#its the hardest to write and the hardest to get back into

[windixie]

500 days of you ── .✦ spiderman! gojo x reader ch. 1

pairing . academic rivals spiderman! gojo x reader

summary ⊹ ࣪ ˖ being at the top of your class for the past few years has not been a problem for you at all, that is until he transfers in, stealing away your spot with his genius intellect and annoyingly good 4.5 gpa, better than your 4.0, all while wearing that stupid grin you just want to punch off. what's worse is he also happens to be the cities hero, in who you fall in love with, unknowing to who was under the blue mask.

warnings ˎˊ˗ college au, academic rivals to lovers, eventual smut, gojo is a pervert, panty

stealing, dry humping, a bit of angst, hurt/comfort, sexual harassment, toxic relationship with family, unhealthy diet, fluff, set in new york like any other spiderman, female reader, p in v, oral, reader is a virgin, violence, gojo is full of himself, webs used.. inappropriately.

playlist ⟢ 500 days of you

wc . 5.4k

a/n . yes the title is based on 500 days of summer i was watching it while writing ..

500 days is all you have left until you graduate. according to your calendar that you have self made, placed neatly beside your bed so you could cross each day as it passes with your pink highlighter, you have exactly two years. today, december 20, marks your first day of long awaited winter break in which you desperately needed after enduring what you believe was the worlds hardest final exam for your humanized and social science class.

your roommate has decided to take this time to go visit her family back at her hometown, to spend a few days with her family wrapped in a comforting warm and cozy atmosphere alongside whatever her family provides. but you chose to stay behind, not that you had anymore exams to finish up or anything, but because going back to see your family, if you could even call them one, wasn't even an option. your relationship with them wasn't abusive or anything, just strained, always putting your brother's needs before yours. that's part why you picked the farthest college you could away from them, an entire different timezone.

you wouldn't call it running away, because that implies fear, you'd just call it more of a extraction. a nice and peaceful separation. sure, they reach out once in a while, but you always come up with excuses on the spot to end the call early. they barely knew that much about you, hell, they didn't even know which college you were going to even your plan in majoring in physics until a month before you left.

nyu is a beautiful campus, not traditional in any way, it bleeds right into the city. any spot there would be perfect to study, and well you didn't have anything to do for the next two weeks so a little studying before the next semester even starts. so with that you made your way over to your locker which was a brief fifteen minute walk away from your dorm.

you don't mind the walk, no rush, no crowds. the usual buzz of students chirping has died down. its not a eerily type of quiet, its peaceful. the faint sound of your footsteps echoed throughout the almost empty hallway. reaching your neatly decorated locker, you opened it unaware of the person right next to you, the door swung right into them.

"shit-"

your eyes widened as you saw the persons books fall right out their hands.

"oh my god im so sorry! I didn't see you there!" you immediately crouched down to pick of the several textbooks, most of them being physics for semester two. it wouldn't be a surprise if the owner of these books would be in the same class as you. "its alright" the mysterious person chuckled as they took away the books from your hands.

your eyes widened as they landed on them. or him, actually. he had beautiful bright blue eyes that for sure held every secret of the ocean, and snowy white hair that resembled the snow that was falling right outside. you couldn't even get a word out.

"im Satoru." he said, waiting for you to give your name to him.

"right.. right. I mean- im y/n." you stumbled across your words. he gave you a crooked smile, almost naturally as he saw you stutter. his hands now itched onto his heavy physics books, tilting his head as he studied you. "you have any idea where mr. thompson's class is?" his smooth voice asked. mr. thompson. thats the name of your physics teacher.

"yeah! yeah he's my physics teacher!" that came out a bit more excited than you intended it to. "yeah? mind being an angel and leading me to it?"

you laughed softly, hoping the light pink tint on your cheeks weren't noticed by him. oh but they were. the awkward tension melted right away. "of course."

he didn't mind the blush, and the way his smile widened told you that he definitely noticed your blushing, but he didn't say anything about it, instead allowing you to show him the way around the campus. he fell into step beside you recalling how you as well had this course. "so.." he broke the silence, "you actually understand physics are you just one of those people who pretend to know what you're doing?"

you shook your head laughing a bit as your gaze fell down to your shoes against the pavement. "no, no I understand. im majoring in it so I kind of have to. but it honestly depends on the day, sometimes I feel like the textbook is gaslighting me" now it was his turn to let out a laugh. and it sounded genuine. "thats great. back at my old uni, people were only there for the credits or whatever. no one was really as passionate as I am." you gaze shifted to him. "oh, which school did you transfer from?"

"colombia university."

"is the lack of people taking physics seriously the reason for your transfer?" you asked half jokingly, but you wouldn't be surprised if that actually was the reason, you knew some people like that.

he sucked in a soft breath, eyes flickering from your figure to look forward. "no I just.. wanted a different environment I guess." there was a bit of hesitation in his voice, but you didn't push it. after all you just met this boy not even five minutes ago. you both finally reached mr. thompson's classroom, his door slightly ajar. "he should be in here.. he always is., im convinced he lives in there"

he hummed looking into the classroom, catching a glimpse of the bald headed man hunched over a stack of papers before looking down at you. "thank you, y/n. I hope we see each other in uh two weeks?" the way he said your name sent your butterflies on a rollercoaster.

