

"What would you call it then?"

"Empathetic, maybe?"

"Empathy can take you to dangerous places in this business."

The warning in his tone is now unmistakeable.

"Do you think empathy is a curse, then?"

"I do. Up there in the ranks of kindness and love."

"And yet, you're capable of both those things."

Again, you cannot help yourself. There is something about Gojo that is so insurmountably intimidating, in all his brilliance, that you feel no fear at showing your own flaws and errant thoughts. What comparison could be drawn between the likes of you and him anyway?

The turn of the glasses between his fingers slows and stops, and, to your surprise, he does not laugh away your sentiments as you expected him to.

"How do you know I'm capable of those things?"

"Because you're human, like the rest of us."

The corridor seems to echo yours words back and forth, endless in their inevitability. Gojo's posture, slouched and nonchalant, doesn't quite match the intensity with with he watches you.

"One could say ..."

He takes a step closer to you.

"One could say that my power is an aspect of me that can't be overlooked."

And now, you can feel his cursed energy, rushing like a whirlpool around you both, heady, treacherous beyond your comprehension, fixing you in place like a moth on a collector's board. He is now close enough that your noses are almost touching, and the scent of his energy is chemical, the clean, sharp tang of burning ozone. Your voice is hushed against the deafening rush of raw power, inaudible to anyone else in your vicinity.

"It's a part of you. Not separate from you. It doesn't define you, only your circumstances."

His eyes widen a little and suddenly, the flow of cursed energy comes to an abrupt halt, and a whoosh of amusement escapes his lips, fanning warm over your cheeks and nose. He hasn't altered his proximity to you.

Something cold slides into your hand. Tearing your eyes away from his, you see his sunglasses have been slotted neatly into the clench of your fingers. Gojo winks, then steps away, creating reluctant distance between you.

"You know, you should wear these whenever I run into you. Makes those eyes of yours easier to bear."

"Excuse me?"

But he is moving away, down the corridor, waving his temporary goodbye.

It is a cool spring afternoon the first time Satoru kisses you. He's always been a tease, and was often fond of riling up others, with either his stunning looks or impossible personality. You'd never set much store by his many, many flirtatious advances as a result, which made him quite sulky.

On this particular day, you'd been assigned to drive him back to Tokyo from his last assignment. The journey was at least an hour, and he insisted on playing the most headache-inducing funk music for most of it. You indulged him and did not give him the satisfaction of your agitation. Accordingly, he grew bored very quickly.

"Hey! Stop here."

"We've already stopped twice for toilet breaks. Unless you have a bladder issue of some kind -"

"No, not for that! It's been ages since I've eaten the dango here. Let's stop and get a snack, please?"

Sighing, you pull off slowly into the small designated parking area beside the road. The tea shop Gojo has indicated is very traditional, with numerous patterned umbrellas over outdoor benches. The smell of roasting dango and syrup hangs in the air, delectable tendrils of scent descending over you both as you approach.

Gojo insists on ordering the entire set, with tea, and soon you're seated beneath the plum blossoms, enjoying the warm, sweet and slightly charred flesh of the chewy dango. Gojo points one of his empty skewers in your direction.

"Do you like sweets?"

"Oh, yeah. Mochi is my favourite."

"Really?"

He perks up, leaning towards you, now wagging the skewer dangerously close to your nose.

"I didn't put you down as a someone who liked treats."

"Why?"

"You're so pragmatic. If mochi started to fall from the sky, you'd probably bag a sample and send it to the health and safety authorities."

"Conversely, you're the kind to eat the mochi straight out of the gutter."

"Then I need you to balance me off, right?"

You shoot him a sharp glance. Today, he's back in his dark, high collared suit jacket, the blindfold secured firmly, ensconced in his public persona. As if sensing your scrutiny, he slowly unbuttons the jacket, holding the dango impishly between his teeth in a manner that you supposed he thought was seductive. You sigh and take another bite.

"In what way do I balance you off?"

"You give cute sidekick vibes, ya know?"

"You're about to drive yourself home."

"Fine, fine."

He lapses into benign silence before slowly removing his blindfold. He places it on the table, piled carelessly, but in a position where you can't help but notice it.

"You know why I wear this?"

"Vaguely. It's so that you can't exhaust yourself. Because of your technique."

"Something like that, yes. You have the glasses I gave you the other day?"

You produce them immediately from a pocket where you've been keeping them safely. One test of their nature had shown you that wearing them didn't just shade your eyes, but cut out light entirely. Anyone with normal vision would be effectively blinded by them. You hand them over to him, but he shakes his head.

"Put them on."

"But -"

"Humour me."

"Fine. But you know I can't see anything."

Complying reluctantly, you place them on the bridge of your nose, hitching them up slightly with a finger.

"Do I look -"

Your words are cut off by the sensation of his lips on yours. It isn't the kind of kiss you expected from him. His lips are soft, so soft, warm, delicate. The dizzying incongruity of this man being the strongest sorcerer alive doesn't escape you. He's caught you off guard, and so you don't initially respond to it. He pauses, lingering against you for a second, before starting to draw away.

You won't let him.

You hear his slightly startled grunt as your fingers hook under the collar of his shirt and you pull him back towards you. You tilt your head, drinking in his scent, his sweetness, the gentle brush of sensitised skin, the humid heat of his breath washing over you.

The way he surrenders to you, leans in to you, the soft thrum that begins somewhere deep in his chest, exhaled against you in a low groan, brings the soft realisation as to why he'd made you wear the glasses.

You pause, resting your forehead against his, drinking in the feather light brush of his hair against your brow. Holding him like this, you can feel the power and vitality that surges just beneath the surface of his skin, the wiry, remarkable strength in his grip on the curve of your hips. Even now, you can't take the glasses off. You respect his wishes too much for that.

As the dango cools by your side, Satoru allows himself to indulge in your lips once more. In this misty-edged snapshot in time, he is not lonely. The span of his great wings, those that carry him up, up, further away from the commonplace, are no longer pushing every other soul away with their powerful beat. He doesn't watch the ground fall away beneath him, like a vast continent his feet will never touch again.

Today, he flies free, straight into this fleeting moment where he can be an ordinary man,  kissing his lover beneath the soft, soft fall of plum blossoms, untouched, never changing.

Dividers by: @adornedwithlight

[sidekick-hero]

Love from the other side

(steddie | rated: M | wc: 6.2k | tags: Vampire Eddie Munson, Nurse Steve Harrington, Mild Gore, Blood Drinking | AO3)

"Steve, we've got a major crash on the Interstate. Multiple vehicles involved. You're on triage duty. Patients will be arriving in five minutes,” Robin, the head nurse in the ER, tells him in a calm voice. She's Steve's best friend, but even he's sometimes surprised at how calm Robin can be in critical situations. He's seen her fret over the prospect of asking out a girl she likes, and her freak-out before her first date with Nancy is now something of a legend between them.

But ask her to handle a crisis and she's cool as a cucumber.

Steve sighs and nods. That means it's going to be a long night. He's already been on for ten hours, two more and he could have gone home to his cat and his warm, soft bed. But they're understaffed as it is, and with so many new patients in unknown condition coming in, he'll be here for at least another five hours. Maybe more.

He makes his way to the triage area of the ER and braces himself for what's to come.

When he finally makes it home, the sun has already risen and he's dead on his feet.

He stumbles through the front door of his apartment and is greeted by Garfield, his tabby cat, who continues to weave through his legs as he takes off his shoes, almost tripping him. He meows pitifully at Steve.

"Yeah, yeah, you poor thing. You'r treated worse here than in a shelter. Warm and cozy and dry with a human to open your tins and feed you."

Garfield meows again, this time more demanding, emphasizing the urgency with which he wants food.

Throwing up his arms, Steve relents. "Fine. Heaven forbid I get to change into something comfortable first."

As soon as he places Garfield's bowl in front of him, Steve is all but forgotten as the cat digs in. "You're welcome," he says to his beloved little freeloader, not expecting a response. He's talking to a cat, after all, but it still helps make the apartment feel less empty.

And there's no one to judge him for it. Not since Robin moved in with Nancy and he had to find a one-bedroom apartment that he could actually afford on his own.

It's not that he begrudges them their happiness, far from it. But coming home to an empty apartment and talking to his cat instead of another human being got old pretty quickly. Worse than that.

It has become lonely.

"Pull yourself together, Steve, and stop whining," he chides himself, still talking out loud.

Steve sighs. He can see himself ending up a hermit with twenty cats who never leaves the house. Deciding it's best to just go to sleep before his thoughts turn any more self-pitying, he bends down to scratch Garfield's head and tells him, "I'm going to bed."

Garfield continues to ignore him as he sips the milk Steve has placed in front of him.

Steve is off for the next two days and spends the time mostly sleeping, doing laundry, and stocking up on food after realizing he didn't even have a slice of toast for breakfast.

He also goes over to Robin and Nance's for dinner, since he's not a hopeless hermit yet. Between the three of them, they go through three bottles of wine and end up swapping stories and inside jokes until his stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

It doesn't make coming back to an empty apartment any easier.

His next shift is another night shift, and it's surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. So far, the worst he has had to deal with is a nasty cut on a drunk frat boy's forehead after the guy fell through a glass door. Steve's still surprised he didn't hurt himself worse. Head wounds bleed like crazy, though, so he looked like he had been attacked by a serial killer when his equally drunk buddies carried him to the emergency room. Seeing that only one deep cut needed stitches, while the other, shallower cuts on his arms and face would be fine on their own, had put Steve in a surprisingly good mood.

So good, in fact, that he carelessly remarked to Carol, the other nurse on duty with him, "Looks like a quiet night for once."

You could have heard a needle drop in the silence that followed his statement, and Carol looked ready to murder him. He had just violated the most important rule in any hospital.

Never, under any circumstances, say the "Q" word.

"Fuck. Oh God, I didn't mean..."

"Too fucking late, Harrington." Carol huffed before stalking off, probably to complain about him to her boyfriend, who was also the hospital director's son.

Less than twenty minutes later, all hell broke loose.

A dance floor at a local club had collapsed, resulting in several dozen serious casualties, all arriving on stretchers, crowding the triage area as Steve worked on autopilot. Assess, prioritize, assist.

In the midst of the chaos, another ambulance arrives and he goes over to talk to the paramedics about taking the patient to St. John's instead because they are at capacity, which really means they were past capacity an hour ago.

One look at the patient tells him there is no time for that,

The man on the gurney was only a few years older than Steve and had a gaping wound on his neck. He was white as a sheet and there was too little blood around a wound that looks like it hit a major artery.

"What the fuck?" He can't help but ask and the paramedic shrugs with a puzzled look on his face.

"I don't know, man. Found him like this and whoever called it in left before we got there."

Rolling their new patient in with hurried steps, Steve wonders if there was anything they could do. The wound needed surgery, and they needed to get blood and other fluids into the man as quickly as possible. Judging by the slow and shallow breathing and the sluggish pulse, his system has already started to shut down.

They lost him before they even got to the operating room. Steve doesn't even hear about it until hours later, when everyone who had been on the dance floor has finally been taken care of and a bone-deep exhaustion replaces the adrenaline-fueled energy in his body. He's not proud of it, but he's too tired to spare the news more than a brief burst of sadness.

Over the next weeks, seven more patients with gaping neck wounds come into the ER while Steve’s on shift, all drained of too much blood to make it past the first ten minutes under their care.

Whispers about a killer roaming the streets of Hawkins have started circulating as the number of victims rises steadily and Steve has started to sleep with a baseball bat under his bed. Just in case.

It’s early Tuesday night, four hours into his twelve hours shift, when another one comes in, this time a young girl around Steve’s age with long strawberry blonde hair and a pretty face. On her neck Steve can make out a gaping wound, just like the others had shown.

But this one is bleeding, profusely.

And the girl is awake, looking up at Steve with wide, terrified eyes.

“Hey, you’re safe, it’s gonna be okay, we’re going to take care of you,” he reassures her over and over as they make their way inside, ushering her to get surgery immediately. When he gives her his warmest reassuring smile she even tries her best to smile back.

Steve hopes she makes it.

She does. Against all odds, considering that the last two dozen victims with similar injuries have all died, she makes it.

Her name is Chrissy Cunningham, and when Steve reads the name on her file, he remembers her. She was a year behind him, a cheerleader. They never really talked much, but he remembers that she was kind and talked to him after everyone else on the team and the cheerleading squad had stopped doing so.

He's glad that she survived, and he promises himself that he will check in on her as soon as his shift is over.

If it hadn't been Chrissy, if it hadn't been someone he knew, he probably never would have met Eddie.

At the end of one of those weird in-between shifts at four in the morning, Steve changes into a pair of sweatpants and his favorite hoodie before heading over to the observatory area where they had to put Chrissy for now because a whole wing of the building is under construction due to some asbestos in the walls. She's already in stable condition, only needing fluids and antibiotics because they have no idea what bit her, so they're letting her sleep it off for now and hopefully find a room to put her in the next day.

The halls of the hospital are quiet at this time of night, especially outside the ER, and it's almost eerie. It feels like no one is here but Steve and the thought makes him shiver. All this serial killer talk is really getting to him, he thinks.

Reaching the area separated only by screens, he sees a figure standing by her bed. He can't make out much, but it appears to be a man, judging by his height, and he's leaning over the bed, talking softly to Chrissy. The man, if it is one, but the deep timber of his voice makes Steve think it is, is not wearing scrubs, but jeans and a hoodie, and Steve is pretty sure he's not hospital staff.

Suddenly, he remembers that something - or someone - must have inflicted the injury on Chrissy's neck.

"Hey, who are you, and what are you doing here?" he shouts as he runs over to the bed, and the figure turns to face him.

It is a man, with wide, dark eyes in a pale face framed by equally dark, messy curls.

"Shit, shit, shit," the man curses and bolts, moving faster than should be humanly possible. One moment he's staring at Steve like a deer in the headlights with his big bambi eyes, the next his shoulder slams into Steve, knocking him to the ground as the mysterious figure disappears from view.

He pushes himself upright and rises from the ground with a determined effort, because even though the guy doesn't look like it, it feels like he's been hit by a brick wall. When he regains his footing, he shakes off the impact and makes his way over to Chrissy to check on her.

She's awake, but too weak to sit up, though she tries.

"Shh, hey, don't strain yourself Chrissy, it's all right, he's gone. You're safe," he reassures her, a hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving too much and aggravating her wound.

"No," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, shaking her head slightly. Just when he wants to reiterate that yes, he's really gone, she continues. "He's safe. He saved me."

"What?" Steve asks, taken aback by her statement. He can tell that even the few words she has spoken have taken a toll on her, draining what little strength she has regained, but he can't help it, he needs to know what she means.

"He...saved me. Pulled him...off. Off me. Would have...killed..." she trails off, her eyelids fluttering shut and Steve lets her be.

Pulling up a chair, he sits down next to her to keep watch, just in case her savior decides to come back.

The next day Chrissy is more lucid. She's also in her own room and has already given a statement to the police when Steve comes in for his shift.

It doesn't matter though, he still has to ask her what happened, needs to know who the strange man was who continued to haunt Steve's dreams after he came home sometime in the early morning.

"I don't know who he is, Steve. He just showed up while Jason...while he," she is visibly shaken by having to remember the events of last night and Steve thinks he should tell her that it's okay, she doesn't have to tell him. But he doesn't. It feels like she needs to say it as much as he needs to hear it.

Steeling herself and taking a deep breath, Chrissy continues, "While Jason was biting me. Mauled me, really. I think he would have torn my throat out if this man had not shown up. He slammed into Jason, ripped him off of me, and they both went down. There was a struggle, I could hear it, but everything hurt so much I couldn't move my head. It went on for a while, I don't know how long. Time was really weird. And then the guy was looking down at me, telling me to stay still, that he was going to call an ambulance, and that I just had to hang in there. He pressed something against my neck and it hurt so much, but the pain kept me there, y'know? So I wouldn't float away and never come back. He told me to stay with him and I did. Until we heard the ambulance. Then he told me he was sorry, but he had to go. And then he was gone and the paramedics took me away."

Chrissy looks very pale after telling her story, the dark rings under her eyes more pronounced than when he first entered the room. But before he can let her rest, he has one more question.

"What was he doing here?"

To Steve's surprise, the question makes Chrissy smile. "An apology, because this is no way for a lady to be left in the lurch."

Steve has no idea what to do with this information, so he just takes Chrissy's hand and squeezes it gently.

"You'll be out of here in no time, Chrissy. We will take good care of you, I promise."

"I know. Thanks, Steve."

He turns and walks away, leaving her to get back to sleep, knowing that it will be a long time before he will be able to do the same.

What the fuck is going on?

They find Jason Carver, or what is left of him, the next day. It's all over the news. No one knows why he attacked his girlfriend or who killed him. The reports leave out a lot of the gruesome details, just saying that he was torn to pieces when they found him.

Steve, of course, can't let that be all. He has to know what happened, so after his shift he sneaks down to the morgue to take a look at what is left of Jason, a guy he only knew in passing, since Steve had already left the school when Jason became captain of the basketball team, taking Steve's old position.

What he finds is a body that is badly mangled, just like the news said. There are deep wounds, chunks of flesh missing, his right arm torn from his shoulder. Though it's hard to swallow, it's not the first time Steve has seen a body destroyed almost beyond recognition. What makes him recoil from the dead man in front of him is the fact that Jason Carver's body is already decomposing as if he'd been dead for several days, maybe weeks, instead of not even 48 hours.

Steve leaves the morgue even more confused - and frightened - and heads home with the image of Jason's tattered, rotting body burned into his eyelids.

Over the next three weeks Steve sees four more victims with the same torn throats and bloodless bodies. None of them can be saved like they saved Chrissy.

He doesn’t see the mysterious man again.

It's late June when Steve's life changes forever.

The sun has only set an hour ago and the air is still warm as he walks home from his shift. Robin and Nance's car broke down the day before, and they live on the outskirts of town, so Steve gave them his car until theirs is fixed in a few days. The weather is nice and he doesn't mind walking the three miles to his apartment.

He's almost home, maybe ten minutes away, when he hears someone whistle.

There's a man standing at the entrance to an alley a few feet ahead of him, and since he's the only one around, Steve assumes it must be him whistling at Steve. The guy is hot, there is no way around it, about Steve's height with an athletic build and a haircut that reminds him of the 80's, his blond hair styled into a mullet.

"What's a pretty guy like you doing out here all alone?" The man asks as he gives Steve a slow look. It's supposed to be seductive, Steve thinks, but it just comes off as sleazy. Which is a shame, because the guy has a pretty face, long lashes, full lips, delicate features. Steve's also going through a bit of a dry spell lately, but he's not desperate enough to hook up with a slimy sleazeball like that.

"None of your business, really," he replies, walking a little faster than before. Something doesn't feel right, he thinks, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"Aww, don't be like that, sweet thing. I just wanna talk, I swear." Steve is almost past the guy when their eyes meet and he feels himself freeze. "Why don't you come closer so I can smell you better?"

Even as he thinks, "What the hell is wrong with this guy?" he feels his body turn toward him and his feet propel him forward. He feels himself panic, but it's a distant thing, like an itch under his skin that he can't reach no matter how hard he scratches.

When he's in front of the stranger, so close that their chests almost touch, the man leans in and sniffs Steve's neck like a dog at a slab of meat. He hums deep in his chest and Steve feels the wet touch of his tongue against his skin. It's enough of a shock that he can get his body to react, to fight back, but it's no use. The moment he moves, the man growls menacingly at him.

With his feet still rooted to the ground, Steve feels like he's underwater, his senses dulled and his limbs heavy, weighed down by the tons of water around him. He fights it with all his strength and it takes all he's got to put his hands on the man's chest and push him away.

It's not even close to a hard push, but the man clearly didn't expect Steve to fight back at all, so he stumbles back a bit anyway. Unfortunately for Steve, it only makes him angrier.

"Looks like you got some fight in you after all. Too bad I don't like my food to fight back," he snarls, and before Steve knows what's happening he feels his back slam into the wall behind him, darkness surrounding them on all sides.

He struggles against the hands holding him down, but it's no use, their grip steely and unyielding.

The once pretty face has turned into something twisted and ugly, a grotesque imitation of a human face, and when the thing in front of him opens its mouth, all Steve sees are teeth. Long, sharp teeth.

Steve screams, but not a sound comes out of its mouth.

As those teeth sink into his neck, the face of the man who saved Chrissy's life pops unbidden into his mind. Steve has seen it in his dreams more than once, and it's strangely comforting to think of it now, in what Steve is sure will be his last minutes alive. As if this is all a fucked up dream and Chrissy's mysterious savior will come for him, too.

White hot pain races through his body from where the thing that looked like a man sunk its teeth into him and it's only that pain that makes him believe what he sees next.

One moment he's in mind-numbing agony, almost wishing for death to come and end his suffering, and the next the oppressive weight of that thing is gone, its teeth no longer in Steve. With nothing holding him up, he crumples to the ground, his head dazed and his body shaking like a leaf.

To his right he hears the sounds of a viscous battle. Growls and snarls, flesh hitting flesh, flesh hitting brick, the sound of bones snapping. He's too weak to even turn his head, and part of him is glad for that.

The fight seems to go on forever and Steve feels himself slipping in and out of consciousness. His heart has stopped pounding and his pulse has slowed to about 60 beats per minute, which is good. Not too slow, his system is still going strong. It was cardiac arrest after immense blood loss that had killed the other victims, but so far that doesn't seem to be Steve's fate.