"yeah.. yeah I hope so too." you said quietly which earned a sweet smile from him before he walked in to talk about whatever he needed to with the professor. with one final look at the door you turned, only to remember you didn't even grab your books, let alone close your locker which was the whole point you came out of your dorm. you quickly rushed back with the thought of the new student lingering in the back of your mind.

── .✦

in the blink of an eye, the break was over, and the dreadful second semester rolled right around the corner. the traumatizing sound of your alarm that was set at 7 on the dot woke you up for your 9 am physics class, slicing through the silence and especially your slumber.

you groaned, clicking repeatedly at your phone to shut the ear piercing sound off. for a second, you considered skipping. but you knew mr. thompson doesn't play no games, and neither did that syllabus. so you dragged yourself out of your bed, limbs heavy, and mind still foggy as you began to miss the warmth provided by your bed. the sky outside was still that dusty gray, soft flakes falling right out of it.

after making yourself a cup of coffee, you brushed out your hair to be somewhat socially acceptable. you were the top student of the school either way, you had to be presentable at all times. you threw on a jacket and a cute pair of pants before making your way out of your dorm, holding envy for your roommate for not having a morning class.

by the time you reached the lecture hall, well your body because your soul was still trapped in between your blankets, you noticed that you werent there first one there like always. your eyes landed on him.

satoru.

he was seated right there at the front of the class, his posture was excellent, back straight, shoulders relaxed, giving you another reason to like about him. his eyes were trained on his phone, with his earbuds blasting whatever he was listening to in his ears. but they shifted as you walked in, and when your eyes met, a soft smile appeared on his pink tinted lips making your chest feel just a little too full.

maybe the second semester didn't seem so dreadful at all.

"hey.." he took out an earbud out of his ear as you approached, sliding in the seat right next to him. "hi" you replied, placing your bag next to you. "glad we're in this class together. haven't really met anyone else since we talked."

"that so? not even your roommate?" you unconsciously fixed your hair to try and maybe woo him with your beauty. "oh actually i'm living in an apartment" your hand stopped playing with your hair.

"an apartment? in New York? the school is already bleeding us dry.. what are you, rich or something?"

that earned a chuckle from him, a quiet one that made your stomach flip. "yeah.. sure." he had a grin on his face, making you question if it was a joke or not. you both watched as more seats filled up with new and old students. but everyone was eventually startled when mr. thomspon walked in and slammed a textbook onto his desk.

"well I'd like to say im disappointed from last semesters final exam results." he began, a hint of amusement in his voice, "but id be lying."

a beat of silence.

"im proud to say that everyone passed." a relieved sigh escaped almost everyones mouths, echoing across the room. "and of course, ms. l/n, miss goody two shoes," you placed a hand on your chest in mock offense making satoru sniffle a laugh next to you. "you got the highest mark, like every year." he grumbled. "im starting to think you're just here to make everyone else feel bad about their grades."

"only slightly." you muttered under your breath, loud enough for satoru to hear. he turned a bit towards you. "lets see how long you stay up there, miss top of the class, until I snatch your spot."

you stared at him while he turned back to face the front. he was just joking right? I mean no one could steal away your spot. no one has for the past two years, and no one will. right?

── .✦

oh but you were wrong. oh so so so wrong.

this boy wasn't your new friend. he was your rival, like his whole existence was to take away everything you've worked hard for. he wasn't your soon to be charming lab partner or the cute guy you'd hang out with at a local cafe after class.

he was your academic nemesis.

it didn't hit you right away. not until the first quiz given to the class was passed back in which you got a 97% on. but once you saw a fucking 100% on satoru's paper circled in a horrid red ink, thats when it hit you. and the cherry on top was when mr. thompson grinned and leaned down to whisper, "looks like you've got competition." you stared at satoru like he had just murdered your family, not that you minded, but in a way he murdered your entire existence.

he looked at the paper, like he didn't even care that he passed, because to him this was normal. he caught your expression and was confused to see that the usual soft look on your pretty face was now replaced with pure wrath.

this wasn't just 480 days of school anymore.

this was war.

every time you raised your hand to answer a question, it was always outshined by satorus. damn him and his longer limbs. and every time, the professor would call on him.

every. single. time.

you even considered this being sexist. then satoru would answer correctly, of course. damn mr. thompson for finding this whole rivalry hilarious. like if your whole identity as "the smart one" wasn't practically being lit on fire in front of everyone right now. you felt the shift, and you heard the whispers of you being out throned. and what made this whole situation worse was that stupid charm that he offered you with, "im glad to be in physics with you." a lie.

a damn lie.

and you couldn't help but hate him for it every day, every higher mark, every time he got called on, and every time he smiled at you in the mornings or in the hallways thinking you two were still friends.

it didn't help that everyone practically loved him. girls slipped their numbers to him every other day, even undergraduates which you found disgusting. he did everything so effortless while you stayed up until 2 am re-reading lessons, burning through notebooks, killing your pens, and even pulling all nighters like kay chung for important upcoming exams, mistreating your body with more caffeine than you could handle to try and claw your way back up the top.