At least not if the wound on his neck that is still slowly bleeding is taken care of soon.

He doesn't dare press his undoubtedly dirty palm against it yet. Hell, he's not even sure if he can lift his hand that far. But something has to be done about the bleeding, sooner rather than later.

As if his savior had heard his thoughts, there is a final, stomach-churning sound of flesh and bone ripping, followed by silence, the fight finally over.

And then there he is, as if his mind had conjured him, the man who saved Chrissy. The man with the big brown doe eyes and the pale skin and the messy curls. There's blood on his face now, and... other things Steve doesn't want to think about.

Steve is safe now, he feels it deep in his soul. He doesn't know how he can know that, how he can trust a complete stranger to keep him safe, but he does. His eyelids flutter shut, the tension finally draining from him completely.

A cool hand on his cheek and a warm, deep voice, tinged with what sounds like fear, pull him back.

"Hey, no, no, no. Steve, you need to stay here with me, okay? Stay with me, sweetheart."

"You know my name," Steve mumbles, fighting the heavy rocks that weigh down his eyelids as he looks at the pretty face in front of him. His eyes dip lower and there's more blood on the man, his clothes torn and his skin exposed. "You're hurt."

"You're very observant, Stevie. Come on, we gotta get you to the hospital. You'll be as good as new in no time." He smiles at Steve and Steve is helpless not to smile back. There's the tease of a dimple forming in his cheek and Steve lifts his hand with Herculean effort to touch it. When the man notices the gesture, the dimple forms fully, deep and alluring. A cold hand catches his before it reaches its target and Steve whines in protest.

The man chuckles fondly. "Here, lemme help you," he says, bringing Steve's hand to his face, the dimple still waiting for Steve to touch it. The skin is soft under his hands and cold too, like it's a winter night and not the end of June.

"I'm gonna pick you up now, Stevie. It's faster than waiting for an ambulance. Just close your eyes and we'll be there before you know it."

Steve feels himself lifted from the ground into strong arms and instinctively turns his head into the man's chest, enjoying the vibration of his soft laughter at the gesture against his cheek.

Then they're moving, and fast. One second he wonders how someone covered in blood and other unspeakable things can smell so good, and the next the lights of the hospital burn bright and painful in his blurry eyes.

"He needs help, now," he hears the man say to someone, his voice firm and demanding. It makes Steve shiver in his arms. And then he's placed on a gurney and his savior leaves with the whisper of cold lips on Steve's forehead.

It's only much later, when he's recovered enough to form coherent thoughts, that Steve realizes two things.

He doesn't even know the name of the man who saved him.

He never heard a heartbeat as his head was pressed against the man's chest.

Steve is released two days later and Robin insists that he stay with her and Nancy for a while. There's really no arguing with his best friend when she's got something on her mind, so he doesn't even try. He's too tired anyway.

His sleep is shit, plagued by nightmares of sharp teeth and blood and bodies being torn to pieces.

He also dreams of the mysterious man, and while these dreams aren't nightmares, they're still confusing, even unsettling, because they leave him feeling hollow. Like he has lost something. Which is ridiculous, the man was never his, he doesn't even know his name.

As he spends the next week at Robin and Nancy's, being pampered and doted on, he has no idea how close he is to learning the name of his savior. That and much more.

After finally convincing his best friend that he can manage on his own, that he needs to go home, that Garfield misses him even with Robin or Nancy stopping by to feed him, it is both daunting and a relief to see Robin's car drive away from where he stands in front of his apartment building.

The nightmares haven't stopped, and he admits that the prospect of being alone in his apartment scares him, but he can't live on his best friend's couch forever. Besides, even there, the nightmares would wake him up shaking and panting, waking Robin and Nancy more than once in the middle of the night. Alone in his apartment, he won't wake anyone with his whimpering and screaming.

Garfield is already waiting for him when he comes through the door, weaving through his legs and meowing at him. Surprised at how much he missed the tabby menace, Steve leans down and takes him in his arms, burying his face in the soft fur.

"Hey baby, sorry for leaving you alone for so long. But Aunt Robbie told me that she and Nancy took good care of you, playing with you and petting you. Probably spoiled you rotten, huh?"

Garfield meows again and pushes his head under Steve's chin, rubbing against him and purring like crazy. Steve smiles into his fur, thinking that he's glad to be home, even if it's still empty except for the purring cat in his arms.

He puts Garfield back down and makes him something to eat before heading to his bathroom to take a long, hot shower and change into something more comfortable. When he pushes open the door and steps inside, he is too stunned by the sight that greets him for any real reaction other than a sharp intake of breath.

On the floor is the man who has taken over most of Steve's dreams and many of his waking thoughts as well.

The man lies still and Steve can see dark stains on his clothes and he just knows it's blood. It could be someone else's, but somehow Steve is sure it's the man's own. Within seconds, he's on his knees next to the unconscious (please just be unconscious) figure, his knees smarting from the way he just fell onto them on the hard and cold tiles.

The man is on his stomach, his face turned to the side, away from Steve, so he moves to turn the man over. He's surprisingly heavy, a dead weight under his hands (no, no, no, not dead, just unconscious, his mind chants), but Steve is nothing if not persistent, and he finally manages to turn the man onto his back.

"Oh God," Steve groans as he can finally assess the damage. There are wounds all over his body, deep gashes on his thighs, his torso, his arms, even his face. "What happened to you?"

"Ten against one. Not...fair," the man replies, his voice barely audible and his eyes still closed. Steve has to lean in to make out the words, but him talking also means the man is still alive, though Steve isn't sure how much longer.

Taking the man's wrist, Steve looks for a pulse to see how far his system has already shut down, but... there is no pulse to be found.

He remembers not hearing a heartbeat when his cheek was pressed against the man's chest, so he presses his ear to where the man's heart is, waiting for the sound of its faint beat.

Nothing.

Steve leans back and searches the man's eyes, half-open now and clearly alive.

"How... you can't be alive. You don't have a pulse, your heart isn't beating." He is stammering, but it's a lot to take in. It shouldn't be possible. It's not like he wants the guy to be dead, but for all intents and purposes, he should be.

Bloodied lips pull back into a faint smile. "Sweetheart, not even the most beautiful sight like you could make my heart beat again. Although it really tries for you."

Despite everything, the way this guy flirts with him while he lies in his own blood brings a crooked smile to Steve's face.

"There, that smile? If it could, my heart would be beating out of my chest right now." Steve can tell the man is trying for levity, but he's fading and fast.

"As charming as you are, you're also bleeding all over my bathroom floor. With no pulse or heartbeat. And I don't even know your friggin' name! So forgive me for asking, but what the fuck?"

"Sorry for the blood on your floor, I tried to patch myself up, but I must have passed out. Embarrassing, really. Didn't think you'd be back so soon. I'd get out of your hair, but... well, you know. I don't think I can move." The words start to slur halfway through, and those beautiful brown eyes keep disappearing behind heavy eyelids. Steve has to do something, quickly, before his savior dies.

"Eddie," the man croaks, his voice barely audible. Steve wouldn't have heard it if it weren't for the intent way he stares at him.

"What?"

"My name. Eddie."

"Eddie. Okay." Steve nods his head, the hand still wrapped around Eddie's wrist grabbing his hand instead, squeezing it gently. "Eddie, we need to get you to the hospital now."

It looks like Eddie tries to shake his head, but gives up halfway, exhausted. "No. They can't help me."

"But they can! Someone needs to sew up your wounds, and you've lost too much blood, you need a blood transfusion and fluids and - why are you laughing?"

"You're right, I need blood, but not the way you think."

The image of sharp teeth flickers behind his eyelids, a gnarled face snarling at him. The feeling of those teeth buried in his neck, white-hot pain shooting through his veins.

"What... Eddie, I don't..."

Eddie's face turns toward him, his nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath, as if smelling the air.

"Come closer so I can smell you better."

Two different voices growling and snarling, not just one.

Strong arms lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing, carrying him nearly three miles. "It's faster than waiting for an ambulance."

"You're not human." Steve whispers. It's not a question.

Eddie answers it anyway. "No, I'm not."

"You're... You're a..." He can't say it, can't even think it.

"A vampire, yes." Eddie says it for him and everything falls into place. The neck wounds, the drained victims, the sharp teeth and the inhuman strength and speed.

"You want my blood." Steve has no idea why he's stating the obvious instead of running as fast as he can, but something tells him he's still safe with Eddie.

"So observant." Eddie chuckles, but it sounds wet and weak. "Yeah. But I won't take it, don't worry, Stevie."

In his mind Steve goes over the things he knows.

Eddie is a vampire. A vampire who killed another vampire to save Steve’s life. To save Chrissy’s life.

Eddie is dying. He may already be dead, but it looks like vampires can die again. Permanently.

Eddie wants his blood.

"Would it help you? My blood, I mean." That's the only thing he's not sure about. The most important thing, at least.

It looks like an inhuman - invampire, Steve thinks - effort, but Eddie manages to shake his head firmly.

"Steve, no."

"Would. It. Help?" Steve insists.

Eddie, the stubborn asshole, presses his lips together and refuses to look at him. That's answer enough for him.

Still holding Eddie's hand in his, he lifts his other hand to Eddie's mouth and presses the inside of his wrist against the closed mouth.

"Come on, Eddie. Drink." Another shake of the man's head only strengthens Steve's resolve. "Eddie, please. You saved my life. Let me do the same."

The stubborn ass continues to refuse, so Steve does the only logical thing. He stands, grabs his razor, and slides the blade across his wrist, just deep enough to draw blood from the otherwise shallow wound.

He presses the wrist back against Eddie's lips and this time he feels the man tremble.

"Please drink. I want you to. Let me help you." Moving his wrist and smearing his blood over Eddie's full lips, Steve pleads again, his voice breaking. "Please, Eddie."

It's the last please that does it, and the next thing Steve feels is the white-hot pain of teeth sinking into his wrist. Still smiling through the pain, he squeezes Eddie's hand. "That's it, you're doing so good. Take what you need."

And Eddie does. He drinks and drinks and drinks until the world goes fuzzy and black spots start dancing in front of Steve's eyes.

"Eddie," Steve slurs before everything goes dark.

When Steve comes to, he's in his bed.

His wrist is wrapped tightly in a pristine-looking white bandage, and he's wearing his pajamas. He has no idea how he got here or what happened, everything is kind of blurry. Steve tries to sit up, but almost immediately the world starts spinning and he groans in protest.

That's when the door to his bedroom opens and his mysterious savior walks into the room with a bowl in his hand.

Eddie, his mind supplies. His name is Eddie and he was dying the last time Steve saw him.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks him, his voice full of worry and he gets a sad smile in return.

"Stevie, I'm the one who should be asking you that." Eddie sits down next to him on the bed but doesn't touch him. He looks tense and Steve wonders why. Though most of what happened is a blur, he remembers holding Eddie's hand and Eddie calling him beautiful.

"I'm fine. A little dizzy, but fine. You were the one bleeding all over my bathroom floor. What happened, how are you even standing, how long was I out?"

Eddie reaches out and takes Steve's cheek in his hand. "You saved my life, Stevie. That's what happened. And you almost got yourself killed, you self-sacrificing idiot. So even though it saved my life, I have to ask you, beg you if I have to, to never do anything so stupid again."

Steve puts his own hand on top of Eddie's hand on his face and looks him in the eye as he tells him, "You saved my life first and risked your own as well. So I guess the pot is calling the kettle black here."

He's rewarded with a dimpled smile. "Fair point. Now that we're even, can you promise me you'll never do anything like this again?"

"I dunno. Can you promise not to try to save me again if I'm in danger?" He knows it's a low blow, but if it helps him get his point across, he's not above playing dirty. Besides, part of him really wants to know. The needy part, the scared part.

"You know the answer to that," Eddie says, brushing his thumb across Steve's cheekbone.

"Isn't that a little unfair?"

"Yeah," Eddie whispers, and Steve realizes he's so much closer than before. "But I don't care if it keeps you safe."

Steve feels his heart thunder in his chest, his eyes darting from Eddie's to the other man's lips and back again. Licking his own lips, Steve asks, "And why is that?"

Eddie's lips are only a breath away from his own, and he tastes his answer as much as he hears it.

"You know that answer as well."

Before Steve can say anything else, Eddie's cool, smooth lips seal over his and every thought in his mind is forgotten. There's only Eddie.

Later he'll ask about the other vampires. About all the dead people in the emergency room. He'll ask who Eddie is, why he's running around town saving people, and who hurt him so badly.

But all that can wait, at least until Steve is done drinking down the delicious sounds falling from Eddie's mouth.

This is a little birthday gift for my dear friend @yournowheregirl. Alice, I know you love vampires so I tried my best to give you some. Time ran out on me but I still hope you like it 💜

I hope you had the best birthday ever because you deserve nothing but happiness.

Edit: I forgot while posting to say that this is heavily inspired by a wonderful podcast I highly recommend, Not quite dead. Give it a listen folks!

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In The Bleak Mid-Winter

[One-shot]

Ronald Speirs x Nurse!Female Reader

No good deed goes unpunished, but your reassignment brings with it an unexpected reward.

Warnings: Language, Weapons, Canon Typical Violence, Smoking, Treatment of Wounds, Medical Procedures, Hospital Settings, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex - m/f receiving, fingering, cum eating] - 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note: This was written entirely on my phone as my laptop is in for emergency repairs - I hated the experience, and apologize if there are any formatting issues or a surplus of typos. Also, I made some distinct narrative choices in writing this but I won’t burden you with them up front. They’re in the post-script if you’re interested! This is a work of fiction based off the actors’ portrayal in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life persons mentioned within.

Word Count: 6171

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December 29, 1944 - Bastogne

“Fifty surgeries in two days with only three deaths. It is nothing short of a miracle. I’m halfway through a report recommending you all for a medal....and then I come to find out you landed in the middle of an encircled town on an unpiloted glider, through all manner of artillery fire, with a goddamn woman?! A woman!”

Your bleary eyes focused on the lit end of the cigarette pinched between the index and middle finger of your right hand, the icy caress of the north wind howling between the tent and the garage outside the Bastogne barracks one of the only things keeping you awake. Weary from nearly forty-eight hours of surgery, it would have been difficult to stay awake under normal circumstances, but the mortification you felt as General McAuliffe screamed at Major Dorward behind thin walls of canvas was certainly helping keep you on your aching feet in the ankle deep snow.

Bundled tightly in your great coat, collar turned up against the wind, face buried into the olive drab scarf around your neck, helmet protecting your head, the only bit of exposed skin was that hand you were straining to focus on. The other was deep inside your pocket, balled into a fist. You were vaguely aware of various people darting through the barracks yard behind you, making their way to and fro, loading vehicles, delivering men to the now-central clearing station since the bombing of the cathedral the day before your arrival. Covered as you were, you were barely indistinguishable from an ordinary soldier, yet the General had managed to find out your secret nonetheless.

“I have every faith that she can handle herself out here sir, there was no more qualified surgical assistant to accompany us.”

“But she is not a surgical assistant, Major, is she?! She’s just a nurse! A nurse whose life you endangered by sneaking her aboard that glider! I ought to have you court martialed!!!”

The General did have a point, hidden though it was within the avalanche of vitriol he was sending the Major’s way. You were in fact no more than a surgical nurse - assistants were enlisted men. But during your third or fourth surgery with the Major, right after D-Day, a brand new surgical assistant had been assigned to the operating room and not five minutes in had fainted to the floor.

With the patient in a life threatening position you had stepped forward to fill in the gap and ensure no impact to care or outcome. It had been the start of a very effective working relationship as the 12th Evacuation Hospital made its way across France behind the advancing American army.

Thus when Major Dorward had volunteered for this assignment, and asked if you would consider joining him, your only hesitation was born of the concern for the hell you two might catch. The hell he was in the very midst of catching right now.

You hissed at the sudden pain as the lit end of the cigarette met your flesh and quickly flicked it into the snow, not having taken one puff. When General Nuts himself had stormed into the tent, eyes blazing, the Major had sent you outside in the early dawn light with the lit cigarette and his rifle for protection. It had rather felt like you were your own firing squad, though the Major was most certainly the one under fire at the moment.

The creak of boots in the nearby snow, much closer than all those that had passed by before, made you jump slightly. You turned quickly to see an exhausted soldier, eyes bleached a pale grey in the now-brilliant morning sunshine. He looked cold, and exhausted, as all the men you’d run into here did. His face was handsome, though, lashes luxuriously long for a man carrying a Thompson submachine gun. He held out a pack of cigarettes to you, offering you a new one to replace that which you’d mistakenly allowed to burn out and you shook your head before extracting your face from its position nestled deep within your scarf.

“I don’t actually smoke, please don’t waste any of your cigarettes on me, soldier.” You smiled weakly, watching as his eyes widened a fraction before the General’s voice somehow rose even further in volume to respond to something the Major had said.

“I don’t give two shits if she can transplant heads, the risks involved were unacceptable, Major, and believe me you have not heard the last of this! Your surgical record over the last two days has been impressive, but this was utterly reckless!”

The soldier’s eyes flicked to the tent then back to you as everything surely came together in his mind and you looked down at the outline of yourcombat boots buried in the snow, wondering if it was too much to ask for the ground to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. You heard the tent flap flutter and tensed in anticipation of the General’s departure, but instead a gunshot rang out from across the clearing beyond the barracks, the snow scattering at your feet.

Strong arms yanked around your waist and pulled you back behind the shelter of the tent and the pair of you quickly lay flat in the snow, unmoving, barely breathing. The harassment from the enemy had been almost constant from the moment the glider had entered occupied air space and that, combined with any and all abilities you might possess being questioned by the General simply because of your gender, had you feeling rather enraged.

Pulling Major Dorward’s rifle from your shoulder, you crawled on your elbows to cautiously peer around the corner of the tent across the meadow and into the tree line beyond. Nothing moved. Years spent stalking deer at your father’s side had taught you patience, and how to aim the rifle in your hands. It seemed the former would not be required as a soldier came blithely walking out of the garage-turned-operating theatre completely unaware that there was a sniper.

The soldier at your side gestured at him violently - you could feel the movement of his body where his hip was still pressed against your leg, but it went unnoticed. Another shot rang out.

“Holy shit!” The man wailed as he darted back inside, a shower of brick dust audibly hitting the snow somewhere to your rear. The sniper was clearly lacking in talent, but you were focused on the movement in the coniferous tree to your two o’clock.

Exhaling slowly you squeezed the trigger and there was a hoarse shout followed by the sound of a body tumbling through cracking branches and ending in a sickening thud.

“Trying to kill my goddamn patients.” You muttered bitterly under your breath and carefully sat up, looking back to the soldier as he exhaled slowly.

He was eyeing you, expression intense and inscrutable, but your gaze was drawn to the gap at the collar of his ODs where you could see fresh blood oozing from a poorly bandaged wound at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, staining his wool shirt just below below his silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia.

“You’re bleeding, Lieutenant.” You said quickly, pushing on his hip to encourage him to roll over so you might kneel at his side for a better look, pleased when he immediately complied.

You laid the rifle in the snow next to him and pulled the bandages away, frowning deeply to see lingering splinters of wood in the wound. As you carefully probed at them he hissed and you tensed, quickly apologizing.

“It’s nothing, ma’am, I’m fine.”

The tent flap opening and closing followed by heavy footfalls in the snow signalled the arrival of General McAuliffe on the scene.

“Everything alright, Lieutenant?” He asked quickly and the man below you nodded quickly.

“Just some shrapnel from a tree burst, sir.”

You looked up to the General slowly, watching his eyes land on the rifle at the Lieutenant’s side before glancing across the clearing.

“Good. Well done with the sniper, son.”

The Lieutenant shifted uncomfortably but you nodded quickly, helping him sit up. “An impressive shot, sir.” You added.

The General’s eyes fell on you, still full of that heated rage, but apparently he’d run out of words to say on the subject of your unwanted presence for he simply turned and made his way back towards the barracks.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Lieutenant.” You turned back to him, the coppery tang of blood on the air focusing you like nothing else seemed to be able to.

Working your way to your feet, you picked up the abandoned rifle before leading him into the tent. Major Dorward looked up from some papers on his desk, opening his mouth but closing it quickly as you were followed by the Lieutenant.

“Tree burst shrapnel, sir.” You announced in your easy working shorthand.

“Damn Nazis have weaponized the forest. Have a seat, soldier.” He stood and offered his chair, walking over to the stash of supplies to fetch a field kit and bandages for you as you set the rifle on the cot in the corner, putting your helmet down beside it. “Ah my apologies, trooper.” He amended.

You turned back to see the distinct jump boots with bloused trousers now that the Lieutenant was seated and smiled. “I apologize as well, Lieutenant. I missed that outside.”

You worked his ODs and wool shirt open to began carefully cleaning his wound, leaving him in his undershirt in the chill of the tent.

“Doesn’t seem you miss much, Nurse.” He looked up to you as he spoke softly and you swallowed thickly as you noted his eyes were actually hazel, with flecks of gold around his pupils.

Mercifully Major Dorward broke out into rich laughter and shook his head. “That she doesn’t.” He commiserated affectionately from his newfound seat on the cot.

“Let me guess,” you murmured to the man seated before you as you gently worked out the last few splinters of wood that had escaped initial treatment, “you also told them this was nothing at the aid station because there were men there whom you considered hurt worse than you.” You glanced to his face as his lips twitched a little. “This could have become a real problem, Lieutenant, I’m glad you came over to offer me a cigarette.”

Turning back, you called the Major over to double check your work.

“Wound is clean and ready for bandaging.” He nodded after looking it over. “When you’re done I suggest you try and sleep. We’re driving out as soon as the truck is ready and the ride out will be about as relaxing as the flight in.”

“Understood, thank you Major.” You nodded as he stepped out of the tent to light a cigarette. You carefully lay some gauze over the crook of the Lieutenant’s shoulder before wrapping some bandages around his neck and under his armpit to hold it in place. “This should heal nicely in a week or so if you can do your best to keep it dry for me…” you trailed off as your fingers found the hole in his ODs.

Casting about the tent, your eyes landed on a tattered blanket in the corner and you began fashioning a patch, whip stitching it into place over the gash in the fabric. “That ought to do it.”

“Thank you, Nurse.” He murmured, looking up at you before he stood slowly, buttoning up his shirt and ODs with practiced efficiency.

“Take care of yourself, trooper.” You nodded, watching him step out, hoping against hope that he would be alright out there.

General McAuliffe proved to be a man of his word, which in retrospect was of no surprise to you whatsoever. The hellish ride out of Bastogne in the back of a truck on the only opened road, with the sounds of battle still raging on either side, took you to Orval where you received orders to report to the 60th Field Hospital there while the men from the 12th would return to the Evacuation Hospital you’d been stationed with since before June 1944. You had been informed your personal effects would arrive at a ‘later date.’

Nuts, indeed.

You worked in Orval for nearly a week, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, wearing the same clothing day-in, day-out, until the 60th was relieved and pulled back to Mourmelon-le-Grand. As promised, your belongings were waiting for you there, in the iron grip of a dour-faced Chief Nurse MacDonald who was only too happy to put a ‘reckless, insubordinate’ Nurse like you in her place at the 123rd Station Hospital.

What followed was a grueling month of scrubbing and refitting the near derelict buildings abandoned by the Airborne when they were abruptly called to the Ardennes. By the time the place was worthy of being called a hospital, you had managed to become at least friendly with your new colleagues, though they remained suspicious after your filthy and unceremonious arrival.

By mid-February, a tent city began to spring up around the base, heralding the impending arrival of troops from the front. And with them came all manner of cold weather maladies - pneumonia, trench foot, frostbite. Working on the general ward now, you could only eye the surgical nurses with envy, knowing your skills were going to waste emptying bedpans and changing bandages and that you had no one to blame but yourself.

Stubborn in all things, however, you worked without complaint, often being rewarded with more work or the worst assignments because your superiors knew you would complete any task with efficient silence. It was precisely this combination that saw you assigned to the night shift, a small mercy in that the vengeful Chief Nurse would never deign to work such hours, allowing you to develop a new working relationship with Captain Munro, MD.

“Nurse might I borrow you a moment?” He interrupted you as you stepped away from the bedside of a postoperative patient and you quickly nodded, following him off the ward and down the hall to his office. “I’m up to my eyeballs in trench foot but there’s an officer in here, seems he lacerated his hand helping one of his men climb out a transport - quite stubborn. Whether or not it needs sutures I am confident you can determine…” he exhaled, clearly exhausted from working a double shift as he came to a stop outside the door. “Is it alright if I leave this one in your capable hands? You’ll find everything you need in the cabinet.” He looked at you pleadingly, eyes underscored by dark bags of fatigue as he held out the chart and you nodded quickly.

“Certainly sir, please don’t worry about a thing.” You smiled softly at the relieved slump of his shoulders before he nodded firmly in thanks, dashing off down the hall to no doubt deal with another man’s beleaguered feet.

You glanced over the chart of Captain Ronald Speirs quickly before knocking on the door, giving the man some warning, before you stepped inside. You tilted your head to see the Captain with his back turned to you, halfway back into the worn jacket of his ODs, appearing quite prepared to leave.

“Just a moment please, Captain Speirs, I would like to take a look at your hand, sir.” You said softly, eyes widening as the man turned around swiftly, arms still slightly akimbo, to reveal the very same Lieutenant whom you’d bandaged that morning in Bastogne. Who’d saved your life, and watched you take out a sniper with barely a comment.

His eyes were fatigued, his hair grown long. He clearly hadn’t seen a razor in quite some time and yet you were struggling to recall a moment when you’d found a man so attractive in your entire life. You suddenly felt acutely self conscious in your white and brown seer sucker hospital dress with brown cotton stockings and cardigan to match, nursing cap pinned in your hair.

“It’s nothing ma’am, I’m fine.” He repeated himself word for word and you bit the inside of your cheek, having a hard time deciphering if he was joking or just built that obstinately. You did not miss, however, the slight rasp in the back of his throat.

“Good, let’s keep it that way, shall we Captain?”

You gestured for him to sit in the chair he’d surely recently vacated and carefully took the one across the corner of the desk from him, holding out your hand expectantly. As he set the back of his left hand in yours, you frowned at the laceration along the side of his palm. Captain Munro had been right, it really was borderline in need of suturing.

Laying his hand on the desk gently you stepped over to the cabinet to collect the necessary supplies, deciding to play it safe. You could suture quickly enough - the man clearly needed to get some rest and you did not want to keep him from it. While swiping his palm clean with an iodine wipe you glanced at him as he cleared his throat.

“I didn’t think you were assigned here.” He commented quietly.

You shook your head ruefully as you unpacked a tube of pre-threaded sutures with a curved needle. “I wasn’t until very recently. I used to be assigned to the 12th Evacuation Hospital but after my…behavior it was deemed necessary to reassign me.”

“I said nothing, I swear.” He replied quickly, brow furrowing and you could not help the smile that pulled at your lips.

“I believe you, Captain. Heaven knows where I’d be if you had.” Gently positioning his hand on the desk top, you smoothly rotated the curved needle through first one edge of his cut and then the other, looping the length of it around your forceps twice before pulling the end through to create a square knot.

You repeated two more casts before snipping the ends of the suture, looking to him sharply as he let out a rattling cough. “How long have you had that cough, Captain?”

“Few days…” he replied evasively and you hummed disapprovingly.

“If it doesn’t go away in a couple of days, you should come back and see me.” You spoke as you began the next stitch.

“And if it does get better?” He asked quietly, watching your careful work.

“I’ll be here all the same.” You replied, pressing your lips together as you fought another smile at the thrill that unfurled in your stomach.

“Whom should I ask for?” His voice came out particularly gravelly and he cleared his throat forcefully.

It was your turn to look startled as you suddenly came to realize you had yet to introduce yourself. You quickly shared your name before shaking your head in shame. “You must think me some wild animal, Captain, please forgive me.” You muttered and tied off the fourth and final stitch.

He nodded at you, eyes taking on a glossy quality that had you growing more concerned by the moment. You set down your tools and raised a hand to brush the backs of your fingers against his forehead, heart clenching as his eyes fluttered closed. Those infernal eyelashes dusting against his cheeks. His skin felt a normal temperature but another ragged cough wracked his frame and you clenched your jaw.

“I’d like to listen to your lungs, Captain.” You muttered and stepped over to the cabinet once more to grab the stethoscope you’d seen there.

He blinked up at you as he began to undo his wool shirt. “It’s Ron.” He corrected you and another smile escaped you before you managed to smother it, hands cupping the bell of the stethoscope to warm it.

“Thank you, Ron.” You said softly, inserting the tips into your ears before stepping closer to press the stethoscope against his upper left chest. “Deep breath in for me?”

You listened carefully to each quadrant of his lungs, pleased there was no crackling or anything else abnormal. Satisfied it was most likely just a cold, you looped the stethoscope around your neck as you stepped back.

“Everything seems alright, promise me you’ll get some rest and keep warm?” You asked gently, doing your best not to allow your eyes to linger on the way his undershirt clung to his lithe frame. You did take a selfish moment to appreciate how well his wound from Bastogne had healed, however.

“Promise.” He nodded, doing up his shirt more slowly this time, courtesy of the stitches in his palm. “Remind me when I get to see you again?”

You bit your lip slightly and took a breath. “If the cough doesn’t improve, a couple of days. To get your stitches out, a couple of weeks. Please keep them clean and dry until tomorrow night at least.”

“Got it.” He nodded and straightened his OD jacket, pulling on a worn scarf from the back of the chair before standing slowly.

“But for now straight to bed.” You opened the door, watching over him feeling wildly and inexplicably overprotective.

“Thank you.” He looked to you drowsily and you nodded, seeing him out then turning back to clean up and complete his chart before rushing back to your actual duties that night.

One week passed, and then another. There was no visit from Captain Speirs. You did your utmost to convince yourself it was for the best, that it meant he was healthy. That he’d had his stitches removed by a nurse on the day shift at his convenience. Word came that his entire Division would receive a Presidential Unit Citation and Ike himself would be coming to visit to deliver it on Roosevelt’s behalf.

You were promptly informed by Chief Nurse MacDonald that your presence during the ceremony was not welcome, but if you wanted to observe the Divisional dress rehearsal a few days before, on your own time of course, she would not stop you.

Breaking out your dress uniform for the first time in months, you obstinately got ready just after the end of your shift that morning and strode your way over to the parade ground with a few of the girls on the evening shift who were certainly better rested than you. More than a few off duty nurses from the five other hospitals in Mourmelon had found their way onto the grounds to take a peek at the men in their finery and you could only imagine that number would be many times higher on the fifteenth when Ike himself was there.

The weather was thankfully cooperative as you huddled together near a collection of trees watching the men of the 101st file past. The contrast between their neatly pressed uniforms with mirror shined boots and the battered but not beaten men you’d encountered in Bastogne was truly striking. Each and every one of them truly deserved the honor that was about to be bestowed upon them.

Once everyone was satisfied that the ceremony would proceed without a hitch, the men were dismissed and you turned to head back to your tent to catch what sleep you could before your shift that night. Smothering a yawn behind your hand, the group of women you were walking with all came to a halt when a familiar voice called ‘Nurse!’ All of you almost seemed to turn back as one.

If six pairs of inquisitive female eyes intimidated Captain Speirs he did not let it show. He quickly clarified with your name, the other nurses filing away murmuring amongst themselves disappointedly.

“Good morning, Captain.” You nodded to him as he came to stand in front of you, sliding his helmet from his head to tuck it under his arm.

“Good morning.” He replied, eyes skimming over your uniform curiously.

You noted he’d found the time to visit a barber, his hair neatly trimmed and styled, though you rather missed the tousled waves he’d first arrived with.

“You are sounding well, Captain. I’m glad to hear it.” You smiled softly. “Did your hand mend nicely?”

He lifted it for your inspection and you looked to him startled to see the stitches still in place.

“Captain, these sutures were ready to be removed days ago.” You chided him softly as you cradled his hand in yours.

“I was told you were unavailable.” He replied quietly and you looked to his face quizzically before it dawned on you that he must have returned to the hospital during another shift and simply left when he learned you weren’t there.

“My apologies, I work nights. Any nurse can take care of these, they must itch something fierce.” You frowned.

“What time does your shift begin tonight?” He asked, seemingly happy to leave his hand at your mercy for as long as you chose to hold it.

“2100.” You replied, noting the disappointment that pinched at the bridge of his nose. “But I could meet you there at 2015 if it means getting this taken care of.”

He nodded firmly. “2015, then. Thank you.” He eyed you a moment as you tried in vain to fight back another yawn. “What time does your shift end?”

“0900. I should get back to get some rest. Just wanted to sneak a peek at the big show. You boys will do great when Ike’s in town.” You nodded warmly.

“You won’t be here?” He tilted his head curiously and you let out a scoff of self deprecation.

“Reckless, insubordinate nurses like me aren’t to be seen by the Supreme Allied Commander.”

A furrow appeared between his brows, the muscle of his jaw ticking slightly before he exhaled. “I wish they would stop punishing you for your bravery.”

Your eyebrows shot up beneath the brim of your service cap. You had been trying your damnedest to not let it bother you, especially after hearing the men of the 12th Hospital you’d gone in with had all received the Silver Cross. To hear him speak in your defense was quite honestly overwhelming.

After a careful glance around the nearly empty parade ground confirmed the remaining individuals were otherwise occupied, you leaned in to quickly press your lips to his freshly shaved cheek, thumb swiping away any trace of your lipstick.

“Thank you, Ron.” You swallowed tightly as the heat of his gaze was as palpable as a caress on the skin of your face. “I will see you later to remove your stitches.” Squeezing his hand gently you released it to hang at his side.

His silent nod was the only response you received before you turned to make your way back to your tent for some much needed rest, though your mind would have much rather focused on the way the sunlight lit his eyes than to let you sleep.

Arriving at the hospital that night at 2000 you tracked down Captain Munro and secured his permission to borrow his office once more in the name of treating the stubborn Captain Speirs. Setting out suture scissors and tweezers on a tray upon the desk, you hurried out front to meet the Captain lest he was misinformed about your availability again.

“Good Evening.” He nodded as you stepped outside, hugging your cardigan close against the chill of the night.

“Evening, Captain, please follow me.” You smiled and led him through the maze of hallways before holding open the door to the prepared office.

He assumed the same seat as before and, closing the door behind you, you sat opposite, looking over his palm as he set it in your waiting hand.

“You’ve done a very good job keeping it clean for me, Captain, thank you.” You smiled and picked up the curved scissors, the edge that pressed against the skin not at all sharp. “I’ll cut the stitches first and then pull them out with the tweezers, alright?”

He nodded, watching you closely as you snipped your way through the silk strands very carefully.

“They call me ‘killer’ you know…” he spoke apropos of nothing and you slowly raised your eyes, feeling as though you were joining an internal conversation well in progress.

Rumors spread through camp faster than that bone rattling cough he’d arrived with - you’d heard your fair share of things about him. Particularly after your tent mates had learned that he’d spoken to you earlier that day on the parade ground.

“Sure he’s pretty and all but after the things he did to those Nazi prisoners…” Betty from Indiana had insisted with a dramatic shudder.

“And his own Sergeant!” Philomena of New York had chimed in with an emphatic nod.

All of it struck you as hollow and vapid, coming from two wide-eyed girls fresh from Stateside who’d only ever known war stationed in hospitals with roofs and walls. Never been fired on, never had an enemy soldier try and take the life of a patient right out from under them.

“Well, Ron,” you replied thoughtfully as you set the scissors onto the waiting tray, “they could easily say the same thing about me. It just so happens I had a very honorable man at my side when my anger got the best of me.”

His eyes seized yours, pinning you to the spot with your hand hovering just above the set of tweezers as you forgot how to breathe. His lips tentatively began to form words several times before he abandoned his attempts to speak and lunged forward to close the space between you, his lips slotting against yours in reply instead.

Inhaling sharply through your nose in surprise, you found yourself quickly leaning into his kiss, fingers threading into his shorter hair as you tilted your head to press your lips more firmly to his. Sliding his arms around your shoulders, he pulled you close, tongue delving into your mouth greedily. A soft whimper escaped your throat only to be swallowed by his devouring mouth as he tasted you thoroughly.

Appearing discontent with the separation between your bodies, his hands shifted to grip your hips, guiding you onto his lap before his fingers began to pluck at the buttons of your cardigan. Rucking up the skirt of your dress and slip beneath, you settled over his hips, shuddering as the hard bulge of his length nestled tightly against your core.

“We don’t have a lot of time” you panted against his lips as his hands brushed aside your open cardigan to tug at the tie of your wrap dress, revealing your cream coloured slip beneath.

“Understood.” He murmured as he pulled back to drink you in, eyes taking on that glossy quality from back in February that’d had you so convinced he was febrile.

“Ron…” you urged gently, your own hands sliding between your bodies to work at the fastenings of his dress trousers.

Lost in some sort of trance he leaned forward to press his lips against the hollow of your throat before he secured the ball chain of your ID tags between his teeth and pulled them out from beneath the v-neck of your slip. Brushing his lips against the flat metal stamped with your name and serial number, preceded by the letter N, your heart lurched beneath your ribs fondly as it forgot its normal rhythm for a few beats.

The feel of his fingertips undoing the fastenings of your stockings from your garter straps refocused you and you quickly worked his fly open, sliding his trousers and boxers down as he did the same with your underwear, depositing them onto the floor.

Shifting higher onto your knees, you pressed your face against his temple as he took his cock into his hand, pressing into your entrance slowly. You whimpered breathily against his hair before dropping your head to the crook of his shoulder to try your best to keep your volume down. Rocking your hips against his with a smothered moan you clenched your thighs to begin working up and down along his length.

Heavy breaths fell from his parted lips, brushing against the skin of your neck, goose flesh erupting in the wake of each exhale. His fingers curled into the flesh of your hips as he helped drive your hips against his.

“Ahn, Ron!” You keened against his jacket, lifting your head to kiss him hungrily.

He rocked his hips up into yours each time your pelvis met his before letting out a frustrated grunt against your lips. “On the desk.” He rasped pleadingly and you nodded quickly, sliding from his lap to shuffle backwards, pushing the tray of instruments further behind you before perching on the edge.

Surging to his feet, he nestled between your legs, tongue sliding along yours as he thrust into your aching warmth once more. You cried out hungrily down his throat as your nails dug into the sleeves of his uniform jacket, clinging to him as he set a deliciously dizzying pace that had your toes curling in your shoes.

A ragged moan rumbled through his chest as his cock twitched within your wet heat and he quickly pulled back, chest heaving. Pushing from the desk, you fell to your knees, ignoring the slight sting as they impacted the floor, to wrap your lips around the leaking tip of his length.

He hissed through clenched teeth, hand coming to rest against the back of your head as you hollowed your cheeks tightly around him. Encircling him in your grasp, you eagerly stared up at his face as you stroked his cock, clenching your thighs together as the corded muscle of his neck flexed with the effort to remain silent as his salty release filled your mouth.

Laving him clean with your tongue, you sat back on your heels, swallowing every last drop as he watched on in stunned silence. Fingers sliding up your thighs to retrieve the first of your garter straps, you shivered a little as you remained highly sensitive, having been so close yourself, but also very much aware of the lack of time. You rose to your feet, about to begin fastening your stockings when his hands were on your waist, guiding you to sit on top of the desk once again.

“You didn’t…” He exhaled through flared nostrils and shook his head sharply. “Unacceptable.” Was all the warning he afforded you before he crouched down to seal his lips around your throbbing clit, two fingers plunging into your trembling warmth.

“Holy…” you barely managed to cover your mouth with your palm, hips bucking violently toward him.

He hummed against you approvingly as you lay back onto the worn wooden surface, writhing as fingers picked up the thread of your pleasure, winding it tighter and tighter as his mouth felt like it was sucking your very soul from you. Every muscle in your body became taught with exquisite tension until, at last, like the blowing of a fuse your release detonated behind your clenched eyelids.

Relaxing into the desk top with languid ease, you ran your fingers through his hair in tender appreciation. “Really…have no time now…” you murmured breathlessly and he pressed his damp lips to your inner thigh before pulling you up to a seated position and began to help you re-dress.

Any time his lips were vaguely within the vincinty of yours, you unhelpfully insisted on kissing him softly, significantly hindering progress, but eventually the pair of you were mostly presentable. He cupped your cheek with his left hand and your eyes shot wide at the rasp of sutures against your skin.

“Ron!” You gasped, grabbing his wrist and groping behind you for the tweezers before setting about carefully trying to remove them.

It was his turn to be a nuisance as he nuzzled his face into the soft skin of your neck, sighing gently, making you giggle under your breath as his eyelashes tickled your flesh.

“You are a wild animal.” His voice held a dreamlike quality, lips brushing against your throat as he spoke.

You honestly would have swatted him if his tone weren’t so reverent, doing your best to focus on removing the last two sutures.

“A lioness - fierce and strong and brave and gorgeous.” He rambled before brushing a line of feather-light kisses up towards your jaw.

It made your heart ache with the longing to linger with this verbose version of him that had somehow been unleashed, but according to the clock above the door, you had to be on duty in two minutes.

“Ronald Speirs, you sweet talker.” You whispered weakly, setting down the tweezers, your task finally managed. “I hope you sleep well.”

“You know I will, thanks to you.” His eyes met yours warmly before he cupped your cheeks, pulling you in for one last searing kiss. “May I…write to you?” He asked, incongruously hesitant after all that had transpired.

Sliding your arms around his neck, you kissed his forehead. “You’d better. This lioness has claws.” You smirked in a playfully threatening manner, earning a broad grin in response.

————————————-

Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky

Post-script: Firstly, I agonized for several hours about whether or not to have Ron be married in this. Ultimately, after reading that Ronald Speirs asked his first wife not be mentioned in any way in the miniseries I decided to do the same here. Secondly, while I used a fake name for the Major who flew into Bastogne by glider, this is all based on real events that took place! I decided to use fictional characters here to justify the radical actions I had them take in bringing the reader, but you the story of Major Soutter and the men of the 12th Evacuation Hospital is really quite something!

[sugoi-writes]

Joyride - Alastor x Lucifer

Kinktober - Day IV (Car Sex)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷

A/N - What a fucking HONOR it is to kick of Day 4 of this prompt with my lovely wives! If you haven't read the first few days, please do so! I'd love to thank @hazelfoureyes @synamartia @fraugwinska @macabr3-barbi3 and @minkdelovely for indulging in this insanity with me 🔥 Oh this will be FUN

Day I Day II Day III

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⚠️Warnings⚠️: Old man yaoi, cursing, dirty talk, thirsty descriptions, Luci in a damn dress, riding/grinding/humping, handjob(kinda?), anal fingering/prep, banter, alcohol consumption, Bottom/Switch Alastor if you squint, edging mention, and... just straight up smut. This is car sex people. MDNI I SWEAR TO CHRIST... Have fun!