until eventually you burnt out.

you ignored every 'hello' coming from him or any stupid joke he'd come up with, you settled on a different seat away from him not having the guts to stare at him be better than you for another second. not while he thrived and you crumbled.

and it was like you were back at home, always being seen as the second option right after your brother. a man. of course the second you feel like you are finally worthy of something, someone has to take it away from you. but why now? why after two years in which you spent trying to escape that feeling, was everything going downhill? you weren't even sure if he was even aware of the harm he was causing you mentally and physically.

that he was undoing you without even trying.

but he did notice. he noticed how you stopped talking to him, saying hello or laughing at his jokes or even avoiding his gaze like if it would burn your eyes if you made eye contact, and it hurt because you were practically his only friend other than a boy he met in his calculus class. suguru geto, aka his 'man in the chair.' he always alarmed satoru discreetly whenever there was a bank robbery happening down the street. because not only was satoru now holding the title of the top student of nyu, but he was also the hero of manhattan.

"spiderman makes an unwanted appearance again last night," the news reporter said with her voice being more sharper than the bold lettering on the headline scrolling beneath her, "at a secluded alley near the 'sunny time up' bar, involving a man attempting to steal one of the employee's vehicle."

click.

"when will this vigilante wake up and realize that this job is for law enforcement"

click.

"he's a danger to the people of manhattan! this isn't a comic book, he's interfering with police work!"

every time you clicked on the remote to change channels, spiderman was everywhere. for someone the people claim to hate, he sure is the talk of the week.

"dude is like time square on new years.." you mumbled mostly to yourself.

"my father hates him." your roommate, wendy's father is the head of the police department. he's always complaining about he boy who hides away behind the blue mask, claiming that he is causing more trouble in the busy city. you gave a dry laugh. "your father hates everyone, including me" she sat on your bed next to you, holding a bag of chips in her hand which she offered you.

"I dont see why it's such a big deal. he does more than the police has done in the past five years. he's like what? our age? from what I have heard he is definitely not beyond his twenties." you stared at the video of him swinging across buildings, the sharp blue color of his suit making it hard to lose sight of him.

the color reminded you of satoru's eyes.

your mood suddenly shifted as you thought of him, your appetite was long gone as your stomach twisted in disgust. "how are you holding up with the whole academic rivalry thing."

"shut up." you grumbled.

"I feel like it's one sided, well from what i've heard from you." wendy's voice was quiet, but her words stung. because deep down, you have told yourself the same thing.

"its like he doesn't even try." you dragged your hand across your face as you stared at the textbooks on your desk before they shifted to the calendar right above it. 455 more days.

454 more days.

453 more days.

452 more days.

451 more days.

450 more days.

another school week has passed by. another week of avoiding his intense stare across the lecture hall. another week of hearing him laugh with that black haired boy that had way too many piercings on his face. another week of debating if anything was even worth it anymore.

you looked back up to your calendar, staring at that number written beneath the date. 450 more days until graduation! you got this! how many more days until everything will stop feeling so heavy.

how many more until you stopped caring.

but its like you couldn't even catch a break. your negative thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of your phone. you slowly dragged it out your back pocket before looking down at the called id.

mom.

you couldn't answer. not with your voice cracking or tears falling. you couldn't let them know that you were struggling the same way you were all your childhood and you especially couldn't give them that sense of pride in the way you were burning out. how could you tell them the pressure didn't go away but it only shifted from different mouths in different places. you couldn't handle hearing, "I told you so."

'just stay in state, I dont see why you have to move all the way to the other side of the world. you won't be able to handle it like your brother.'

'your brother stayed here in the same state, why can't you do the same? he visits us regularly!..'

shaking away the echoes of your parents voices, you watched the slow rise and fall of wendy's chest, and you quietly zipped up your jacket before sneaking out. fresh air was what you needed right now. it hit you like a reset button- the kind that clears your head. not caring where your feet took you, you made your way through the city.

the night was still alive, buildings lit up, parties at every corner you looked at, and other people walking as well. it did feel refreshing. until you heard it. a sharp, disgusting wolf whistle behind you. it was low and mocking. the city is big, its bound to have horrible beings. your steps didn't stop, your stomach twisted and you felt sick.

"hey where are you goin' sweetheart? you look delicious." the slurred voice behind you said. you didn't even have to look back to know what kind of man it was. your pace quickened, trying to reach a store or anything that had some sort of crowd. but the footsteps behind you didn't stop, they matched your speed and quickened.

this was exactly what your brother warned you about. being in such. huge city will only be more dangerous. you felt your throat drying up and you looked down at your shadows, seeing the mans hand reach for you. but before even his fingers could brush against you, a blur of blue and white appeared. there was a soft thud, a groan, then silence.

you slowly turned.