🔥VROOM VROOM🔥

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When Alastor arrived at the rendezvous, he hadn't expected the limousine that awaited him. Or, perhaps he should have... This is the King of Hell, after all. The vehicle was an elegant, pristine white with accents of red and gold. Imagery of Eden's vices were lovingly etched into the metallic flourishes with a near-angelic precision. Lucifer’s fixations on apples and serpentine designs were not missed by the Radio Demon… He had to admit: it was a perfect chariot for the prideful ruler of Hell. A chariot he would soon share with him alone.

Alastor dismissed his cane with a flick of his wrist, hands eager to hold onto something else. When a long, pitch and ivory leg emerged from the car, he felt his heart leap into his throat. Alastor was rarely a victim of his carnal urges, but he felt the table shifting as he saw more and more of that delectable skin. 

Lucifer Morningstar emerged from the limo in his colors-- a deep, cherry red with golden accents. The opulent, delicate chains that dangled down his bare back could be seen in the tinted windows' reflection. Alastor fought the urge to clear his throat, feeling his pulse hammering away urgently. Has Lucifer always owned this dress?

The fallen angel, temptation incarnate, combed his blackened fingers through his far-too-slick hair. Much like the snake in the Garden of Eden, Lucifer's eyes were lidded with sin and desire. He knew exactly how he looked, relishing his partner's near sheepish reaction.

"You look dapper as always, Mr. Radio Demon,” he practically purred, addressing Alastor as an equal. The flustered sinner was hoping to get more intimate names to tumble from those lips soon enough. 

Alastor bows at the waist, taking Lucifer's hand into his own formally. He smiles before pressing the silken flesh to his lips. During this, he maintains his focus on Lucifer’s eyes, and not the valley between his pectorals. Arguably, it was a difficult task for the taller demon. 

"Your Majesty, you may call me Alastor tonight. I implore you to." For the moment, Alastor returns the playful, formal tone, knowing that his partner will find it amusing. As if on cue, Lucifer tilts his head curiously, his free hand stifling his chuckle. 

"What a change of pace... Something must have come over you," Lucifer supplied, sighing as Alastor starts a tender ascent up his arm. Alastor's lips didn't rest the entire journey, talking between his strategic kisses. 

"Well, 'Alastor' sounds far sweeter when you're wailing in ecstacy, Your Grace." Alastor's rebuttal was so brief, yet so devastating to the demon before him. As if Lucifer wasn't already mentally shredding his new, black blazer to ribbons…

Lucifer's breath stutters as Alastor's kisses carve sensual patterns up his neck, tempting the temptress to give in to a moan. Alastor forgot that they were in public with prying eyes, it seemed... 

A fist full of hair forces Alastor to halt in his tracks, a breathy reply ghosting his cheek. 

"Then you must call me Lucifer tonight, Al... I'd rather hear that than the list of royal bastardizations you've cooking up..." 

A wolfish grin presses against Lucifer's pulse, making the fallen angel's heart stir once more," As you wish, Lucifer." Alastor, ever the gentleman, untangles himself from the breathless devil swiftly. Immediately after, he swings the door of the limo open, gesturing towards the interior with a dramatic flare. 

"But please, do crawl in... Wouldn't want you to catch a cold from your... Interesting choice of garments." 

Lucifer snickers, revealing that his dress has not one, but two side slits. As he makes a show of crawling in, Alastor's eyes can't help their wandering to the devil’s pert rump," Only if you come crawling after me, Bambi Boy~" 

See, at this very moment, Alastor is a simple man. And he follows the requests of his Lord without hesitation. He is nothing if not an eager man; ready to please.

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Alastor can't help marveling over the little things. Limos were a luxury rarely extended to people of lower classes, like himself. He and his mother were as low as they could be on Earth, humble and grateful for what they have. While he tried to not oogle at the niceties of the cab, he couldn't hide the interest that sparkled in his eyes.

A phone, with a direct line to the driver-- for emergencies, or requests to stop, one could assume. Conveniently, there was a sliding window, should the phone be obsolete. In all of their banter, Lucifer insisted that 'it’s basically soundproof'. Had Lucifer wanted to test that theory, Alastor wondered. 

Towards the front of the cabin, dozens of glasses for champagne and other spirits sat on a bar cart– conveniently built into the side of the vehicle. The center console just below the window acted as a cooler, stocked with lovely vintages and chasers (he even spotted a brandy bottle or two--how very thoughtful of the King...) 

The windows were tinted, of course, the seats a red, luxurious leather. And for comfort, the lights in the back were dimmed, bathing the pair in a low, sultry light. For all intents and purposes, this was the perfect set up to a steamy tryst… One that even the Radio Demon could see coming. Alastor was surrounded by wealth, comfort and good company... A combination he wasn't used to, but one he welcomed enthusiastically. 

Lucifer had been meeting him finger-to-finger with whiskey the entire drive, the two of them laughing and honking like a pair of geese at the smallest reference. Alastor hadn't remembered the last time he had this much fun and let loose, already feeling the delicious effects of his drinks settle in. He had to admit: the dingy hotel bar was a far cry from the back of Lucifer's limousine. He felt justified in spending his time so earnestly with him, and felt just as eager to pursue the tryst that crossed his mind more than once. 

Alastor felt light as a feather, and yet as hearty as molten lava. He was one of the few to get this luxury; one of the first outside of the Morningstar Family to grace the seats of Lucifer’s limousine. Alastor wanted to leave an impression… and who could blame him? This was just as much his limo as it was Lucifer’s, in his mind. This particular ride would be one the Lord of the Hells would never forget... A 'joyride', as he's heard it called before. And so, with many fingers of whiskey making his heart flutter, Alastor enacted his plan. 

He hadn't anticipated the road bump when he tried to lean over, his longer, spindly body colliding into Lucifer's suddenly. The latter had clipped his head on the way down, but still managed to keep his glass of whiskey aloft. A pained groan was shared between the two, before they settled into their new position. 

When Lucifer looked up to wide, near hysterical eyes, a grin stretched across his pale face mischievously. He let his hand rest against Alastor's broad chest, his other still dangling midair. 

"First time in a car, I reckon?" Lucifer needles boldly, feeling a leg press between his own. Alastor levels him with a hard stare, softened by the blush rapidly coloring his cheeks. 

"And if it was? Would you feel so honored?" Alastor bit back, his hands confidently caging Lucifer's head. Alastor did his best to keep his balance as the limo hopped and bobbed along, not missing the way that Lucifer's body rippled beneath him. He wanted to see those same ripples uninterrupted by the luxurious fabric on his skin...

"I would be flattered, yes! For saving something so special for me, Bambi~" 

"Please don't call me that--" 

Lucifer manages to pull his leg up, pressing it to Alastor's chest before kicking him off. He sends the startled demon flying onto his back, leaving him sputtering from shock. Thankfully, he didn't shred the ceiling with his antlers on his descent. However… he wasn't so lucky with the door, the very tips of his points sinking into the doorframe. 

Lucifer straddled Alastor's hips with his shimmering thighs, chugging the rest of his drink before slinging the empty glass away. Alastor flinched as it shattered right against the window that divided the cabin from the front, ears flat against his skull. Was he TRYING to get the driver's attention?!

"Why don't I show you how it's done then, hmm~? I'll give you the ride of your life~" Lucifer offers, mirroring Alastor's classic, amused head tilt. 

The sinner bit his lip, suppressing the groan building in his throat. The prospect was one he wasn't disinterested in… He struggled as Lucifer settled over his groin, grinding his soft hind against his lap. It appeared he wasn't the only one struggling to 'keep it in his pants'... Err, dress? 

Alastor's hands grasp Luci's waist possessively, resisting the urge to bring him harder against his growing cock. 

"H-Have it your way," Alastor scoffs, head rolling back as Lucifer's rocking becomes a harsh bounce– accursed speed bumps! And curse the car door! 

Alastor’s antlers created deep gouges into the frame, rendering him completely still. In this position, he is quite vulnerable, his tail wagging subconsciously under his body. And yet, the element of being ‘trapped’ somehow made the heat in his cheeks travel straight to his cock. 

“ ‘You sure you want it my way~?” Lucifer teased, bringing his hips in a tight circle. This act alone had Alastor keening, biting his lip to silence himself. Of course I do, Alastor thought.

“Just get on with it, before I change my mind!” He jabs, knowing damn well that Lucifer saw straight through him. Lucifer grins as he braces a hand against the ceiling, the other fiddling with Alastor's trousers. "With pleasure, Alastor~" 

Alastor could hardly conceal his desire, the booze unraveling his resolve to be stoic or guarded. His cock throbbed at the use of his name in such a sensual context, aching to be freed.

Lucifer unclasps Alastor's belt with ease, tongue running across his pointed teeth greedily. Even as the vehicle rocked about, Lucifer hardly swayed. Instead, he used the unpredictability as a reason to press his body closer. The Radio Demon sighed with relief when his cock was released, his flushed, heated tip already damp with precum. 

Lucifer whistles lewdly at the sight, looking to Alastor with a cocky smirk,” Absolutely divine…” the former angel mused, leaving Alastor unable to form a coherent thought. 

When Lucifer resettles over his lap, Alastor is struck with a startling realization: no underwear. Not a single fucking thing to keep Lucifer concealed. Had Lucifer simply willed it away, or had he been garment-less this entire time? The prospect made Alastor buck up into Lucifer, a breathy sigh fumbling from his lips.

“Such an eager boy… I'll be sure to reward my little doe soon enough~�� 

Alastor hardly had a moment to think before Lucifer's cock pressed to his. Thereafter, a warm hand wrapped firmly around both shafts. Alastor jolts, gasping as his partner moves against him. Lucifer keeps his hand ridgid with a delicious, all consuming pressure, watching his favorite sinner tremble below him. Experimentally, Lucifer begins to stroke the both of them, getting the Radio Demon to sigh and relax. The large hands holding Lucifer's waist act as an anchor, despite Alastor’s desire to move. His hips begin rocking languidly to watch Lucifer's pace, seeking even more friction than the bit provided by him. A shared, wanton moan hangs in the air, both sinners feeling their hearts quicken. 

Lucifer glides against the Radio Demon faster, the bumps in the road making his pace haphazard but heavenly," S-See? Told you I'd show-- you-- aaaaah good time~ Aaahn!" 

Alastor wasn't up for refuting the statement, especially when he was focusing on staying quiet," Are you quite certain we c-cahh-- hah-- c-can't be heard, cher?" 

Lucifer laughs breathlessly, grinning," Let him hear... The driver could use the change in pace-!! Hah!!!" 

Alastor grinds harsher against Lucifer’s cock, claws threatening to rip his dress for the horrendous suggestion.

"Sh-Shut your maw... This is too--nnn-- too lewd-- What if he reported this? What would the papers s-say?" 

Lucifer mewls as he tightens his grasp, eyes threatening to roll back as his hips move with Alastor's effortlessly," Nnnngh-- uhh, lucky demon~?" He quips, laughing breathlessly as Alastor smacks his thigh. The quake that travels through his skin has Alastor craning his head back, a hand flying to the car door to keep his antlers from sinking further in. 

"Sh-Shit!" was his only reply, ears pinned back as Lucifer began rocking with intent, the precum produced by their members making the glide unbearably wet and smooth. His hand, now stationary, focused on keeping the pressure tight and warm; a perfect hole for them to slide into.

Lucifer's lopsided grin portrays his ecstacy, the sweat clinging to his forehead making a heated descent down his temple. 

"At a loss for words, huh~?" He teased, his hips swiveling lecherously. The grunt he's rewarded with is just as telling, his partner's eyes slamming shut from the bliss. Lucifer doesn't seem to care, bringing his hips forward in a rapid succession of thrusts. 

"I should make you cum like this, y'know... Make us paint these dull seats with your cum--" Lucifer croaks, feeling a finger teasing the tight rim of his ass. 

"I'd rather have it here," Alastor groaned," Pl-Please-- this is is torture," Alastor gasps, feeling Lucifer's cock kick against his own at the idea. Begrudgingly, Lucifer couldn’t argue with that, knowing that he's essentially edging the two of them at the same time. 

"Nnnn, you're no fun~" Lucifer muses, letting go of their cocks for a moment," But you better make it worth my while, Bambi~" 

Alastor smirks, brows raised," I've never heard complaints..." He retorted, mentally finishing his sentence: not from you, at least.

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When Lucifer allowed Alastor to stretch and probe his ass, he switched arms, the one formerly bracing the ceiling falling to Alastor's hip. He arched his back as harshly as he could, offering his ass to his partner easily. The stimulation from behind made his hips buck, cock absentmindedly grinding against Alastor's. The faster and wider the Radio Demon’s fingers fucked, the harsher Lucifer's hips moved to meet them. Alastor panted below Lucifer, eyes nearly crossed as the pleasure kept building higher and higher. His hot breath made the heat in Lucifer's cheeks feel mild, the Demon King cursing through clenched teeth. He marveled at the sight of Alastor's mouth hanging open, Lucifer leaning over to get a better view of the debauched look. 

"Mmm~ Is my doe going to cum~?" Lucifer moans, his tongue swiping across his mouth, as if coaxing him to kiss him. Alastor flinched, his brow hardening," This buck-- hah-- is about to shut you up--" Alastor yaps, yanking Lucifer down by the neck. He heard the familiar slapping and squelching of his hand hastily fucking into Lucifer's ass, kissing the squirming demon desperately to hide another mewl. He wasn't the only one struggling not to cum.

As Alastor continued to feverishly kiss him, he teased Lucifer between each disconnect. A tongue sliding across his lip, a gentle nip just to the right of his mouth… anything to make Lucifer sigh and pant again. The temptee just became the tempter!

"I should have you cum like this... You're a quivering mess from just my hands--" 

"A-And your cock-- G-Good God!" Lucifer sung, drooling from the dual stimulation. Alastor chuckles darkly, leaning up to capture Lucifer's neck with a gentle bite," It's just the two of us down here, cher~,” he admonishes, regaining some of his footing with the other demon. 

Lucifer practically squeaks as Alastor finds his prostate, the bullying internally amplifying his impending orgasm. Close. Lucifer was getting extremely close, and it was plain as day to the other sinner.

"Cum for me," Alastor pleaded,"C-Cum for me, please-- so this buck can fuck you properly." 

The triggering phrase was all it took for Lucifer to lose himself to the white-hot madness, his head thrown back in rapture. His hips didn't stop even as Alastor's fingers slowed down, his vision blurred with hot tears. When he felt the press of Alastor's cock to his wanting hole instead of his fingers, he bit back a wail of overstimulation. 

"F-Fuck... We may be late for the reservation-- nnnnghh– Alastor, listen to me!" 

The Radio Demon’s static fills the air, a conniving laugh haunting the heavy air of the cabin. 

"I intend to hold my end of things: I'm going to fuck you properly. Dinner be damned when something this delicious is in my lap--" 

When Lucifer wailed Alastor's name, fully impaled on his member, Alastor couldn't help calling out to his lover in tandem. Their bodies melded together once more, their original plans a distant memory in their lust-driven minds. 

Bottom Banner made by the lovely @synamartia 🔥

[notyourhetloki]

human after all (Rust Cohle x Reader)

Reader: she/her

/NSFW Rust Cohle x Fem!Reader/

A/N: Hellooo how are you guys doing? Look, I decided to write about a more niche character this time: Rust Cohle from True Detective. There ain’t many x reader fics about him so I decided to give it a go! My writing’s not the best, English is not my native language and Rust is a hell of a complex guy… so take it easy on me, ok? His characterization might be ooc. With that being said, it’s good to be back! Requests will be open soon ;)

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), pinning, slow burn, probably ooc, unprotected sex, piv sex

Word Count: 4k

—

As a secretary in your local police station, your days were filled with calls and lots of paperwork. The occasional chit-chat with coworkers made the hours go by quicker, and you were thankful for that.

You always made coffee, offering a mug to whoever agent was closer... and that would usually mean Martin.

"Sugar?" Asking with a grin, you watched as he sat next to his coworker.

"Yes, dear. As sweet as that smile of yours." He flirted playfully. You were used to it by that point, but deep down you wished the advances came from his colleague instead...

You knew Rust Cohle, but mostly through others. Knew that he was an intellectual with a not-so-bright vision of life, that he was particularly unconventional in the field and didn't have many (if any) friends. All that and you still found yourself having a crush on him... how promising.

Not your fault the man's as handsome as can be. Solid, looking like he could have been chiseled from stone aside from his soft honey-colored hair. Strong features, nose, jaw... Astonishingly tall, muscular arms, big hands... Yet his eyes had a frail quality to them, avoident but observing every single little detail everywhere, all at once. His stoic demeanor didn't frighten you, only pulled you closer, closer...

The next day you decided to be brave... dressed in new clothes, put on perfume and went to work looking extra good. He'd have to acknowledge you at some point...

Arriving at the office, you prepared coffee as usual, pouring it into two mugs that time, only one containing sugar.

You walked to their desk and served Rust first. "Black? I assumed..." He looked... surprised. It'd been ages since you served him coffee, mostly because he didn't ask for it and you didn't want to bother him. "Yes, (Y/N). Thank you."

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard your name coming out of his mouth, and smiling like a fool you served Martin his own coffee.

"Thank you, darling. Is that a new skirt? Looks good on you." You smoothed your palms on the fabric over your thighs and noticed Rust looking at them, eyes fixated on your nervous fingers. After a few seconds, his eyes flickered to yours momentarily, sending butterflies to your stomach. "Y-Yes, thank you, Martin."

As you left, you tried your best to suppress a smile. Had he finally noticed you? What did he think? Would you ever be able to decipher any of that man's thoughts?

A few days went by with your routine set like that: You would arrive, make coffee, serve Rust then Martin, go back to work. Rust would occasionally look at you, and Martin would always flirt. You fed from Rust's looks alone but tried your best not to seem eager, always maintaining some distance... you didn't want to harass him.

It had been a long shift at work, Rust had given you a good up-and-down stare that burned at your chore, finally starting to get comfortable with your presence. He even called you 'dear' at some point, gaining a sincere smile from you. The day would've been perfect if it weren't for your car breaking down, leaving you dependent on public transportation.

You sat at the bus stop waiting, when suddenly a red pickup truck pulled over next to you. The last thing you expected was for Cohle to emerge from the vehicle, cigarette in hand while opening the passenger door and signaling for you to come in.

"I'll give you a ride." He demanded nonchalantly, not even looking at you while inhaling the fumes. Shocked and pleasantly surprised, you felt heat rising to your cheeks as you got up and closer to him.

"Oh, Rust! Thank you..." You managed to say while entering the car, not wanting to miss that opportunity. You felt optimistic, but still wondered why on earth did he have that initiative.

He closed your door and went on to sit next to you, he was so close... he smelled like smoke and wood.

The drive to your home was silent, other than the country music on the radio. He pulled over at the front of the apartment complex you lived in, and you had an idea. "Would you like to go inside? I have a couple of beers left in my fridge." You shyly offered, and after a couple of seconds of him seeming to consider it, he slowly nodded yes, getting out of the car and following you to your door.

You couldn't believe what was happening, Rust Cohle was in your home, the both of you alone together. You hoped the alcohol wouldn't make a fool out of you.

As you handed him his beer, you locked eyes for a brief second as his fingers brushed yours, you blushed and hoped he didn't notice.

"So, how’s the case? Any progress?" Rust didn't seem the type to enjoy small talk, but you tried your best to make this less awkward and actually get to know him a bit better.

He seemed pensive, looking down at his beer as he swirled it around.

"We’re workin' on it… as much as it allows us to." His voice a deep monotone tune. Cohle looked almost defeated, tired like he held the weight of the world on his back... maybe he did.

You didn't want to remind him of that weight, so decided to try something a little more bold.

"Alright, enough with the morbid work stuff, huh? What do you like to do for fun?" You asked innocently, always looking at him to see his reactions... he didn't reciprocate.

Rust looked amused enough though, swirling his drink as the corner of his mouth twitched into a millisecond of a smirk. "I drink."

"More of a stay-at-home kind of guy, I see… me too. Other than the occasional out dancing with friends." You confessed, hoping it would get something out of him.

"You like dancing?" He finally looked up but never dared to look at your eyes. Instead, he glanced in the direction of your neck. "Dancing’s a good distraction."

"Distraction?" You found that funny somehow, so you smiled as you hid a strand of hair behind your ear. "From what?"

"Whatever this is." He gestured to the air, wondering about life.

You felt for him, felt for his pain and grief. You wanted to get to know it, get to know the way he thinks and the reasons behind it.

"What’s your distraction? Beer?" You'd say, his striking eyes never leaving the pendant on your neck.

"Pretty much. Although I don’t find myself as distracted as I’d like to be."

Finally, Cohle let out a sigh through his nose and flicked his eyes toward yours. You held the contact for as much as you could, but his piercing eyes had an effect on you, like he was stripping you naked with his pupils.

Hot and bothered it was your time to look away, taking a sip of your beer as you searched for a place for your eyes to set... they settled on his shoes.

"You’re probably wondering why the hell you’re here with me n' not out with your friends dancing." His voice came as a surprise, filling the room with his presence and exposing the fact he cared at least minimally for the situation. He didn't want to bore you, and that weighed on your chest.

"I like your company, Rust." You admitted, soft-spoken. Gathering the courage to look up, you found his eyes hovering on your lips, so you continued.

"It’s… calm. There’s a soothing quality to it, makes it easy for me to trust you."

He blinked once, twice, then closed his eyes to gulp his beer, finishing it. Rust seemed to get lost in thought for a few moments, before realizing you were there again. He slowly came over to you, handing you his empty bottle before almost whispering. "Thanks for the beer."

You smiled, your hands touching again. You shuddered at the contact that lingered one too many seconds that time. His eyes were on you now, and you tried your best to keep it that way.

"Thanks for the ride." You ran your fingers through your own hair, and Rust's gaze followed your hand as you did so. He swallowed before settling for your eyes again, holding eye contact. It looked like it felt difficult, like his life depended on it.

"Anytime..." His voice softer. You drank the last of your beer while maintaining the stare, some deep urge in you waking up with every passing second. You wanted him, God you wanted him.

Moments went by and the silence was interrupted by his voice once again. "I think I should get goin'." Part of you wanted him to stay, the other part didn't want to seem desperate.

You gently nodded, a quiet "Ok." leaving your mouth. "I'm here if you ever need anything, Rust."

He offered a quick and sweet half-smile which you gladly retributed.

Fidgeting with your pendant, you guided him to the door, where he leaned over for a final farewell.

"G'night, (Y/N)." His voice was gentle now, almost caring. But you didn't want to assume he felt anything at that point.

"Goodnight, Rust."

You went to sleep that night thinking about him, remembering how close he was to you, his smell, his voice... his avoidant eyes caught yours just a few times but it was enough, at least for you.

The next day, Cohle looked rugged. His tired expression more evident than usual, even Martin commented on it. "Damn, Rust... do you ever sleep?"

To which he replied. "I don't sleep, I dream." Well, that explained at least half of the reason for his demeanor. Yet you sensed that there was something more to it, something he was keeping secret.

When serving Rust his morning coffee, he didn't look at you. You found that odd, fearing you might have offended him the night before... but in the end, you brushed it off as him just being tired.

Pondering for reasons why Cohle had been so dreadful that day, you finished work and headed home with the man never leaving your thoughts. Something was going on, and you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

At your apartment, you decided to take a shower and change into some shorts and a baggy T-shirt before starting to prepare dinner. As you were finishing, you heard the doorbell ring. What a weird time for a visitor, it was late already.

You opened the door carefully to see a defeated Rust, there was a certain desperation in his face, something urgent you couldn't quite read. "I brought beer." He offered pathetically.

To be surprised was an understatement, you never expected Cohle to show up, much less in that state. It rendered you speechless but in a good way... if something was bothering him, he at least trusted you enough to come over and share a drink.

He was still in his work clothes, but the first three buttons of his shirt were undone, his tie loose around his neck. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was not as tightly combed through as usual, he looked like a handsome mess.

Urging him to come in, you grabbed the beers and closed the door. You opened two bottles and handed his to him, not caring as much for the momentary touch. You were worried, wanted to help him release all that baggage, to release something.

"So, what are you trying to distract yourself from today? Besides work, of course." You requested softly, a small considerative smile across your face as you referenced the conversation from the night before.

"My programming." He looked down as if in shame, thumb drawing circles on his beer lip. He was confessing to you, and you needed to make sure you understood him.

"What do you mean by that?" You moved yourself to face him completely now, resting on your kitchen counter next to him.

Rust seemed contemplative, looking up to the ceiling as he fidgeted with his bottle. He breathed in and out, taking his time.

"We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self; an accretion of sensory, experience and feeling, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody, when in fact everybody is nobody. Better to just deny our basic programming and move on with our meaningless lives until extinction." He kept looking up, and you wondered why he averted your eyes at that point. Was he... nervous? You couldn't come up with a reasonable answer.

Ignoring most of the morbid absurd take, you focused on what related to him, and hoped he went with it.

"Deny what makes us human?" You inquired, purposely looking at him with the intent to catch his gaze.

"Exactly." That answer got to you, he couldn't possibly believe that he was above humanity, right? He certainly seemed to... maybe that was the reason behind his apparent guilt.

"But you are a man, Rust. Programming and whatnot, you have goals, ambitions, desires…" You grew closer, then. Close enough to touch, and how you wanted to touch... to prove to him how alive he was.

"Our desires can become our owners. They paralyze us and dictate the way we go, spoiling our brains." Cohle slowly looked down, eyes meeting your neck once again. He seemed interested in your words, appreciating he had at least someone to talk to.

"Or they can lead us to good fulfilling experiences… you can’t predict the consequences, Cohle. Can’t predict if the bad outweighs the good or not."

You were met with silence. His thumb no longer fretting with the bottle, his eyes no longer on your neck... He looked at your lips, then your nose, your eyes, as if to memorize every detail, as if he was going to lose you.

"They can ruin us." A whisper through his half-open mouth. The low kitchen light reflecting off his angled face... he looked beautiful.

"What’s ruining you, Rust?" You inched even closer, now directly in front of him. You could breathe the same air as him, felt the weight of it. His eyes lingered on yours for the first time that night. "What is it?" The words left your mouth like honey, sweet and smooth.

After a few seconds, his gaze lowered to your lips, to your neck, to your lips again. He was fragile, then, like fine china. He blinked his half-lidded eyes many times before talking lowly, barely a whisper. "You smell good. You... look good."

Your heart had already been racing that whole time, but now seemed like it would stop completely at any second. Rust Cohle wanted you, and it was eating him alive.

To be the reason for his undoing was an honor, but you would never do anything to hurt him. You wanted to make him feel good, wanted to cherish and love him... you wondered if he would ever let himself feel loved.

"I’m not going to ruin you." A gentle reasoning left your lips, making his eyes meet yours once again. Rust then lifted his beer towards you to make his next point.

"You don’t know that. You can't predict the consequences, can you?" Your own words used against you, but it was not going to work so easily.

"There’s only one way to find out. Or would you rather ruminate that thought until it spoils?"

Silence once again, you had rendered him speechless... a small personal victory you could brag about later. You grabbed his bottle from his hand and placed it alongside yours on the counter, making so his full attention was on you.

Rust looked at your eyes longingly, full of raw emotion. That proved your point even further, he was only human after all.

"What does your programming want from me today, Rust?" You cautiously dared to place a gentle hand on the side of his cheek, circling your thumb to caress his warm skin. Afraid of him retrieving, your touch trembled... but he remained still.

Instead, he took his time to savor the touch, blinking slowly and relaxed. You sighed in relief as you realized you could stand like that for hours, loving the way he seemed to actually enjoy it.

But by the time you knew it, he was holding you by the waist. Barely a touch, almost hovering his hands over your body, as if you were going to fade away. He was staring at your mouth then, inching closer until he stopped a few inches from your face, contemplating.

You couldn't hold yourself back, softly closing the distance between you in a chaste kiss on his lips. Slow, careful as to not disturb him.

Your heart drummed in your chest, you could hear it reverberating in your ears. His chapped lips were warm and he tasted like alcohol, but oh how you had dreamed of that moment. You wanted to be surrounded by him, engulfed in his scent and his taste and his skin.

He was still for a few more moments before reciprocating, stiff at first. He seemed nervous.

Wanting to help, you held his face with both hands, anchoring him. Guiding him through as you deepened the kiss, you gradually slid your tongue inside his mouth and waited for his next move.

That made something click within him, like a switch that had been long neglected. Both of his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you even closer tight to his chest. His tongue found a rhythm alongside yours, making you moan in return. God, he was a good kisser... deep and intense like everything else about him.

You parted shortly to breathe and he took the opportunity to plant kisses down your jaw, your neck... hungry and full of need.

Rust then stopped with his lips touching the curve of your neck, like he was hesitant for a second. He breathed deeply through his nose, thinking.

"We won't do anything you don't want to do, Rust." You reminded him, worried that you might have crossed a line. Maybe he needed more time?

That thought fell flat after his hand grabbed yours, guiding your palm as it slid over his torso down his belly... down... down.

His hand led yours to palm his erection through his pants, feeling the heat emanate through the fabric... gosh he was so hard already. You couldn't actually believe you had that effect on him, it felt too good.

"Gosh, Rust... Can- Can I...?" You stuttered while trying to maintain a thought process, his quick response was a muted "Yeah." while still holding his head against your neck.

You slowly undid his belt, then. And even slower reached for his penis inside his pants. Pulling his dick out, you licked your hand before curling around the length of him, stroking him slackly. He looked delicious, the feeling and the vision of his shaft in your hand enough to make you wet.

You could feel him shudder, breathing strongly through his nose. Rust didn't make a sound besides the sharp inhales and shaky exhales. He seemed focused, holding you for dear life.

"I want you, Rust... wanted you for so long." You managed to speak, confessing your deepest secret. His head then lifted to meet your gaze, looking at you deep into your eyes. He saw into you, present like he never had been before.

"How long?" His voice raspy with desire, your hand still working on his cock leisurely as you spoke. "Since you first called my name."

His eyes grew darker, full of need. Eyes on you, your mouth... he had wanted you too, you knew that then.

"Kiss me, Rust..." A tremulous request that he answered immediately, mouths crashing into a deep, desperate kiss. Your hand stroked harder, faster, and he only breathed.

His hands slid down your shorts past your waist to your ass, grabbing soft skin. You hummed in approval, making him tremble. He took your shorts completely off then, along with your panties.

His fingers soon found your aching sex, digits moving in circles on your clit as his other hand continued to grope your ass cheek.

You moaned in Rust's mouth, sensations overwhelmingly good. His fingers working you so well your legs shook in anticipation. It was heavenly, having him in your hand as he kissed and grabbed you like that, nothing could have prepared you for it.

You soon came on his fingers, hard and loud. You shook your orgasm away as Cohle looked at your face, admiring your satisfaction.

"Fuck, (Y/N)..." He said under his breath, taking one then two digits up your pussy, curling them and reaching a sweet spot.

You closed your eyes at the sensation, feeling like you could cry as you rolled your hips to follow his movements... he hummed in approval.

"Rust, please, I need you..." You practically cried out. "Need more..."

His fingers pumped inside you a few more times before he was ready to let go, moving his now soaked digits to your mouth. You sucked on them, tasting yourself. His hungry eyes devouring you.

"Bend over the counter, girl." He ordered quietly, and before you obliged you took off your T-shirt, leaving you bare before him.

Rust admired your form as his breath seemed to catch at the vision. He licked his lips before grabbing one of your breasts with his big hand, massaging the soft delicate tissue of your nipple. You whined before you propped yourself in the position he wanted.

Bending over with your exposed ass up, he moved to stand behind you, caressing the skin of your back.

Rust positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance and slowly made his way in. Easy at first, but quickly building up momentum. His hips slapped into yours, harder with each thrust as you moaned his name out loud. The delicious stretch he gave you drove you crazy, you rolled your hips to meet him halfway and he grunted in response, finally not being able to hold back his noises.

"Wanted you... since I first saw you, (Y/N)... Fuck, I- I needed you."

He needed you. He needed you. You couldn't help repeating those words again and again. Rust Cohle needed you, your presence, your body... and you would gladly give it to him.

He fucked you harsh and good, grabbing at your waist hard enough to leave bruises... you hoped he did. With every thrust you moaned more, mewling his name out loud. His groans dominated the whole room while directly making their way down your aching cunt.

As his pace began to get erratic, you knew he was close. "Cum inside me, Rust... please..." You pleaded.

He suddenly grabbed you by the neck then, inching you even closer. His head rested on the hollow of your shoulder as he made his final moves before cumming, spilling his load inside of you with a growl.

When he finally released his grip, you thanked the counter for supporting your weight. You turned around to face Rust, and he was glowing with sweat, breathing deeply through his nose again.

Feeling cum dripping down your legs, you drew closer to him shyly. You didn't exactly know what to do, so you planted a kiss on his lips and hugged him, expecting him to pull back quickly... he didn't.

Holding you like that for what seemed like ages, Rust's breathing got quieter and slower. He was calm then, and that made your heart swirl with emotion.

When you felt like you could retrieve, you did so looking him in his eyes and holding the sides of his face. He looked so pretty like that, vulnerable... soft, even.

"Would you like to stay over? I made dinner..." You offered, and his gentle smile made you swoon. He held you close still, not ready to let go just yet.

"Dinner sounds nice."

That night, Rust Cohle slept without having any dreams.

—

[seeingivy]

funeral

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

content: depictions of grief, talk of addiction/anxiety

an: i am alive (mostly). eat your cake, even though I think it Is bad (this chapter was the hardest to write, right next to the "the third act" chapter

songs mentioned: marjorie by taylor swift

previous part linked here

--

“What are you thinking, Eren?” Hange asks. 

The question is stupid. Eren is thinking of the only logical conclusion that he can draw from the autopsy report. The implication of it, of how Marco really died, is sitting right in front of him.

The patient is a twenty-three year old Caucasian male with no significant medical history. Emergency services responded to the scene of a motor vehicle crash around nine p.m. At the scene, responders found that the patient was trapped in the vehicle, upturned on the side of the road, with no pulse at the time of arrival. Patient was declared dead on scene. Autopsy concluded that primary cause of death was asphyxiation, secondary cause being severe loss of blood due to injuries in the extremities. 

“I’m thinking that the paparazzi killed him, Hange.” Eren spits. 

“Eren.” 

“Hange, don’t. Just-” Levi mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Levi’s eyes are borderline gaunt. Eren knows the past few days have sat horribly on Levi’s shoulders and perhaps the past year and a half have too. 

The guilt is excruciating. Because all Eren knows how to do is ruin people.

He dragged Levi and Hange into his mess, when he asked them for help. But it had gone too far at that point, the interview, the night on the beach, the fight - he had exhausted all ends and desperately needed someone on his side. 

Levi and Hange all but berated him for it. For letting it get so far, for waiting so long when he should have known that they were always there to help. But this reaction, Levi being the one to side with his outburst is proof enough that he made the wrong choice, that he should have stuck with himself. That them bending backwards and forwards to get him out of his mess has truly taken its toll. 

Levi and Hange always mimicked him and you. Eren and Hange, he knows they both have a tendency to get so lost in the emotion, to feel it so deep that the response is too loud, too much for what’s called for. That’s when you and Levi would come in, to soothe them down and bring them back to Earth. 

In the same vein, you and Levi, you planted your weeds too deep into the ground. Rooted in exactly what he’s not quite sure - perhaps misplaced insecurities, whatever the two of you seemed to hide in those deep inner walls - but it kept you both stagnant, stuck where you were. That’s where Hange and Eren came in, pushing you both to soar a little bit higher than what you imagined for yourself. 

But now Levi’s here, all but exhausted and broken, the same way he’s sure you were. That’s why things got so fucked up. Eren didn’t let you pull him down. He didn’t pull you up. 

“They killed him, Hange.” Levi states, tone void of any emotion. 

“Levi. It’s almost midnight, we’re all feeling emotional right now. We should look at this all with a clear mind tomorrow.” 

“They killed him. There is nothing to look at.” Levi says, enunciating every inflection of his words. 

Eren knows it for a fact. And from the look on Hange’s face, he knows they do too. His train of thought is cut off by the knocking - rapid, loud consecutive knocks slamming against the wood. 

“God, Eren. Go get it now before they run off with our food.” Hange murmurs, gesturing towards the door. 

Eren shuffles past the length of the hallway and swings open the door to find not his UberEats bag, but Lana, out of breath and panting on his doorstep. 

“Ew. You just left two hours ago. Why are you back already?” 

“Eren. Oh my god.” 

Lana wraps her arms around him, squeezing hard, as she cries into his shoulder. Her demeanor settles an immediate panic under his skin. The last time she reacted like this, Eren had to watch the most gut wrenching interview of his life while she held his hand. God knows whatever she’s about to tell him now is going to break him.

Eren brings his hands up and grabs her shoulders, applying pressure to stop her from shaking in his arms. 

“Lana. What’s wrong with you? Why are you-”

“Eren. I’m so sorry, you- I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need, just-just say it.” she pants, hiccuping in between her tears.

Eren frowns, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her out of the cold Seattle air into the kitchen where Hange and Levi are cooking by the stove. 

“Hi Lana Bear! How are you, kid?” Hange says, all but bouncing over to wrap their arms around Lana. 

This only upsets Lana more, the discomfort worsening in Eren’s chest as he can’t help but stare at her, at her brown eyes turning almost red from the downpour of her tears and the tension sitting in her shoulders. 

“What is it? Who died?” 

The question, when Eren asks it, is entirely rhetorical. A figure of speech, meant to emphasize that Lana’s reaction was extreme, too obscene for whatever it is she must be talking about. But when she doesn’t respond and swallows hard, the look on her face so crestfallen, Eren’s chest settles into a panic. 

His first thought is you. 

“Lana. Is she dead? What are you-” 

Lana scrambles for the remote on the counter, switching from the Disney Channel to the first news report she can find. The image is of an overturned car, the metal crushed and steaming in the front, accompanied with words that burn Eren’s ears. The first hit is relief - that it’s not you. The second hit is painful, like the air’s been sucked out of his lungs. 

Because it’s Marco. 

“What?” Levi says, taking his eyes off the stove to glance at the screen. 

Eren can feel his phone incessantly buzzing in his pocket and he reaches for it immediately, Lana leaning into his side as she continues to cry into his shoulder. Levi and Hange are moving closer to the television, like that’ll somehow make the sound better, the image clearer, like they’ll be able to find falsity in it. 

jean: the bodt’s said the funeral is going to be near the old house. ask levi and hange if we can all stay in the townhouse together. 

bertholdt: reiner and i are heading over tonight. 

sukuna: Let me know if you need anything. Give the paparazzi hell for this one. 

connie: i’m coming back to seattle. i-i don’t know if i can do this. 

Eren’s quick to respond to that one. 

eren: i’ve got you man. meet us in new york as soon as you can, we’re all going to stay at the townhouse. don’t leave sasha’s side until you get there okay?

connie: alright. okay, thanks. 

eren: phone is on. 

“This is bullshit. How do they know it’s him?” Levi says angrily, hands crossed over his chest. 

“Levi.” Hange says, voice nearly cracking. 

“No, I’m being fucking serious. How do they know that this guy is our Marco? There’s no proof. Call the Bodt’s right now.” Levi says, pacing the kitchen for where he left his phone. 

Eren frowns, his head racing as Levi walks the length of the kitchen and Hange settles into their immediate panic.

“Eren.” Lana says. 

“Hm?” 

“I have to tell you something. You’re going to hate it. I-” 

“Just tell me, Lana. No-no beating around the bush.” 

“The paparazzi…got to him first before the police.” she whispers. 

“What?” Eren says, through gritted teeth as his head all but short circuits. 

“They knew it was his car, he’d been driving it around that part of Nashville for a while. They were probably just following him to get pictures wherever he was going. But then he-he crashed and-” 

“And what? They took pictures of it? Of him?” Eren asks, squeezing Lana’s shoulders too hard. 

“Yeah. They-they only called the police when they were done, Eren. I-” 

The tears fill Eren’s eyes as the implication cuts deep. It all but sears the air in his lungs, the tears welling so fast that it’s already obstructing his vision. All he can feel is Lana’s hands, squeezing his biceps, as he tries to control the heaving in his chest. 

“How long?” 

“Eren.” she says, tone so pitiful it makes his blood boil. 

“How long, Lana?” he asks, voice cracking. 

“It took them forty-five minutes to get there. They would have been there in fifteen.” she whispers. 

And now, the autopsy report tells him enough. With a definitive resolve that the paparazzi killed Marco. Because he died from asphyxiation, from being twisted in the metal, not getting any air. And if the police had gotten there maybe a moment earlier, a second faster, they could have gotten him out, could have at least made sure he was breathing. 

They wanted a picture. Marco died for it. 

The anger surges through Eren, tenfold when he remembers the paparazzi lining up Jean and Mikasa’s engagement party, Falco’s school, his house the day his grandpa died. When you walked into his garage, drenched from the rain with a deep cut on your face and skidded knees, scared to death. 

“I’m done sugarcoating, Hange. Eren is right. They killed Marco.” Levi responds. 

Hange sighs, leaning against the counter as Eren walks up to them, resting his head against their shoulder. They all stand there in silence, not even seventy-two hours after the fact, and it still hasn’t hit Eren. 

In full flesh, that Marco is gone. 

The rapid knocking on the door, real this time, breaks him out of his thoughts. 

“Probably Zeke or Armin. I’ve got it.” he murmurs. 

“Thanks kid.” 

Eren watches as Levi sinks into Hange’s arms, sighing as he shuffles to the door and flicks on the porch light. He swings it open and immediately feels his throat tighten, fully constricted, at the sight of you standing in the lamplight. 

You’re looking up at him, swallowing hard, as you stare into his eyes and all Eren can do is wonder if your brain is short circuiting as much as his is. Surely, it isn’t. Eren has every reason to be embarrassed, to be ashamed. And you don’t. 

For posterity, he fights all instincts, every urge in his body, to reach forward and hold you. To let your sweet flowery smell take over his nose, to settle his face into that crook in your neck, to have your soft, soft touch running over his skin. To let the mountain of emotions he’s been carrying fall, because you’re here. 

But he can’t. 

“Hi Eren.” 

“Y/N.” 

He can’t help but inspect every micro-movement, every gesture you make. Your eyes are nearly glassing over with tears and you’re nervously fidgeting with your fingers. You’ve dropped your gaze to focus on the ground, a habit you always had when you were sad, as your voice breaks into the air. 

“Can I ask you something? Please?” you whisper. 

He reaches forward, hands on your shoulders, squeezing once and praying to god you remember what it means, as he nods. 

That he’s here and he’s got you. 

“Anything. What is it?” 

“Is he dead?” 

Maybe not anything. 