"hey," spiderman said calmly shooting a web right on the strangers face. "she's not interested." the man stumbled back, letting out a muffled yelp, fear overthrowing whatever he was on. he didn't even budge. your heart was still racing as you took in his muscular figure. and then he turned to face you. ".. now what are you doing outside at night, hm?" his voice shifted into a much softer one, like he was talking to a kid. you wanted to talk but you couldn't get a word out as you felt the heaviness in your throat as well as the weight you've been carrying from the past few months.

the way he stood was so familiar. "im sorry.." is all you could get out, you soft voice quivered which immediately sent his senses off. "hey, hey its alright why are you apologizing?" his large hands cupped your cheeks. despite them being gloved, they were warm and comforting. his thumbs swept under your eyes wiping away any incoming tears. "why are you apologizing?"

"I dont know.." you answered honestly. but the ache of not being enough was resurfacing. he let out a quiet breath at your answer. "thats okay.. you dont have to explain." his hands didn't move away from your face, in fact you found yourself leaning into his touch.

"let me take you home." he whispered. "..I live at the nyu dorms"

he nodded before dropping his hands to grab the back of your knees without any warning, picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. "hold on baby, okay?" your tired mind couldn't even process the pet name before allowing your arms to wrap around his neck, placing your head in the crook of it as well.

without another word, he laughed upward, shooting a web into the sky. the loud roaring of the wind as you both swung across building from building deafened your ears. gravity tugged at your stomach with every sharp dip and rise. you unknowingly shook in his hold, the hand that was holding you rubbed your back before settling to cupping the side of your thigh, dangerously close to your ass. "its okay, I got you."

his hand and feet stuck to the side of the dormitory building. "which dorm is yours angel?"

angel

that pet name reminded you of satoru. why is it that the smallest things reminded you of him? why does your mind insist in continuing to think about him. "... that one." you pointed to the window just two floors up and to the side, in which he crawled to, tightening his hold your plush thigh. he carefully slid the window open, crawling in.

"we're here.." he could barely get out before the soft click of a lamp lit up the room, revealing wendy who was staring at the both of you, holding onto each other rather intimately. your arms were still wrapped around his neck while his leg was pressed right in between yours, in the middle of placing you down.

your eyes widened as you stared back at wendy. "you're awake.." you whispered.

"you're with spiderman.." she stated the obvious. you and him were quiet, the silence louder than you wanted it to as you backed away from him. "I wake up to see you missing, assuming you probably went out to party, only to see you grinding on spider mans leg? oh my dad would hate you even more right now" the masked vigilante cleared his throat, his hand was still placed on your waist, not wanting to completely let go of you yet.

"I should.. get going." he murmured, before looking at you, not wendy. and behind the mask, you swore that for whatever reason he didn't want to leave.

"oh.. yeah uhm thank you, have I thanked you yet? whatever just.. thanks for everything." you stammered, scratching the back of your neck. with one final lingering squeeze on your waist, he pulled away. "any time." he then turned back to wendy. "can you tell your dad to stop trying to tase me?"

"nope." she furrowed her eyebrows.

"..worth a shot. take good care of your friend for me yeah?" he asked before leaving through the window, allowing the city to take him back. wendy's head sharply turned to look at you.

"what..?"

she blinked, once and twice and thrice. "you've got a lot of explaining to do." she grinned.

── .✦

"you just come back from patrolling?" suguru asked as his fingers moved quickly on his controller letting out a few curse words when his opponent did damage on him. "yeah.." satoru closed the window behind him, tugging off his mask letting his white locks spread out, making him look like a model. he threw it on his bed, making his was deeper into his apartment. "you can't just use my pc whenever you want to man." he grumbled as he watched suguru get a victory royale.

"hey, if im helping you out on your little 'hero' shit, I can play whenever the hell I want."

satoru undressed, pulling up some grey sweatpants, but staying shirtless. scars adorned his torso and chest. "guess who I ran into."

"uhh that crazy police guy that tried tasing you."

satoru shivered at the memory. "no thank god. it was y/n." suguru clicked off the game turning his full attention to his friend. "the chick you like?" the blue eyed boy nodded. "saved her from some drunk shit, took everything in me not to kill that bastard after seeing her cry."

"what happened then?"

"took her back to her dorm.. met her roommate as well. turns out she's the daughter of the head of the police department. anyways, y/n looks horrible.. like there's something going on with her."

"yeah its you. you stole away her spot of top student." suguru reminded him. "I didn't mean to!" satoru defended himself.

"her friend for sure is going to spread around the fact that she saw y/n with spiderman. talk to her about it." satoru thought about it. if he asked you if everything was okay with you after last night, maybe you'll start talking to him again.

one thing about wendy is that she can't keep anything to herself. suguru was right, your encounter with spiderman spread like wildfire. like full blown social media wildfire. your name was brought up in multiple group chats, tweets, even those dumb confession accounts on instagram.

"SPIDERMANS GOT A GIRLFRIEND LMFAOOO"

"yall hear y/n slept with spiderman?"

"what do they call baby spiders?"

you were speeding past everyone, heart racing like you were in a heist movie making your way to your next class before you were stopped. "hey.." the familiar voice cut through the air. satoru. "heard what happened last night.. everything okay?" he asked, noticing how thin your wrists were.

was this another one of his acts? "yeah.." you mumbled. "everything fine." you tried brushing it off but he wasn't having it. he raised an eyebrow before his hand placed right on your waist, the same spot spider mans hand was on. "talk to me. you ghosted me weeks ago.. did I say something or do something?"

dont act so innocent, you thought. of course he did something. "physics is just,, stressing me out I guess." which was partially true. his eyes travelled down your face, looking at your lips before his tongue darted out to lick his. "let me help you then."

despite the hatred you held for your rival, you missed him. sure you only talked a few times, but you missed talking to him, his dumb jokes and his dorky smile. "..okay" you agreed. "maybe later this week." and for the first time in what felt like forever, your chest felt light.

── .✦

your classes were finally over. with your bag placed over your shoulder, you made your way outside after deciding to pick up some sweet treats for both you and wendy, who you were still kind of annoyed at for spreading around your encounter with spiderman. you reached the warm welcoming bakery, picking out whatever looked delicious, chocolate cover croissants, blueberry muffins, and a few cream puffs before making your way to check out. the second you stepped out, the rain decided to make an appearance. one that you weren't prepared for.

you clutched onto the bag full of treats.

"you again?" the voice came from above you. you looked up, moving your dripping wet hair to get a closer look. there he was, perched upside down from a streetlight. "..here to save me from the rain?" you asked half jokingly. he hummed, flipping down to land right in front of you. "of course baby. wouldn't want you to get sick.."

his arms wrapped around your waist before shooting a web straight up the roof of the bakery, pulling you both off the ground. you let out a little yelp holding onto both him and the pastry bag. seconds later you both were outside the window of your dorm, before he effortlessly opened it up placing you on your bed. your shirt rose up a little exposing your cute little spiderman boxers.

"is that me?" he asked tracing the waistband that had his heroine name in bold letters. your breath hitched. you completely forgot about those, or even buying them let alone wearing them today. both you and wendy went shopping a couple days back, going into the kids section and jokingly buying each a pair of spiderman undies.

'hey you should wear these to thank him.' she snorted

'eat shit.'

your hand shot out to push his away, chuckling nervously. "okay thats enough.." but he was faster, he grabbed your wrist forcing it to be on your mattress before his other gloved hand tugged up his mask enough to expose his mouth. his jawline was sharp, and those pink lips.. your eyes widened as you looked up at him. "ah.. spiderman?" he brought said hand up to his mouth, his teeth pulling off his glove before spitting it out somewhere else.

"nah.. let me see this." he pulled up your shirt, showing off your midriff, as well as pulling your pants down to your knees. "mm yeah thats me alright.." you felt your heart pounding in your ears. his tongue darted out to lick your stomach.

"spider-man..!" you gasped. he looked up at you, wanting to savor this moment. as if he wanted to memorize this exact version of you.

"never thought I'd be someones fashion statement." he moaned as he saw the wet patch starting to form. his thumb placed itself right on it. "this alright..?" he wanted you bad, but he also wanted you to be okay with this. you nodded looking up at him with a look that just drove him crazy.

his rubbing continued before he pulled away pulling down just the lower half of his suit. "its hard as hell to hide my dick in this shit." he grumbled.

oh.

oh.

he was huge. like really, really big and heavy, it couldn't even stand up correctly. he fisted his cock a few times, watching his pre- cum ooze out before placing it right on your clothed cunt. you wrapped your legs around his torso, bringing him closer in. "thats it." he groaned slowly rocking into you. your body shook with every hump of his hips, the wet patch in your spidey briefs grew bigger. his hands traveled throughout your body, hot and rough as two fingers found their way into your mouth, forcing you to lick them. "good girl, get them nice and wet for me baby."

his voice was low and dripping with arousal. he brought his head closer to your face. you whimpered softly as your hands tugged at his suit, your legs that were still wrapped around him trembled. "wearing these and you expect me not to ruin you?" he moaned as he dipped a finger into the pouch that every boxer had, feeling how much you wanted him. the two fingers that were toying with your tongue left with a loud pop before his lips found yours in a sweet but messy kiss.

just before he could release his hot seed onto you, there was a knock at the door.

"y/nnnn! let me in I forgot my keys!" damn wendy. spiderman sighed pecking your lips one more time before he pulled back, sliding down his mask. he reached for the glove he threw away as well as his lower part of his suit. "ill be taking these as well.." he murmured ripping off your briefs, which had you cringing at the sound, exposing your cunt to the cold air. "ill see you around okay, darling? thank you for this, such an angel."

and with that he left. leaving you with no release and nothing covering your lower half.

"y/n!" wendy knocked again.

"coming!"

oh you wish you were.

ending note . hope you all enjoyed chapter 1 !!

[ysaefinn]

hey I'm the anon that sent in the butler suguru ask and I wanted to say your response was so scrumptious I've been lowkey kicking my feet to it the last few days 🤭😊

I have also returned with new thoughts about mommy!suguru. I've been obsessed with the idea of Suguru doing everything possible to get you into his house (this is before you're officially dating) and then manufacting scenarios to convince you to stay longer and longer and longer and ... hold on, where did you used to live again? for example, your apartment floods and suguru jumps at the opportunity to invite you to live with him for the next week or so. as soon as you get inside his house he's mothering you at every turn, cooking elaborate meals for you, getting more and more affectionate over time... and when you say that your apartment is finally clear for you to move back in, suddenly there's a thousand reasons why you can't move out. his house is just so much closer to your work, your apartment could flood again, he'll be so sad without you, don't you like living with him? you should just keep living with him and keep letting him pamper you and you should quit your job and you should spend all your time with him... right?

anyway, i love your writing so much, hope you are having a lovely day/night ❤️

Butlernon you have graduated with a degree in mommysuguology.