He can’t be the one to tell you. You of all people that Marco died, at the hands of the paparazzi. The same paparazzi who in your very pointed words, gutted your first love like a fish. Who were partly to blame, who drove you out of here alongside him. 

“Y/N.” 

“Is he?” you repeat, voice smaller. 

“Okay. Let’s go inside, you-”

“Is Marco dead, Eren? I’m asking you a question.” 

Your anger in your voice is enough to make him stop in his tracks, the second time your voice is laced with that animosity that it scares him into responding. He hears it, in his worst hours, echoing in his mind. 

How many times are you going to keep breaking shit without any care in the world? The camera, the fucking award you picked over me, Connie’s fucking livelihood, my heart. God, Eren. All you’ve ever cared about is yourself. From the start.

He swallows hard. 

“Yes. Marco’s dead.” 

And you don’t even know the half of it. 

He watches your glass tears, the ones sitting right on the edge of your eyelashes, fall in full force, onto your cheeks as you immediately start hiccuping, hands clasped against your chest. 

“I-I saw it on the news. I-I didn’t believe it but I- They always lie about stuff. I thought it was the same as that and-” 

“Y/N, come ins-” 

Your panic sets in so fast, so quick that Eren doesn’t even register it. Because one second you’re panting and the next Eren’s watching you retch onto the grass Connie mowed this morning. Eren pushes you into the house the second you stop, straight to the kitchen where Levi and Hange are still standing in their spots. 

“Wait, is that-” 

“Do you guys know if we have something like…anti-nausea? Is that what you do when someone throws up or-” Eren asks. 

“Is that Y/N?” Levi asks. 

“Yeah, she-she was on the porch, I-” 

Levi’s quick to walk up, hands on your shoulders as he talks, voice quiet and calm when he speaks near your ear. Hange moves to Eren’s side, her face wearing that concerned look she gives him too much these days, as they both rummage through the cabinets for anything that could help. 

“Y/N. You okay?” Levi asks. 

“I-I threw up on the-the porch. On the g-grass. So-sorry.” 

“It’s just grass. What’s-” 

Eren tries to still it - that pounding in his heart - as he walks over with the glass of water he filled up for you. Your hands must be wobbling too much because Eren doesn’t let the glass go, instead tilting your head up softly with his hands and pouring the water into your mouth. 

“Hey. Drink some more for me.” Eren states, voice soft as he instinctively reaches forward to fix the hairs sticking to the sweat beading your forehead, feeling your skin burning under his touch. 

“We should take her temperature.” Eren says. 

Levi and Hange dart out of the room, to the drawer upstairs where the thermometer is, as Eren takes breaks between helping you drink the water and rubbing circles into your back. 

Eren can feel every muscle in his body tense, his skin burning when you lean forward, forehead resting against his chest as you groan out in pain. 

“Hey. You with me?” Eren asks, murmuring straight into your hair. 

Eren feels your breathing still against him, his hands intuitively wrapping around you this time, cradling the back of your head in his hands. You hum in response to his question, which is a good enough answer for Eren now.  

“Found it.” Levi says, all but speed walking as Eren spins you around, watching as Levi meticulously pushes your sweaty hair out of your face and holds the sensor against your head. You’re all standing there in silence, craning over the little plastic as the two consecutive beeps go off. 

“98.6. You’re okay, Y/N.” Levi mutters, setting the thermometer back on the table. 

“Thank you, Levi.” you respond back, rubbing your arms on your biceps as you stare at the two of them, withdrawn and withholding from you. 

Granted, you’d do the same. You wouldn’t rush to their arms either if they ignored you for two years. 

“You can take this for nausea. If it happens again.” Hange says, placing a bottle in your hands. 

“Sure. Thank you, Hange.” you respond. 

The silence hangs in the air between the four of you as you stand there, each of you racking your heads for the right thing to say. Eren wants to tell Levi and Hange to stop being so rude, that they were the ones who were begging you to come back and now that you’re here they won’t even talk to you. Levi and Hange are debating which one of them should yell at you first, for being withdrawn from them and not asking for help the way Eren did. And you’re figuring out who you should apologize to first, between the three of them. 

None of you break. Because it’s not the right time. Because Marco is dead. 

“Everyone is sleeping together upstairs. There should be an extra air mattress up there, Eren will get it for you….knock if you need something.” Levi says, tone exasperated as he shuffles away. 

“Welcome back, kid.” 

Hange gives you a full smile as they follow him, leaving you and Eren in the kitchen. The distance Levi is putting in between you and him stings, but you swallow the burn and remind yourself that you’re the one who inflicted it on yourself. 

At the time, after the interview, the rationale made more sense. Nonsensically, you decided that you were done with the industry and that, by proxy, meant that you were done with them too. You did your interview and stuck to your word, never looked back. 

It’s humiliating now. Debilitating thinking about how much you must have hurt them. Because each of them, they continually reached out until it stopped. Mikasa made every effort to have you come to her engagement party, that she would even stop the press from coming for Vogue the way they had planned for you. 

And when you didn’t show, all she did was send you pictures, of her and Jean cutting the cake and of the dress she had bought for you to wear. Hange and Levi were so vigilant about it, on making sure that you were okay, that you had security details, that people really were leaving you alone. You didn’t heed any of their efforts, because for all intents and purposes, you were leaving the girl you were behind. 

Her dreams, the love she held, the friends she had. 

It seems stupid now. It seems incredibly and gut-wrenchingly stupid that your last words to Marco were over two years ago because you were punishing him for something that wasn’t his fault. That you can’t go to any of them for comfort because the thing that they need comfort from is you. 

All you know how to do is ruin people. 

“Are you hungry? Or do you want to go to bed?” Eren asks. 

“I can go to bed. Levi said air mattress?” 

“Yeah, we’re all sleeping together in the loft upstairs.” 

“We?” you ask. 

“Mikasa and Jean are here. Ymir and Hisu, Bertholdt and Reiner, Connie and Sash. Everyone else should be getting in tomorrow.” 

Eren pads towards the stairs and you awkwardly follow, crawling up the stairs behind him. You can hear the loud chatter of voices, talking over each other, as you try to catch the ends of their conversation. 

“But where do they go when you pee?” Sasha asks. 

“Fuck do you mean, where do they go?” Reiner says, voice incredulous. 

“Like in the bowl? Because if you’re sitting on the toilet, they have to go somewhere?” Sasha repeats. 

“Sasha. It’s almost one in the morning. Please stop talking about balls.” Ymir groans, earning a good amount of laughs from the group. 

“Eren, tell them all to shut the fuck up.” Jean groans, forearm over his eyes as he and Mikasa roll around on their mattress. 

Eren looks at you, eyes weary, before he turns to respond to them. 

“Y/N’s here.”

They all peek their heads up, curious eyes falling on you, as you give them a halfhearted smile, trying your best to wipe your sweaty palms on the back of your dress. 

“Hi guys.” 

The silence is deafening. You can’t pick what’s worse - Reiner and Bertholdt squinting their eyes at you or Mikasa and Jean refusing to look at you. 

Mikasa and Jean. 

Historia stands up, strutting over from her air mattress, to wrap her arms around you, the pressure of the hug so hard you can barely breathe. You breathe in her smell, spicy and sharp the way it’s always been, as she pulls away. Her warm hand is resting on your cheek, the smile on her face so genuine that it untangles the smallest parts of discomfort on your chest. 

“Hi princess. Missed you.” 

“Thanks, Hisu. I missed you too.” 

That’s always been the thing about Historia. That she’ll pick up, even when you haven’t called her in two years, and run to your aid. 

“How’d you know we were here?” Jean asks, hands resting on his knees. 

“I asked Historia.” you respond. 

“Told you I was her favorite. She reached out to me before you.” Historia mutters, flopping back onto the air mattress she’s sharing with Ymir. 

“You’re so arrogant, Historia. And full of shit.” Jean responds, rolling his eyes.

“You’re so right, Jean-Boy. This is just like what we fought about earlier.” Connie responds. 

The group of them break out into an argument, Historia looking like she’s full on about to wrestle Connie as he only instigates her on. Mikasa’s already resting with her eyes closed as Jean turns pink in the face from his irritations. 

And you can’t help but laugh, warm tingling in your chest at all of them, wholeheartedly the same. You look over at Eren and smile, which he returns. But despite it all, that stillness, that outsider feeling sits in your skin. Because despite them being the same, the striking differences in the room tell you things are wholeheartedly different too. 

“Okay. Where’s the extra air mattress?” Eren asks. 

Connie turns, eyes wide, as he gives the two of you a sheepish smile. 

“Really funny story. Sooooo….” 

“God. What did you do?” Eren groans. 

“Long story short, I was thinking about waterbeds. If you pop a water bed, it should be like a waterfall right? So if it’s an air mattress, it should be like an inflatable air balloon thing. Like the weird noodle guys at the car store? Right? So, I tried to pop it. And succeeded.” Connie responds, rambling. 

“Was it cool?” you ask. 

“Ugh. Not at all, princess.” Connie responds. 

You smile, perhaps bigger than you should at Connie using your old nickname, as Eren starts yelling at him. 

“You should be the one to sleep on the floor since you’re the one who ruined the mattress.” Eren states. 

“She should sleep on the floor. She got here last!” Connie responds. 

“She just threw up. And she wasn’t going to sleep on the floor regardless.” 

“Is she contagious?” Connie responds. 

“Connie!” 

Eren rolls his eyes as Mikasa stands up, shuffling to your side and lightly tugging your arm. You look at her, taking her shorter hair in, as you give her a smile. 

“Hey. Want to go change? Your old clothes should still be here, don’t know how well they’ll fit.” 

Eren breaks out of his conversation, leaning forward to where the two of you are talking, to interject. 

“What’s mine is yours. Take mine if you need to.” he says, before returning in full flesh to the argument he’s having with Connie. You can tell they’re both joking from the way they’re trying not to laugh as you start to walk away. 

The two of you quietly pad down the length to the two doors, directly across from each other, as you take in the scribbled signs switched. Your old room now reads Jean and Mikasa with Connie’s handwriting scribbled underneath inscribing please fuck quietly on the door. And consequently, Eren’s room now reads Eren and Y/N with Sasha’s handwriting scribbled underneath reading yall are fucked UP for this. 

You turn to Mikasa and give her a weird look. 

“Right. We’ve been here for a week, actually. Table reading season four stuff. Jean and I want to share a room so we moved all of his stuff to your room and your stuff to Eren’s room. We’ll put it back.” Mikasa states, pushing open the door to Eren’s room as she starts rummaging through your old drawers in the closet. 

“No, no. It’s okay. I wouldn’t want to impose on you guys when you’re almost about to be newlyweds?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Yeah, next year. And we just moved it because we thought you weren’t going to come back. And Eren didn’t want to toss your stuff and all.” she responds. She pulls out a shirt, most definitely from when you’re fifteen, as you both snicker at the size and she keeps digging. 

You walk around Eren’s room, your room too now, as you eye all the boxes filled with your things, tangled in with Eren’s clothes lying around on every open surface. You take a seat at his desk as you start inspecting his little bulletin board, the pictures underneath the pins. 

One of him, Lana, and Sukuna - the three of them smoldering at the camera. Eren and Connie smiling, Eren and a little kid with short curly hair, and two pictures of you. The first one is of you and him sleeping on set and the other is the two of you with Falco, both of you crouching down to his height and hugging him from behind.

And hanging around both of the pins are your friendship bracelets, which you take off the hooks to inspect. 

So that’s where it went. In all of the fire of moving around so much, jumping from one place to another, you always thought you lost it. But you must have left it here all along.

You run your hands over the beads, yours and Eren’s names, as Mikasa gives you a head shake, indicating she didn’t find anything. 

“S’okay. I’ll look through Eren’s stuff I guess.” you murmur. 

Mikasa nods as she leans against Eren’s desk, hands crossed over her chest, as the silence hangs in between the two of you. She takes one of the bracelets from your hands, twisting the beads in her fingers, as you do the same with yours. 

You find solace in the fact that Mikasa is still wearing her engagement ring - a constant in the sparring mix of changes you just witnessed in the room. 

Connie sober. Ymir and Historia sharing a mattress. Eren and Connie getting along. Mikasa and Jean even tolerating being in the same room as Eren. In the same room as you. And the jarring absence of Marco. 

“How are you?” Mikasa asks. 

“Okay, Mika. How are you?” 

Mikasa sinks down, sitting flat on the floor as she hikes her knees to her chest. You follow suit, dropping from your chair to sit next to her, lacing your arm through hers as you both blankly stare at the floor ahead of you, picking what topic to broach first. 

I missed you. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to  you in two years. Our friend is dead. Eren is here. 

“The engagement party looked beautiful, Mikasa.” 

She smiles, leaning her head against yours. 

“Thank you, Y/N. It was quite nice actually.” 

“I watched it on Vogue. Cried quite a bit.” you respond. 

She laughs, rolling her eyes at you as she lightly shoves you. 

“Should’ve come then. Cried in real time.” 

You swallow hard, cheeks warm, as you squeeze her hand. You know she’s joking, but the guilt runs too deep. 

“I’m sorry for not coming. I-I really wish I was there. And I know there’s no justification for it but-” 

“We aren’t mad at you. Jean and I.” she clarifies. 

“I’d understand if you were. I’m your best friend. I’ve-I’ve been with you guys since the start and-” 

Mikasa’s hands are soft on your shoulders, tears gathering in her eyes, as she looks at you, eyes pinched in pain.

“You had every right to not come. To be done with this. What they did to you, to Eren- Y/N, god.” 

You swallow hard. 

“It didn’t warrant me not coming to you-” 

“It did. You don’t even know the half of it. You-you and Eren. You just-” 

There’s a knocking at the door and Eren pads in, eyes wide as he sees you and Mikasa on the floor, tears gathered in her eyes and your limbs tangled together. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can come back.” 

“No, no. It’s okay, Eren. Her clothes are too small. I can go grab mine for her if you two want to talk-” her words pointed, the emphasis on the last words hard. 

“No, don’t bother Mikasa.” he responds, disappearing into his closet to find a pair of clothes for you. 

Mikasa turns back to you, giving your cheek a pinch. 

“I’ll make Jean sleep on the floor if Connie doesn’t give up his mattress. It’ll be like old times.” she responds, shuffling out of the room as you stay on your spot on the floor.

You hike your knees to your chest as you twist the beads in your fingers again, Eren’s name that you used to wear on your wrist almost every day foreign in your fingers. 

“Eren. We’re going to be late.” you groan, impatiently tapping your foot on the ground as you wait for him by the door. 

The two of you are already thirty minutes late to Erwin’s going away party, the last car waiting to take the two of you, Marco, and Annie out to the little soiree that Erwin is throwing for himself - in celebration of him being killed off. 

“Sorry, sorry. Looking for my bracelet.” he responds, darting back and forth from different corners of the room. 

“Well, hurry up. Annie’s getting pissed.” 

“I found yours! But where is mine?” 

You look down at your wrist to find the pink beads on your wrist, spelling out your name against your pulse point in your wrist. 

“Oops, sorry. I’m wearing yours.” you respond. 

Eren’s quick to walk over to where you’re standing on the door - giving you enough time to groan at how haphazardly he got ready for the party. His tie is loose against his neck, hair all messy as you reach up to fix it. 

“God, Eren. At least brush your hair.” 

“Quit moving your hands.” 

Eren takes his hand in yours, quickly sliding the bracelet off your wrist and switching it with the one in his hand. 

“Well, get ready properly. Your tie isn’t even on right.” you respond, irritated as you reach forward to tighten the fabric and smooth down his collar. 

“And if I told you I put it on wrong just so you would fix it, what would you think?” 

“That you’re asking for a death sentence from Annie for wasting time.” 

He rolls his eyes, reaching up to lift the hand he just placed the bracelet on. His thumb is straight against your pulse point, blood pulsating under the spot, as he lifts his hand to leave a kiss right there. 

“And that it’s cute that you did that.” 

He gives you a wide grin, locking your hands together as you both rush out the door. 

Eren shuffles out, sitting across from you as he puts the stack of clothes between you and hikes his knees to his chest. He holds his hand out and you place the bracelet in his hand. 

“You left it in the bathroom.” 

You nod as you try to steady your mind - still running a hundred miles per hour and overstimulated from seeing everyone again. From how familiar it all feels, how easy it all is to fall back into this despite how different things are. 

How you and Eren are miles apart, how you haven’t talked to them all in months, how Marco is dead. That Marco’s death is suspending all of you in a weird state of reality, that every angry word spoken and every bit of harshness seems miniscule now.

“Do you want me to leave?” Eren asks. 

“No.” you shrug. 

“Do you want to talk?” 

“No.”

Eren nods, counting each of the beads on the bracelet, as you both sit there in the silence, letting your eyes float around the room as you let your mind wander. 

Marco and Colt playing chess everyday when he visited you in Canada, Marco falling for every stupid joke that Connie played on him, the way you all cried when Marco died in the show, Marco at the awards show. 

“Eren?” 

“Yes, Y/N?” 

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” 

The question takes Eren off guard. He debates it then and there - telling you the truth full and whole - on the basis that he can’t handle the way you’re looking at him. At the fact that you even asked that, at the implication that you thought he could ever forget. 

“Of course. On set, in the-” 

“No, no. I mean, for real.” 

“At the awards show.” Eren responds, without a beat. 

“Yeah.” 

Eren leans forward, wrapping his hands around your neck and pressing his lips to yours. You can still feel people moving around you, setting up things for the closing part of the ceremony, but the only thing you’re paying attention to is Eren. And his lips. And the way he’s pulling you closer, like he can’t get enough of you. 

When you pull apart, you’re both panting, smiling at each other. 

“Thank god. If I got cock-blocked from kissing you a third time, I was actually going to commit a murder.” 

“You want me so bad.” you say, sarcastically. 

“Obviously.” 

You both smile and turn to the left, to a very smiley Marco staring at you two. And then you cringe, remembering that you and Eren are literally backstage and there’s like seven people who just watched you suck face. Marco walks up, wrapping his arms around both of you and hugging hard. 

“I love you guys.” 

“Marco. Don’t-” Eren starts.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. You need time to figure whatever is going on, without Connie and and Sasha up your ass the entire time. But I’m really, really happy for you.” 

“Really, Marco?” you ask, leaning into Eren’s touch. 

“It’s always been you guys. You guys better not break up or else I’ll come hunt both of you down. And if I’m dead, I’ll come back to life just to haunt you guys.” 

“Do you think he’s haunting us?” 

Eren frowns, the memory refreshing in his head. One he thought of a few days ago, lingering on the fact that Marco’s probably turning in grave right now. Granted, Marco was very vehement about his stance on you two - your interview and what Eren did, making Marco so agonizingly and uncharacteristically angry that it bothers him now. 

For not listening to him. That if he does ever get to cross that bridge with you, at least be your friend again, that Marco won’t ever know. 

“I just don’t understand why you won’t just go out there and tell her. You know where she lives.” Marco states, irritated. 

“Because I just can’t, Marco! You watched the interview!” 

“The entire song was about how she forgave you. How she isn’t holding a grudge against you. And-and the way she was talking about it, some part of her knows that other people had something to do with this, Eren. She knows deep down.” 

“The interview was fucking horrible. This entire thing, this thing that I did, fucked her up so bad that she isn’t even doing this anymore. This was all she wanted, ever since she was a kid, she-she was so determined and she gave it up because I said all those things, because I did what I did.” 

“Eren. It’s more compl-” 

“No, it’s not. And she fucking hates me. You should have seen how upset she was at the awards show…..I-I ruined it for her. I ruined her entire dream, Marco.” 

“God, Eren. Your tunnel vision is insane. You’re not even giving her a fighting chance when she doesn’t even know the truth!” he says. 

“Maybe haunting is too mean of a word. I think he’d be happy to see us together, right now. Even if the circumstances aren’t the best.” he responds. 

You smile, giving him a nod. 

“He always did like playing cupid, didn’t he?” 

“At the engagement party, he walked around telling everyone that Jean and Mikasa were only dating because of him.” 

“That’s a lie.” you state. 

“No one believed him.” Eren responds. 

The two of you fall into silence again, resting your chins on your knees, as more thoughts swim through your head, pain so palpable it’s sitting in your chest. That if Marco were here, he’d be prancing in and giving you two devious smirks, lovingly teasing both of you. Pulling both of you aside, saying that bygones should be bygones if you still love each other. 

You look up at him, watch his eyes flutter open and close, as he fidgets with his hands. 

You still love him. 

“Can we be civil for the weekend? Like…like you’re not Eren and I’m not Y/N, we’re just-” you sutter.

Your question falls short, hanging in the air as you watch the gears in Eren’s head turn. 

“I just mean. So many things happened between us. And I know there’s hurt there, on your part and maybe mine too, but…..I don’t want us to be mad at each other at the funeral. Or after.” 

You swallow hard. 

“I’d hate for one of us to die being mad at each other. Without having talked in years.” you whisper. 

Eren gets it. The guilt that must be wracking you for not talking to Marco, when you were one of the people who was closest to him. He reaches forward, taking your hand in his, as he fidgets with your fingers. 

“He knows you loved him, Y/N.”

He watches the tears pour down your eyes, face pink and eyes swollen, as you talk. 

“Did he? Because I ignored his texts. For years. He texted me happy birthday, asked how Falco was doing, wanted to know if I watched Halloweentown on October first like I always do, if I was happy, if I wanted to talk and-” 

He squeezes your hand, pulling out his phone, as he scoots to the space next to you. He tries to still the pounding of his heart as you lace your arm through his, leaning your head against his. 