My heart accepts this very easily which could only mean that it's canon, you're a little stray kitten to him and he's trying his hardest to lure you into his arms where he could keep you forever and ever and ever.

You never really know when you started dating him, you somehow find yourself in his house, probably thanks to him inviting you for dinner and bribing you with food and affection to keep you longer, then it's "Oh but it's too cold you'll get sick" "its too early to leave, at least have some breakfast" (while stacking up your plate and coaxing you into finishing your food so by then you'd be too stuffed to move 😭😭) or "why don't you stay for dinner? I'll drive you home after" and he's playing with your hair to make you sleepy right after <///3 soon enough he's picking you up from and to work and dropping you off at his place every time, Suguru's love life is all you so there's no mistaking his intentions either, movie nights consist of holding you in his lap "for warmth" and hand feeding you snacks, you could ask to go home to pick up some of your clothes but he'll just smile and puts you in his clothes, he will very casually mention sharing the same bed with you bcuz "it must be so cold for you at night, poor thing"

Before he leaves for work (only when he absolutely has to, he'd rather be your full time caretaker anyway) he gives you a little peck on the lips AGAIN VERY CASUALLY, and picks you up to kiss you again when he's back home.

All this to say that he doesn't care about a label, although when you bring it up he starts to hyper-fixate on being your husband and caretaker, ultimately he thinks the love he has for you far transcends what all these other peasant couples have THE MAN WANTS YOU INSIDE HIS WOMB AND YOU'RE OVER HERE TALKING ABOUT "will you be my boyfriend? 🥺👉👈" that isn't to say that he'll laugh at you or reject you or anything he is happy that you want him as well!!! It just makes him chuckle a little lol

[junibugs]

Saint Rocky

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Reader

Reader: afab! Reader, she/her pronouns

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12,231

Summary: Four years after a cure is found for the deadly sickness that destroyed the world, Eren and Reader are left in its aftermath. The world returns to its axis, and society rebuilds, but now that the sickness is a fear of the past, they’re forced to learn the fears of the present.

Content: Post-Apocalyptic AU!, Friends to Lovers?, Found Family, Religious Themes

Other Content: slight Jean/Armin if u squint, Pieck is disabled and has ehlers danlos syndrome because i do too and i said so, non-binary Hange, everyone who is alive early s4 is alive here, the dog does not die, Gabi defender until i die

Content Warnings: Dark Content (Mentions of SA, Religious Themes/Trauma, Mentions of Pedophilia, Implied Character Death, Violence, Weapons, Animal Death,

Notes: This isn't truly complete i just didn't want to write it anymore but wanted to give it to you guys so if in a few months it's a little different and actually edited thats why.

He’s careful with his steps, but not fearful. 

Everytime you hunt, you can see the part of him that was molded into perfection by his father. He knows what to do, how to do it, and he never hesitates. He holds his bow with a confidence that isn’t loud, but silent and sure. You trust him enough to refrain from telling him to slow down, so you let him remain a few yards ahead of you.

After a while, after times of repeating this routine over and over, you’ve learned to prefer it that way. He’s quick, gets his job done. He gets tunnel vision when he enters this headspace, so letting him move ahead of you allows you to watch his back, look at the wider picture, catch the little things that slip past his vision. 

You trust him enough to lead the way, and he trusts you enough to fall behind.

“I have one set just a bit farther up.” You say softly. He turns his head just enough to catch your eye to give you a nod.

He slows his steps without you having to ask and lets you catch up so you can lead him to the trap. He keeps his head up, scanning his eyes over the thinning treeline until you reach him, then he looks to you, waiting for you to step ahead. Here is when you take lead, patting over your pockets to check for your knife and tools, feeling out the lumps of metal beneath your jeans. 

Just in your sight, beneath a large tree and atop it’s skirt of fallen leaves, is the trap you set a day or two ago. Caught inside it, still shuffling about the metal bars of the bottom, is a large jackrabbit. A part of you is filled with relief, and another part is filled with guilt. Rabbits are difficult.

You catch a glimpse of auburn fur to your left, followed by a curious nose that presses itself to the cold metal bars of the cage. She sniffs deeply, puffing out clouds of heat into the winter air with every exhale. The rabbit jumps back and startles her, and her ears perk up as she steps closer.

“Ness, no,” You say softly and tug at her collar. She looks up at you with big brown eyes before awkwardly stepping back. 

You look back to the rabbit.

Everytime you see them you wonder what it’s fur will feel like beneath your fingers when you pull it from the trap or how it’s little heart would beat frantically in your hands if you took the time to hold it while it’s alive. You wonder if it knows that it’s never leaving the cage with it’s life, or that in mere hours from now it will end up in the stomachs of your friends or salted heavily and wrapped in butcher’s paper to be prepared on a later day.

It’s last moments alive are spent being thanked by the same person who has caused it’s death. 

“I can do it.” Eren says as he reaches you. He sets down the things in his hands and reaches for an arrow.

Possums are the easiest. Something about their faces and tails make it less difficult for you to give the final blow. Foxes are the hardest; with their yips and barks and big eyes and puffy tails, they’re too much like a pet for you to kill them, let alone be near them when they die. 

Eren has to do it. He almost always has to. 

He fiddles with his bow and then nocks an arrow, draws back, and fixes the head into one of the holes at the top of the cage. His fingers are tight on the bowstring, tendons straining, arms flexing. The arrowhead is in line with the rabbits skull; it will be quick, quiet.

Every time you’re tempted to call out and stop him. Every time there is a part of you that wants to feel it’s heart flit beneath your hands, or it’s paws kick at your forearms, before you let it go and watch it scamper off into the woods.

But you don’t. You turn away before he releases. There’s a thump, and then a clink, and it’s over. Ness flinches.

You turn back around to retrieve the rabbit from the cage, careful to not damage Eren’s arrow as you remove it. The fur sheds off onto your jacket sleeves and wisps about the air as the arrow is pulled from it’s skull, but you’re still gentle with it as you hand it to Eren, like you’re afraid to hurt it… even now. 

You reset the trap and bait it properly, then stand to brush the leaves off of your pants and the fur off your sleeves. You shove your tools back into your pockets and bag, and then look to Eren solemnly. 

He gives a curt nod and then continues forward, his eyes scanning the treeline. The rabbit is still in his grasp, his grip around it’s ears. It hangs alongside a squirrel that was in an earlier trap. He won’t make you touch them until he needs both hands. 

It’s beginning to get darker earlier on in the day, and it shows in the way the sun has sunk beneath the trees when it’s not even yet five o’clock. The blues of the sky darken, and the clouds shift to a deep coral, then they will both blend to purple and fade into midnight blues as the moon replaces the sun.

“How many more?” He asks.

“Just two,” You answer.

“Think we can get a turkey, maybe a pheasant?” He glances back, just for a second.

“Don’t ask me that. Aren’t you supposed to be tracking?” .

“Can’t track shit with this snow piling up.” He scoffs, kicking lightly at the ground to send some spinning through the air, “and she’s no help.”

You look at Ness as she digs at the base of a tree, upturning snow and frozen dirt and kicking it behind her. You used to think she’s found something when she would do this, but after falling for her antics over and over with no fruition, you realized that she just does it when she gets bored.

“We got a squirrel and a rabbit, that’s not horrible.” 

“You got them. I didn’t do anything,” He turns on his heel, faking a pout, hands on his hips. His thick brows are drawn together, but his eyes give him away. 

“Didn’t know this was a competition,” You raise your brows and cock your head, mirroring him with your hands on your hips.

He smiles, then immediately straightens out his expression, “Oh, did no one tell you? It always has been.”

“Whatever. Even if it was, I’d still be winning.” 

He rolls his eyes, then brings up an arm to push his hair away from his face. When his arm drops back down his eyes catch something just to your right. He blinks twice, then looks to you quickly, then back to whatever is behind you. You turn your head, only your head, and then over your right shoulder you see them. 

With their bald heads and red gobbles, there walks a handful of turkeys maybe thirty yards away. They must have been too far to catch your eye as you walked past them the first time around, and Lord knows Eren wouldn’t have seen them until they’re right in front of him. 

Ness is already staring.

You keep your eyes on them as you reach your hands out to Eren, using your touch as sight, and waiting for your to fingers touch the fur of the game and the warm of his hands. You grab your catch by their ears and tail. When you look back to Eren, he’s already nocked an arrow and is slowly toeing past you.

“Agnes, come.” You whisper to the dog. She obeys, coming to your side. You take a firm hold to her collar.

You mirror him again by crouching low, and then you seat yourself down on your heels as you wait and watch.  

This part fascinates you; the speed, the efficiency, the accuracy, the way his focus is so sharp that nothing can draw his attention away from the prize in front of him. He makes his bow is no different than the gun on his hip. He’s been hypnotized by the hunt. You’ve been mesmerized by his kill.

He keeps his fingers pressed around the string as he closes in. The turkeys remain unaware. The sunlight streaks past them, showing their movement in the shadows. And even when you cannot bear to watch him kill the small game that get caught up in your traps, you can’t seem to look away as his arrow slices through the still autumn air and lodges itself into one of their chests. The other turkeys become a flurry of feathers and noise, and they’re up and gone as fast the arrow killed.

Eren straightens out, tall and broad-shouldered, and lets out a deep exhale. You can see his shoulders relax, even beneath the thick of his jacket, because the jokes will only go so far. If he had returned with nothing, he would beat himself up for it, and not because of faux competition.

You follow him after the kill, your fingers still tight around a pair of ears and a tail. When you get to him, he’s already pulled out his arrow and grabbed the bird by it’s ankles. You hate the way its head hangs so limply and its long neck bends so easily as he pulls it from the ground. You have to look away.

“Lead the way.” He says.