“He knows, Y/N.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I was with him. I talked to him quite often after….after everything that happened. I promise you, he knows you loved him.” 

You shake your head, guilt sitting in your head. 

“I have something for you.” he murmurs. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s from a few years ago. I think he was really, really drunk.” 

He hands you his phone, open to a voicemail from Marco, as you wipe the tears on your phone and press play. His voice comes through the speaker booming and giggling and hiccuping as he talks. 

“Eren. Eren! Fuck, I love you so much dude. You’re-you’re such a guy. Like I-I just see you and think hmmmm. That’s a guy. Are you with Y/N? Tell her I love her. She’s my best friend. You’re all my best friends. I’m so happy I got to grow up with all of you. Oh, Connie just threw up on the floor, oh Connie- hey, stop! Okay, love you brother, I have to go.” 

The voice cuts off abruptly, as you laugh. 

“Never could hold his drink, could he?” 

“Not everyone can be alcoholics like Jean and Mikasa.” 

You both laugh, chest aching from how familiar, how soft this feels. That you’re both sitting in this room, where you grew up, fell in love, slept next to each other every night. Eren can see the tears welling in your eyes, thinking of his best efforts to stop it, at whatever is plaguing your mind. 

“So. You said you’re not Y/N and I’m not Eren. So who are we?” he asks. 

“I meant that metaphorically, you’re-” 

You watch Eren’s eyes flit around his room, scanning till he stops around his bookshelf, and turns back to glance at you. 

“Your new name is Margaret.” 

“Ew. And I didn’t mean it like that, Eren.” 

“Who is Eren? My name is….” he responds, giving you a smile as he elongagates the syllables waiting for your response. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Bruce. Your name is Bruce.” 

“Bruce Wayne!” 

“No. Not like Bruce Wayne. Think of someone really boring. Irritating, agitating.” 

“Perfect! I’ll just think of you after five shots of tequila.” 

You both laugh as Eren stands up, holding a hand out to pull you up. He sets the stack of clothes in your hand as he makes a move to walk out of the room. Except he hangs on the door for a second, voice soft when he talks. 

“Does Bruce have permission to say something?” 

“Sure.” 

“I know he technically just met Margaret because she was born a minute ago, but he missed her. A lot.” 

You feel your cheeks burn as you give him a nod, murmuring a quiet me too before sinking into the bathroom to slip his clothes on. 

Connie, does in fact, not give up the mattress. Jean and Eren begrudgingly share as you and Mikasa cuddle into the night. 

--

You wake up first, to find Mikasa sprawled over your entire frame. Her entire body is burning hot and you send a silent prayer to the world's strongest soldier, Jean Kirschtein, for putting up with this for so long. After you all but free yourself from her grasp, you spare a quick glance to see Jean must be smothering Eren more than Mikasa was you and silently muse that the two of them truly are made for each other. 

You pad down to the kitchen, yanking the hood of Eren’s hoodie over your head, to find Connie sitting at the table, scribbling away in a journal, a steaming bowl of oatmeal next to him. 

“Good morning, Con.’” 

He looks up, one of his hands going instinctively to cover what he was writing as you take the seat next to him, crossing your legs up on the chair. He immediately relaxes, giving you a bright smile.

“Good morning, princess. You can have some if you want.” 

“No, no. I don’t want to impose.” 

“What’s mine is yours.” he says, mimicking Eren’s voice. 

You snort, reaching for his spoon, as you take a bite of the warm food, soothing the stiffness in your throat. 

“Sleep well?” he asks. 

“Mikasa basically strangled me all night.” 

“Ew. Of course she has the cuddle bug. I swear, Jean and Mikasa were always goo goo ga ga, but they’re even worse now.” 

“They’re getting married, Connie. It’s sweet.” 

He smiles, sliding the string through the pages, as he turns to you giving you a smile. 

“Yeah. It is sweet.” he responds, voice quiet. 

Connie swallows hard, eyes weary as he turns to you. 

“I want to apologize.” Connie says. 

The elephant in the room. He’s the first one to touch it. 

“Oh. That’s okay, I under-” 

“No, no. It’s not okay.” he responds, tone almost harsh. 

You and Armin share a look the second he breaks the frame, glass shattering over the length of Armin’s apartment. 

“Why the fuck would you guys bring me here?” Connie asks, sweat beading his forehead. 

From the way he’s moving, all erratic and nonsensical, it makes you think that it’s out of his system. That if Connie had a chance, this would be when he would sneak off to the bathroom to get his fix. But he’s nowhere near that, instead settled into Armin’s tiny New York apartment, screaming at the two of you. 

“Connie. You asked us too.” you respond. 

“I was fucking high! Why would you guys even entertain a word I said?” Connie states, voice even more agitated now. 

“Connie. You…you need help. We looked at some rehab places while you were asleep and-” 

“Rehab? I’m not going to rehab. Are you trying to ruin my fucking career, Armin?” 

“No, but we want to make sure you’re okay. They’ll be discrete, we’ll make sure the security detail is good so that you can be better and-” 

“I am fucking fine. Do I look like I need help?” 

You and Armin share a weary glance, before looking back at him. 

“Connie. We love you. We-we just want to help you, okay?” you say. 

“Does it ever embarrass you when you do this, Y/N?” Connie says, voice laced with venom. 

“Sorry?” 

“Does you not think it’s embarrassing to beg like this in front of people who don’t fucking care about you the way you do about them? I figured that Eren putting you in your place like that would set you straight but it seems like you didn’t learn your lesson, did you?” 

You swallow hard, eyes and skin burning as Connie waits for your response. 

“You don’t mean that. You-you’re just mad because you can’t be high right now.” you murmur. 

“Am I, Y/N? Or is it true?” 

“It’s not true. This isn’t you, Connie.” 

“God, Y/N. Wake the fuck up. We aren’t fifteen anymore. No ones sitting here holding your hand telling you that you’ll be the best anymore. I get that you need that ego boost to move forward but I sure as hell am not going to be the one to give it to you.” 

“Connie, that’s enough-” 

Connie swallows hard, eyes focused on his fingers as he talks. 

“I know-I know that I said it wasn’t true. But I really did say all of those things because I was high. Or because I wanted to be high and was in withdrawal and-” 

“I know that, Connie. I’ve never held it against you.” 

He frowns, twisting his pen to his fingers. 

“You always give grace even when you don’t know the whole story. Me, Hisu, Eren.” he murmurs. 

“You deserve it…and I partially knew. I mean, addiction is a disease. It hurt at first but that wasn’t your fault. You just needed to be treated and helped and I’m glad you did.” 

He smiles, resting his cheek against his hand. 

“Thank you, Y/N. Don’t mind me if I spend the rest of my life asking for forgiveness. I won’t ever feel like I deserve it but I’ll keep asking anyway.” he murmurs. 

“I’ll always give it to you.” you respond, squeezing his shoulder. 

You silently wonder that if you ever did come back, sans funeral, if things would be like this. If you and Eren could pretend, if Mikasa and Jean could look past it all. Because some parts of it, they feel earnest, truthful. But you can’t tell if you’re all suspended in some disbelief, clouded by your grief and trying to cling onto one of the things Marco loved most. His time on the show, with you all. 

“Honey when I’m above the trees, I SEE IT FOR WHAT IT IS.” Connie sings, screams. 

“Oh my god, Connie.” you deadpan. 

He’s singing happiness. Like the happiness you sang in your interview, when you forgave Eren. 

“THERE’LL BE HAPPINESS AFTER YOU. BUT THERE WAS HAPPINESS BECAUSE OF YOUUUU. BOTH OF THESE THINGS CAN BE TRUE, THERE IS HAPPINESS.” 

You clamp your hand flat against his mouth, trying not to snicker, as he continues to sing underneath your hand. 

“Are you insane? They’re all sleeping.” you whisper. 

“Not anymore we’re not.” Ymir responds, immediately smacking Connie against the head. 

“You’re going to give Eren a nightmare, Connie.” Historia mutters, dragging her feet into the kitchen as Ymir follows. 

“I’m already living it.” Eren grumbles, leaning against the counter as he splits a PopTart with Jean. 

Slowly but surely, every one of them shuffles down to the room, the deja vu of the situation hitting deep as each person follows suit. Sasha ambles down after a few minutes, finishing off the bowl of oatmeal that you and Connie were sharing while Reiner and Bertholdt murmur quietly over the coffee cup. Eren’s in hushed conversation with Jean and Mikasa, fixing himself breakfast, as Hange and Levi wander into the room, immediately thrown off by all of you in there. 

“Jesus.” Levi says, tone exasperated. 

“Good morning, Levi.” Mikasa says, gesturing to the water boiling on the kettle for his tea. He gives her a grateful smile, taking a seat in his corner as Hange talks to the group of you. Connie’s resorted to cracking all of your knuckles since his are all worn out as they go on. 

“Good morning kiddos!” 

“Don’t….do such a cheery voice, Hange.” Levi says, sighing. 

Hange’s smile falters, before dropping all together, and giving a thoughtful nod. Eren shuffles over to your side, taking the seat next to yours as he places a steaming bowl of ramen in front of you. 

“Oh. Thank you, Eren.” 

“Who?” 

You roll your eyes as Eren smiles, reaching forward to flick your cheek. 

“Bruce.” 

“Bruce, indeed.” he responds. 

Eren knows he’s in treacherous waters. That this line you’ve drawn, that you’re not you and he’s not himself, works almost too well for Eren’s purposes. That he can pretend, in earnest, that none of the things he said happened. That you and him are just as you always were, untouched in the bubble you were always in when you lived here. . 

“The funeral is tomorrow, as we all know. The Bodt’s have requested that we get there ten minutes before the service, so be on time tomorrow. Bertholdt, Sasha, I’m looking at both of you. ” 

You all nod, humming in response, as you start digging into the bowl, switching off with Connie and Sasha who are both trying to monopolize the only real food in a five feet radius. 

“That being said…” Hange says, swallowing hard. 

They’re pacing back and forth almost, teetering on their ankles, when they talk. And when they finish explaining - autopsy report in hand and the gut punch sticking in your chest - you all sit there, blankly staring. 

And wander in silence for the rest of the day. 

It was one thing that Marco died. And an entirely different one that he was killed. 

--

“Someone go get Eren, we only have thirty minutes.” Levi says, everyone lingering in the kitchen and the living room, in a sea of black. 

Almost everyone is here now - Erwin, Armin, even Eren’s parents - all lingering around as you wait to head to the funeral. You give a curt nod to Levi and march out to the pavement, pebbles crunching under your feet as you make your way to set. 

Eren’s been in there since last night, never retreating to the room to change into his pajamas before he settled down on the couch downstairs. Despite your protests, he refuses to sleep in the same room as you. Or let you sleep anywhere else besides Jean’s old bed in his room. 

You let the pebbles crunch under your feet, ignoring the sting as you pass the tandem bike, and slip onto the set. You can see new costumes designs printed against the walls, storyboards with Levi and Hange’s handwriting on them as you make your way to the back towards the piano.

When you see him, that rage, simmering warm in your stomach over the past twenty-four hours, the deep-seated pain of Marco dying alone, crying out for help, comes to a head when you see Eren. Because he’s sitting at the bench, with his book propped up against the stand, and a bottle of pills in his hands. 

You march up to where he’s standing, crossing your hands across your chest as you all but glare at him. 

“Oh. Hey, you look-” 

“Are you serious?” 

You watch his face scrunch up in confusion, that stupid look on his face aggravating you even more. His tie is unkempt, his hair is messy - he’s always so haphazard with these things. 

“You’re doing pills in here before Marco’s funeral. Are you fucking serious?” 

He looks down, at the bottle in his hand and stands up, and swallows hard when he looks at you. 

“Wait-” 

“No. No, for once, you’re going to listen to me. You-you’re sick. Marco’s dead. You can’t even give it to him to be fully there while we say goodbye? This means that much to you?” you spit, watching him shut his eyes. 

“Y/N.” 

“How could you do this? To him? To me?” 

He reaches forward, hands on your shoulders as he squeezes, and your eyes burn like acid. And every feeling, building up over the past few days, comes tumbling out. 

“Why did he have to leave us, Eren? We didn’t get enough time with him. He was only twenty-four, he didn't even get to grow old. He was supposed to die, years from now, so happy, so-so surrounded by people he loved.”

Eren forgoes the rational thought. He reaches forward fully, snaking his arms around you as he cradles your head into his frame, trying his best to stifle your cries into his shoulder. 

“And you. He would hate that you were doing this. I hate that you’re doing this. You-you don’t have to. There are other things that can make you happy or-or fix whatever it is that’s wrong.” 

“Y/N.” 

“What, Eren?” 

He pulls back, reaching for the pill bottle, and placing it in the palm of your hand. You read the label, immediately embarrassed and ashamed of your reaction. 

Eren Jaeger *Lexapro 5 mg  Take one tablet by mouth with the morning meal.

“Oh my god, Eren. I’m so sorry, I-” 

You pull back, sitting down on the bench, as you dig your fingers into your temples, trying to stop that pulsating feeling under your skin. The rage, the feeling, coursing through you so hard that you can’t even pick what you’re mad at. 

You’re breathing panic in and out, chest heaving, as Eren takes a seat next to you, leaning his elbows on his knees. And the feeling, it lands on feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed. Because Eren’s not doing drugs, he’s taking anti-anxiety pills. 

“Eren. I’m so sorry. That was so horrible of me, I thought it was-” 

“You thought it was like Connie.” he finishes

“Yeah. And I’m sorry for assuming, I just-” 

“I’m not mad at you. You were just trying to take care of me. I appreciate it.” 

You groan, embarrassment still coursing through you, as you lean your forehead straight against the piano, the smell of the ink on Eren’s book permeating your nose.  

“Do you remember that birthday party of mine I told you about? When I was ten, at my old house in New York? It was when we were in Australia.” 

You nod. 

“I remember feeling it. A paralyzing block in my chest, like I couldn’t move. And when I was able to move, it was only because it all came rushing to me, so panicked, so fast that I-I didn’t even register what happened.” 

He was barely even ten. You lift your hands to his shoulders, squeezing hard, as he continues. 

You’re here and you’ve got him. 

“I didn’t tell anyone. I thought something was wrong with me. I thought that people feel this way, that it’s normal, but I just felt too much of it. That I just can’t handle things the way normal people do.” 

You frown, reaching up to cup the side of his face. Your fingers brush over his dimples, soft under your fingers, as you talk. 

“Eren. There is nothing wrong with you. That’s just an anxiety attack.” you whisper. 

You’re not sure what it is about what you said but when you look up, there are soft tears flowing down Eren’s cheek, the voice coming out of his mouth so garbled you can barely understand what he’s saying. 

“Hey, Eren.” you whisper, 

“No. No, no. Stop.” 

Eren stands up, retreating to the other side of the piano, where he’s leaning over, his entire frame heaving up and down as you walk to his side. 

“Why are you-” 

“I don’t want you to help me. You shouldn’t be helping me.” he says, his voice shuddering. 

“Why not?” you ask, frowning. 

“I’ve been horrible to you. I don’t deserve your help. You-you should be cussing me out, so mad that you can’t stand me, that you want me to suffer and you’re not. And it’s agonizing for me that you aren’t.” 

You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around him from the back, as you feel him sigh. You lean your cheek flat against his shoulder, squeezing as hard as you can as Eren continues to cry, fists clenched so tight on the piano that white. 

“You’re not you and I’m not me. We agreed on that.” you murmur. 

“Y/N. We can’t-” 

“Who?” 

He snickers, amidst his tears, as he turns around, and you slot your arms under his. You can feel his heart thumping under your ear, loud and fast, as you place your hand over the spot. The two of you stay that way for some time, Eren's tears falling onto you, as you try your best to remedy whatever it is that's burning inside of him.

“Just calm down and breathe. Falco says it always helps to talk about something else, when he feels like this.” 

He tenses at the mention of Falco, which you realize was a mistake. 

“Why were you in here?” you ask. 

“The Bodt’s asked me to write a song for the service.” 

The perfect distraction.

“Can you sing it for me?” you ask. 

He looks down, green eyes - full and round - as he nods, shuffling towards the piano bench as you take the seat next to him. You can see that the lyrics are scribbled on the book resting against the stand, the paper stiff from blotches of Eren’s tears. He starts playing the piano, his voice echoing on the walls of the set. 

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were talking to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around What died didn't stay dead What died didn't stay dead You're alive, you're alive in my head What died didn't stay dead What died didn't stay dead You're alive, so alive

You rest your hands against the keys next to his, slowly following his pace, as he continues to sing, the hum of his voice filling the air. You can’t help but think it. That he’s beautiful. That this is your Eren, miles away from whoever he was when you saw him last. 

I should've asked you questions I should've asked you how to be Asked you to write it down for me Should've kept every grocery store receipt 'Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me

You can feel the tears flowing down your cheeks now, straight onto the piano keys and your hands, as you cry. 

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were singing to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around I know better But I still feel you all around I know better But you're still around

When you and Eren get to the service, you walk hand in hand to the piano. And play the song together, for Marco and Marco only. 

--

You knock on the door, padding into the room to find Levi, hunched over his computer and leaning his hand on his cheek. You take the seat next to him, crossing your legs against the chair, as he looks over at you, expressionless. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” you say. 

Four days after the funeral and all of them have cleared out. Forced to go back to wherever they were before, to push down the beating pain and move forward. The grief, perhaps it did suspend reality for the rest of you. Leave you to pretend that nothing that happened was real, that you were still teenagers running around on this set together. 

That wasn’t how it was for Levi. Because in almost a week of being there, he had yet to talk to you with a straight face. 

“What are you working on, Levi?” you ask, cracking your knuckles. 

He turns the laptop towards you, one of the old hard drives from the earlier seasons pulled up on his computer. He plays the video, one of Jean sitting in a chair behind the green backdrop. 

“Okay, Jean. Tell me your goal for the end of the show.” Levi asks. 

The video, Jean must be barely sixteen, wearing one of the old costumes from season one. You remember now, that Hange was insistent on documenting everything - that you all were going to grow up so fast that they should keep videos. Obviously, Hange is too disorganized to do it themselves, so Levi bit the bullet and did it for them. 

“I don’t know. That’s so far away, Levi.” he groans, scrunching up his forehead. 

“Just answer, Jean. Where do you see yourself at the end of the show, when you’re in your twenties?” 

“With Mikasa.” he responds. 

You both smile as Levi switches to the next videos, the two of you watching all of them in silence. 

“I want to be myself. That’s all I want to be, not embarrassed or ashamed, I-I just want to be me.” Historia says, smiling into the camera. 

“I don’t know. That’s a weird question, Levi.” Mikasa grumbles, glaring at him. 

“You’re horrible, Mikasa. Jean said he wants to be with you.” Levi responds. 

“Well, that’s a given. Of course, I’m going to be with Jean.” she responds, giving one last eye roll to the camera. 

“Doing something important. That means something to people.” Connie responds. 

You swallow hard, as you see Eren, fifteen and so smiley, as he crawlsl onto the little stool.

“My turn?” Eren asks, giving Levi a bright smile. 

“Yes, kid. Your turn. Why else would you be sitting here?” 

“Okay. This is a secret so don’t tell anyone.” he says. 

“I’m not broadcasting to a news channel, Eren. Just hurry up, I still have to get through half of you.” 

Eren nods, reaching up to fix his hair, before he talks - his voice filled with that confident resolve, that one he always sported when he was fifteen.

“I want to get the Best Actor in a Lead role award. And on the same night, I want Y/N to become a triple threat. And then I want us to tell her that I told her so. Me and her, at the top.” he says, giving the camera a bright smile, before jumping off. 

The next one is of you, what you said being entirely lost to you in your memories. 

“What do I want to do when I'm in my twenties? Hm.” you echo. 

“Today would be nice.” Levi deadpans. 

“Well, I don’t know! That’s so broad. I want to be doing stuff like this. Acting, making music, To have people enjoy the work I make, and making it with my friends, like Eren and Mikasa and Armin. I want to be here, more than anything. It feels so right to me, that I get to do this. It’s special, it’s a privilege and I’m really thankful I get to do it.” 

“Note to anyone watching. This is one of our only kids with manners.” Levi says, setting the camera down to give you a hug. 

You bite down on your cheek, looking over at Levi, as he plays the last one. Of Marco. 

“Okay, Marco. What do you want to do when you’re in your twenties?” 

“Well. I know what I’m going to be doing.” Marco says, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” 

“See. Spoiler alert, but Hange and Levi just killed me off this show. But we made a deal. That I get to be in each season, even if its a super minor role like a flashback or whatever. So in my twenties, I’ll be here. Surrounded by all my childhood best friends, making this show that’s always meant so much to us.” 

You swallow hard as Levi wraps his arms around you, the two of you watching Marco’s smiley face disappear from the screen. 

“So I’ll see you in four months? For season four?” 

“Damn right you will.” you respond. 

And for the first time in a week, Levi breaks a smile. 

“Good.”

--

next part linked here

an, again: SEASON FOUR ERA (this shit abt to be so awkward when they're not all sad/grieving )

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha  @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly-y-blog @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi

[chroniclesofbts]

Call Me Home Part 1

A lot of time skips to start off the story and give background about the reader.

Idol hybrid BTS x hybrid foreigner reader

Warnings: sedative use, relocation against the readers will, implied sexual themes

It was storming outside when the announcement was made, blaring over the emergency speakers.

“All hybrids are required to enter Hybrids Centers to become independent. All hybrids must adhere to the rules set up by the centers, or they risk becoming strays. It is now Illegal to own hybrids in any capacity. Hybrids found on the streets will still be picked up by Hybrid Control and taken in for assessment. Hybrids will receive funds by the state, jobs, and housing upon existing of the Hybrid Centers. This begins now”

All of the humans were staring at me, I had no owner and they knew that. I was abandoned last month by my previous owner for scratching a “client”. I had avoided being taken in, until now. I stare at the large van pulled off to the side of the road as Hybrid Control exists. I follow without a fight, fighting would ensure I was put down. As much as I want to have hope of becoming independent, there has to be a catch. Even Hybrid idols are owned by someone, typically the company chairs. We pulled up to an airport, the man in the front seat holding my file. A picture of me in human and animal form plastered on the front.

“We have arrived, let’s get this over with. I don’t know why our strays get the chance to be independent” he sneers, “at least they aren’t staying in our country”

I’m flying to another country? I begin to panic, looking for a way out of the situation. Suddenly, I feel a prick to my neck, turn to see a long pole holding a syringe empty now of sedatives. My eyes start to feel heavy, the sedative taking full effect.

“Good luck, kid. You’ll need it where you’re going, they have way more rules.” A woman said, tying my hands together. The last thing I see is a cage being unloaded from the plane.

*Time skip*

When I wake I’m in a white room, with a small bed and bathroom. I’m in a my animal form, the sedative must have forced my shift. They also must have bathed me while I was unconscious, my fur is now soft and smells like soap. I curl further into myself, hearing footsteps outside. There’s a knock on the door, and a tall man enters.

“Hello, my name is Choi, welcome to South Korea” he speaks in English, “you will begin classes on language and culture tomorrow, take the rest of the day to settle. Once you pass your classes, you can move on to the next facility where you will be joined by our countries hybrids. America started their adjustments first, we have ours scheduled for the end of the year. This will give you plenty of time to learn the language and why you are here.” He bowed, then left, shutting the door softly.

I think back on how hard it was to adjust to a new culture, learn a new language, and train on how to be a part of a pack. In South Korea, the way to earn independence is through a pack. They taught the foreigners all of the steps for becoming a pack, as a way to prove we are a bonded pack before they release us. We will be brought to the new facility where their hybrid packs are, the ones that are under 8 hybrids. That’s another catch, packs have to be 8-10 people. Rumor has it that packs satisfying the 8-10 can still participate by choice to expand their packs, and those over 10 have to be separated.

I’m pulled from my thoughts as the vehicle comes to a stop. Each hybrid given a pill to increase our chances to find our pack. It brings our animals to be more in control, allowing for our mates to identify us by smell, touch, or eye contact. I am lead to a room with tables and chairs, I walk to the back of the room and take a seat.

"Good morning, my name is San and I am going to explain a few things before we let the packs begin their search. First rule, you do not get up or call out to any pack members that enter. Second, you do not get to choose your pack, the first 2 weeks are for them to choose you. If you are chosen, you must stay with that pack. You are the outcasts of your countries, don't become the outcasts of ours. We won't keep you. Finally, if you are chosen by a pack, they are responsible for you in all aspects. You mess up, you are punished as your pack sees fit. You only become independent through your packs, foreigners do not have the same rights in South Korea." He finishes, headed towards the door and opening it.

I drop my eyes to the table and lean back into the chair. As time passes, I think I am in the clear, until someone pulls the chair our in front of me and sits down. I swallow, and take a deep breath, waiting for them to speak.

"Won't you look at me, little doe" The voice asked, I look up in shock, wondering how he knew. Looking up was a mistake, as soon as my eyes locked on his, they changed to gold. He was my mate, and by the marks on his neck, he had others. He smiled and stood, holding his hand out to me, raising his eyebrow daring me to reject it. I stood up, looking around and seeing that I am the first one to leave the room.

"We got your profiles 3 weeks ago, that's how I knew you were a doe. A Melantistic Deer, quite rare" He said, grabbing my hand creating sparks to travel up my arm. I take a good look at him while he leads me down hallway after hallway. His ears sticking off of his head and tail coloring tell me he is a predator, a rare one. We arrive in front of a guarded door, the guards bow and let us pass.

"She can come and go as she pleases, no one else" he addresses the guards. They nod and give him a final bow before closing us in what appears to be a living room. As soon as the door clicked shut, footsteps came running our way.

"You found her!" A man with orange ears exclaimed, "My name is Jungkook, this is Taehyung" he says pointing to a man with ears similar to Jimin's, "I am a Red Panda, Taehyung is a Racing Stripped Cheetah, and Jimin is an Ocelot"

"I'm Seokjin but I go by Jin, a Dhole and this is Namjoon, a Golden Tiger" Jin said, Namjoon giving me a small smile and a wave.

"I'm Yoongi, a Melantistic Fox" He said, "I will say, I didn't expect to see another Melantistic Hybrid, especially one who was a stray."

"Well, you clearly don't know who we are, so before someone else tells you..."

"Hello, we are BTS" They chant together. You furrow your eyebrows before remembering that there was a chance of encountering idols in the facility.

"Oh" You start, "idols?"

"Is that a problem?" Yoongi questions

"I don't know much about Korean Idols, so if you're expecting me to freak out, you're going to be disappointed." I confess

"We prefer it this way, lets us get to know each other at the same time" Jimin said.

"However, we are expected to be independent by the end of the week" Namjoon say with a grimace.

"So, we have to be fully bonded?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"Yes, but only to two members, the rest can be finished by the end of the month. Our company believes it's best to slowly introduce you to our fans." Namjoon confirm.

"But for today, we are going to just get to know you, no pressure to bond. Take it slow." Jin says

"Unfortunately, I give it 24 hours before the pill they made us take wears off and I am thrown into heat." I share, remembering what the guards were discussing when I entered. "They were talking about it in English when we walked in, how if no one finds a pack the first day that the scent of a heat will force people to choose." As soon as I finish speaking, Jimin leans in, pressing his nose to the column of my throat. Looking up at the rest in worry, confirming what I said.

"Which means we will go into our ruts..." Jungkook trails off.

"Which means we need to prepare" Jin says, beginning to panic.

[oneshotnewbie]

Could I please have an imagine where the reader is somehow related to Travis and is transferred to station 19. When she meets everyone they all immediately like her. As time goes on Vic notices herself feeling weird around the reader. She tries to ignore the butterflies she feels and just starts acting weird. The others notice this, but only Maya figures out why. She tries to convince Vic to admit her feelings. And she does so after the reader gets hurt. Fluffy and angsty please?

ᕚ---ᕘ

The golden rays of the mid-morning sun slowly began to obscure the view as the wailing song of ambulance sirens permeated the busy streets of Seattle. Travis Montgomery, a veteran firefighter from the venerable Station 19, steered the emergency vehicle through the maze of streets with calm determination. His eyes were focused on the asphalt as his mind wandered to thoughts of the new recruit's impending arrival. Inside him, the anticipation of the upcoming reinforcements weighed against the uncertainty and excitement that came with each new addition. But Travis was confident that the team would receive a valuable addition to meet the challenges of the coming missions.

For several days, Travis and his comrades had been looking forward to the arrival of their new team member. The atmosphere in the station was electric, full of eager anticipation and quiet speculation about the person who would soon join their team. Yet in all their excitement and imagination, they had no idea of the deep, hidden connection their newest member shared with Travis.

Unbeknownst to them, this new recruit had a history with him that went far beyond the professional. A story that lay hidden in the unexplored depths of the past, now waiting to be revealed.

The ambulance slid smoothly into the fire department yard, accompanied by a muffled crunch as it came to a stop. Travis, fueled by excitement, jumped energetically out of the ambulance and rushed over to help unload the equipment. The other members of the team were already gathered outside, their gestures and looks full of anticipation for the arrival of the new team member.

Amid the hustle and bustle of unloading and preparation, an atmosphere of curiosity permeated the air. Everyone felt the tension that came with meeting a new member of the team and the hope that this person would enrich and strengthen the dynamic of the group.

As Travis and the others went about their work getting everything ready for the reception, they couldn't wait to finally meet you, who would soon complete their firefighter family. They waited anxiously to see who would walk through the door and how this new dynamic would shape their work and relationships.

With a sudden screech of tires, the sound pierced the air, and Travis's heart began to pulse to the rhythm of the excited drumbeats as a car rounded the corner. The door of the vehicle swung open and a young woman emerged from it. You radiated an aura of determination, tall and regal, your hair dancing wildly in the wind as a lively smile graced your lips.

Travis found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you as you gracefully walked towards him. “Hey, Trav!” came your cheerful voice as he walked up to you and wrapped you in a warm hug. "It's so great to see you again."

The rest of the team watched the scene with curious but confused looks as he took you in his embrace and placed a tentative kiss on your cheek. To them, you were a stranger, and the way you hugged and spoke to Travis sparked a mystery in their minds that was waiting to be solved.

Travis cleared his throat gently and then turned to his assembled colleagues, his arm lingering on your shoulder. “Guys, allow me to introduce you to my sister, y/n,” he explained with a wide, proud grin. "She will be part of our team from today."

A quiet murmur of surprise ran through the ranks of firefighters as they realized he had a sister they had never known about. But this surprise quickly gave way to joy when they noticed your lively charisma and intoxicating smile.

"My God, Travis, why didn't you ever tell us about her?" exclaimed Jack Gibson, one of the most experienced firefighters, his eyes full of admiration and curiosity. Travis shrugged slightly, his grin beaming from ear to ear as he let his gaze wander over to you. "I thought a little surprise would be nice," he replied with a mischievous wink.

Vic Hughes, the firefighter with the vivacious spirit and a heart of gold, was among the first to wrap her arms around you. "Welcome to the team, y/n! It's really great to meet you," her voice echoed with enthusiasm as she hugged you tightly. "I can't wait to work side by side with you."

Andy Herrera, the respected leader of the station and a source of inspiration to all, looked at you with a benevolent smile. "Travis told us absolutely nothing about you," she said warmly with a giggle. "But it's wonderful to finally meet you and work with you."

Ben Warren, the former surgeon who decided to pursue his calling as a firefighter, was impressed by your expertise and dedication. Although he had heard a lot about you from the Los Angeles Fire Department, he had never thought that you could be Travis' little sister. “It’s rare to find someone with your level of experience and passion for this profession,” he remarked appreciatively, extending a hand to you, which you gratefully accepted. "We feel truly blessed to have you among our ranks."

Dean Miller, the quiet and thoughtful firefighter, also quickly found a connection with you. “If you ever need help or have questions, I’m here for you,” he assured you with a warm smile. "We stick together, no matter what."

Travis watched with a pride that made his heart swell as his team immediately welcomed you into their community. It was a relief for him to see how smoothly you fit into the dynamic of the station and how strong the bonds of togetherness were already at that moment.

The warm welcome from other team members enveloped you like a warm hug as you were invited to join them and explore the station. It quickly became clear that you were not only Travis' sister, but also an experienced firefighter who was eager to join the new team. They roamed the corridors of the station together with you, and Travis could feel a deep gratitude welling up within him. It was a moment of fullness in which he realized that he could now share not only his passion for his job, but also a part of his family with his closest friends.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Known for her determination and fiery personality, Vic Hughes usually felt confident in any situation. But ever since your appearance at Station 19, she began to feel in a way that confused herself.

It started subtly, with an unusual fluttering of her heart whenever she was near you. Vic tried to ignore these sensations and instead concentrate on her work, but the more time she spent with you, the more intense the butterflies in her stomach became.

She noticed how her thoughts revolved around you more and more often, how she looked forward to every meeting with you and eagerly waited to see you again when you were apart. But Vic didn't know how to deal with these feelings. She had never felt for a woman before, and the fact that it was you, her best friends sister, only made things more complicated.

In her confusion, Vic began to behave in unusual ways. She avoided your gaze and tried to stay away from you, worried that her feelings for you would become too obvious. A reserve and aloofness began to appear in her behavior, which did not go unnoticed by the other team members.

Maya Bishop, the station's mindful soul, sensed the tension between Vic and you and decided to talk to her about it. When the blonde found her alone in the locker room, she carefully put her concern into words: "Is everything okay, Vic?"

Vic hesitated for a moment before answering, her gaze avoiding Maya's eyes. "Yes, everything is fine," she murmured quietly and with gentle determination, Maya placed a hand on Vic's shoulder, forcing her to look at her. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Her voice was calm and supportive. "If something is bothering you, let me know. We are here to support each other."

Vic sighed heavily and lowered her gaze to the floor. "It's just... I don't know how to deal with it," she finally confessed. "With these feelings that I have for someone."

The blonde raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "For someone? Who do you mean?" Maya tried to encourage Vic to talk. She hesitated again before answering, her voice barely audible. “For y/n,” she finally murmured and Maya's eyes widened in surprise as she realized what her friend had meant. "Oh," she said quietly, trying to hide her surprise. "And how do you feel about that?"

Vic shrugged, unable to organize her thoughts. "Confused, I guess," she finally replied. "I've never felt this way before and it's driving me crazy."

Maya placed her hand reassuringly on Vic's shoulder again and smiled reassuringly. "It's okay to be confused," she said softly. "Give yourself time to figure out what you're really feeling. And remember, we're all here for you, no matter what."

She nodded slowly, grateful for the blondes support. She knew she still had a long way to go to deal with her feelings for you, but she knew she could do it. She resolved to no longer ignore her feelings, but to bravely face them before she confessed them to you.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Weeks passed as Vic continued to remain silent and distance herself from you. Station 19 was in turmoil when the team was called to an urgent emergency call. The report of a man who got into a dangerous fire situation while under the influence of alcohol had everyone ready to go into the danger zone to save lives.

Victoria Hughes felt the tension in the air as she prepared for the mission ahead. The thoughts of you being in danger made her heart beat faster and she fought against the rising fear. Yet at the same time she was determined to protect you at all costs.

The mission turned out to be dangerous and full of unexpected challenges. As you and Vic bravely tried to save the alcoholic man from the flames and fight the fire, the situation spiraled out of control. The man became aggressive towards you and attacked you when you tried to calm him down. In the scuffle that followed, you were thrown against a pillar, which gave way above you and buried you beneath it.

A moment of pure panic gripped Vic as she saw you buried beneath the rubble. She fought desperately against the aggressive attacker to protect herself and at the same time rush to your aid. But despite her tireless efforts, the situation seemed hopeless and Vic felt overwhelmed and helpless.

When the team finally subdued the man and you were carried injured out of the burning building and to safety, a wave of relief ran through her, followed by an intense feeling of despair. She could no longer deny how much you meant to her, time was too short, and in that moment she knew it was time to face her true feelings.

After the mission was successfully completed and they were all safely back in the station, Vic came to see you. She found you in the infirmary, surrounded by Carina and Warren, stabilized, albeit with a few bruises and scratches on your face. Her hands shook with excitement as she approached you, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm.

“Y/n, there’s something I need to tell you,” Vic started nervously as her eyes met yours and waited for the two doctors to left your area. Her voice was gentle, but her words carried a weight of emotion. "I... I have feelings for you, y/n. Strong feelings that I can't deny anymore."

A hint of surprise crossed your face, followed by a warm smile. “Vic, I’ve felt this for a while,” you confessed quietly. "And I have feelings for you too. I just wanted you to start so I wouldn't look like an idiot if I misinterpreted something."

An indescribable feeling of joy filled Vic's heart when she heard your words that she had suppressed for so long. She hugged you tightly, and in that intimate moment she knew she had finally found the courage to face her deepest feelings. As you held each other in your arms, you both felt the certainty that this was the beginning of something special - a love strong enough to overcome the greatest challenges and connect the hearts of two people forever.

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Outbreak

Joel Miller Pre/Post apocalypse x wife fem reader

Joel Miller woke up to the sound of chaos. His daughter, Sarah, was already on her feet, eyes wide with fear as the distant sound of explosions and sirens filled the air. His heart pounded in his chest, not just from the panic of the unknown, but because his wife, Y/N, was working the night shift at the hospital as an ER Nurse.

"Dad, what's happening?" Sarah's voice trembled as she clung to him.

"We need to get to your mom," Joel said, determination overriding his fear. He grabbed his phone, tried calling Y/N, but there was no answer. His anxiety grew.

As Joel and Sarah rushed out the door, his brother Tommy pulled up in his truck. "Get in!" Tommy shouted, but Joel had other plans.

"Move over," Joel commanded, pushing Tommy out of the driver’s seat. "We’re going to the hospital."

Tommy, sensing the urgency, didn't argue. Joel drove like a man possessed, weaving through traffic and past scenes of chaos and destruction. When they arrived at the hospital, he parked right at the emergency wing and turned to Tommy and Sarah.

"Stay here and lock the doors. Don't open them for anyone but me," Joel ordered, his voice stern but shaking slightly with worry.

Joel approached the hospital entrance, but security guards blocked his way. "No one is allowed inside," one of them said firmly.

"My wife is in there!" Joel shouted, desperation in his eyes. When they refused to budge, he attacked with a ferocity fueled by love and fear. Joel incapacitated the guards, knowing he had no other choice. His wife was in danger.

He sprinted through the chaotic hallways, calling out Y/N's name. Finally, he heard the sound of a door bursting open and saw her, running for her life. Their eyes met, and she ran straight into his arms. Joel held her tightly, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

"We need to get out of here," Y/N said, her voice shaky but resolute.

They made it back to the car, but the situation outside had deteriorated. Forced to abandon the vehicle, they took off on foot. In the ensuing chaos, Sarah and Y/N got separated from Joel and Tommy. Joel's heart sank as he realized he couldn't see his daughter or wife anymore.

Years passed, filled with pain and survival. Joel's heart hardened with each passing day, but he never forgot his wife and daughter. Then came Ellie, a girl who slowly broke through his hardened exterior and gave him a new purpose.

When Joel and Ellie arrived at Jackson, hope and fear waged war within him. As he walked through the settlement, he heard a familiar voice call his name. He turned and saw her Y/N. Time seemed to stand still as she ran to him, faster than he had ever seen her move.

"Y/N!" Joel shouted, his voice breaking with emotion.

She threw herself into his arms, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. He pulled back, searching her face. "Where's Sarah?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Y/N's eyes filled with tears as she placed her hands on his cheeks. "Joel," she said, her voice trembling. "She…she died. She got turned into one of those things."

Joel fell to the ground, his world shattering. Y/N held him, tears streaming down her own cheeks. "I know, baby. I know," she whispered, trying to console him.

After what felt like an eternity, Joel managed to ask, “Have you been here all this time?”

Y/N shook her head. “No… I found Tommy along the way, and we were on the road for a while. Then we ended up here.”

Joel’s eyes scanned the area, searching for a familiar face. His gaze settled on a figure dismounting a horse near the entrance. The man turned, and Joel’s breath caught in his throat. It was Tommy.

“Tommy!” Joel’s voice rang out, filled with a mixture of joy and disbelief.

Tommy’s head snapped up, his eyes widening as he saw Joel. “Joel!” he shouted back, a grin spreading across his face.

Without hesitation, both brothers started running towards each other. Years of hardship and separation melted away in that moment. They collided in a powerful embrace, holding each other tightly, neither willing to let go.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Joel said, his voice thick with emotion.

Tommy pulled back slightly, looking at Joel with tears in his eyes. “I thought the same, brother. It’s been too long.”Joel felt a deep sense of relief wash over him.

Joel, still in shock, slowly nodded. He introduced Ellie to Y/N, his wife. She was thrilled, her maternal instincts immediately kicking in. They had always wanted more children, and now Ellie became the other daughter they longed for.

After the emotional reunion with his family, Y/N led Joel, and Ellie through the bustling streets of Jackson. The settlement was a thriving community, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of the world outside. Y/N’s heart swelled with pride as she guided her family to her home.

“This place is amazing,” Ellie said, looking around with wide eyes. “I can’t believe it.”

Y/N smiled, glancing back at the group. “It is. It’s been a refuge for us, a place where we can try to build a normal life again.”

They arrived at a quaint, well kept house nestled on a quiet street. The front yard was adorned with a small garden, blooming with vibrant flowers that Y/N had carefully tended. She opened the door and ushered them inside.

“Welcome to our home,” Y/N said, her voice filled with warmth and a hint of pride.

Joel looked around, taking in the cozy living room with its comfortable furniture and personal touches.

“It’s beautiful,” Joel said, his voice choked with emotion.

Y/N led them through the house, showing them the kitchen, the dining area, and the bedrooms. “This room will be yours, Ellie,” she said, opening the door to a small but charming bedroom with a bed covered in a colorful quilt.

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “This is amazing! Thank you so much.”

Y/N smiled, reaching out to gently squeeze Ellie’s shoulder. “You’re welcome, sweetie. We’re family now, and this is your home too.”

She then led Joel to the master bedroom. “This is our bedroom” she looked up at Joel with tears in her eyes “I’m so happy, I finally found you” he smiled and placed a kiss on her lips.

As they settled in, Y/N prepared a simple but hearty meal. They gathered around the dining table, the first real family meal they had shared in years. Laughter and conversation flowed freely, the warmth of their reunion filling the room.

After dinner, they sat together in the living room, sharing stories of their journeys and the hardships they had faced. Ellie listened intently, feeling a sense of belonging she had longed for. Y/N and Joel held hands, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

As the evening drew to a close, Y/N looked around at her family, her heart full. Despite the pain and loss they had endured, they had found their way back to each other. In a world filled with uncertainty, they had created a sanctuary of love and hope.

i want to make this is a series? comment if i should and if you guys would like it to be a series :)

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