You bring him to the final two traps, finding only a squirrel caught within one. As the sun dips below the horizon and the sky darkens, you return to the church with full hands and empty stomachs.

***

Niccolo meets you in the kitchen. His excitement had gotten the best of him, and he had pulled out an array of spices and seasonings with the hopes of you returning with game.

He allows you to skin and gut them inside, as long as you keep them away from the vegetables and canned goods. So you grab a cutting board and decide to work on the metal table that is separate from the main countertops. You shed your jacket and roll the sleeves of your thermal up to your elbows. Your knife is grabbed from your pocket and you switch it open before starting at the neck. 

You zone out. 

Just because this part isn’t as hard as the hunt, doesn’t mean it’s easy. It’s bloody and gross and warm and it makes weird sounds and has weird smells. You let your eyes fall out of focus and you try and keep your attention on Niccolo preparing the rest of the meal rather than the feeling of insides on your palms. 

He cuts quickly, skillfully, in a way that never lets anyone forget the work he did as a professional chef. You remember him sharing that he had worked banquets and galas for the affluent; the kind of people who were so wealthy, so powerful, that you didn’t even know their names. A part of you had thought he was lying, comforting himself with successes that used to be his dreams and should have been his reality. But then he would use these elegant terms to refer to the simplest of techniques, or make dishes that made you question your skepticism and finally believe him.

Your skinning and gutting is halted when Eren slips into the kitchen. He has also shed himself of his overcoat and pushed the sleeves of his thin crewneck up his forearms. His boots clunk heavily against the rock-tiled floor as he makes his way past Niccolo and over to you.

“Go wash up. I’ll do it,” He gently nudges you aside with shoulder, strong body pressing against yours to take over your job of cutting and emptying. 

You don’t push back, not caring to dispute over blood and guts. He doesn’t look up before taking your knife from the counter and picking up from where you had left off. You don’t have to say ‘thank you’ for him to know, so you shuffle around Niccolo with your hands in the air out of caution of the blood on your hands, and make your way to the bathroom.

Eren does your former job much quicker, but more careless, and Niccolo has to stern him twice about being sloppy when bagging the entrails because he’s getting drops of blood on the floor. Eren chuckles when Niccolo reminds him that, “This is my kitchen.” Because this is the farthest one could get from an industrial sized kitchen; with it’s old cabinets and wood burning stove. 

Finding the monastery was pure luck, and being welcomed in by it’s inhabitants was even more so. Eren guesses that in a way it is Niccolo’s kitchen, for he was here before the rest of you were, and no one else has a clue about cooking for upwards of twenty people. 

But before Niccolo was Historia. From what you’ve heard through hushed whispers, from a distance, and under the cover of darkness, she was here before it all happened. Everyone had come from other places, had other homes, other families, other friends, but not her.

“She was baptized here,” You remember Armin saying softly, “when she was little.”

You figured that is why she is so hesitant to leave. She must have lived here, grown here; ate, slept, and breathed here. She’ll birth right here too. And in the Church, perhaps, she’ll lay her child in the manger that stands on the altar like the Virgin Mary herself did. And maybe on the eighth day, she’ll christen the child the way she once was, with the still water that has remained in the pool since the start.

You bet the water is soft with age, in a way that is too difficult to explain. It wouldn’t be like the water that you now wash over your bloodied hands. This water is too cold, too sharp, it would make her baby cry. Within that realization, you turn the faucet to the right and wait patiently for the water to heat up. Goosebumps erupt up your forearms and over the back of your neck as your hands, cold from the winter’s air, are warmed slowly.

The cuffs of your sleeves are damped by your wet fingers as you pull your shirt back down to your wrists, but you don’t fuss with them, planning on changing your shirt to rid yourself of shedded fur and feathers. It’s traded for one of your father’s sweatshirts that you find buried within the drawers of the wardrobe you share with Pieck.

She was lucky enough to arrive to the monastery before you, giving her the choice to pick the bed away from the cold of the window on your side of the room. You were lucky to arrive later, able to avoid the loneliness that would be rooming alone within a building so big. If the world had given you the luxury of going to school, you would want a roommate like her. For most of the day she keeps herself curled into the part of her bed where the corner of the mattress meets the corner of the wall, but you don’t mind. When she’s awake she’s charming and soft-spoken, funny and intelligent; she puts in work when her body gives her the chance.

She’s not in her usual spot, so it’s safe to assume she’s wrapped herself in a blanket and tucked herself before the wood-burning fireplace to watch the old Christian movies that have been spun into VHS tapes by the people that were here before. It’s only those movies; with their poorly done special effects and actors that hadn’t done another film before and never did another after. You’ve found a handful of CD’s that have more mainstream films burned into them, but the television here is only VCR, and the luxury of DVD and cable is long in the past.

***

Eren’s gaze is pulled away from the bones and entrails before him and towards the soft voice of his best-friend. Armin stands in the open entryway between the kitchen and the dining room with his hands clasped in front of him, watching Niccolo as he cooks, checking in politely.

Armin only does this when the others get antsy. They must have heard about today’s success and let their stomachs speak before their heads. He can hear the faint sounds of the television playing in the living room, alongside the occasional stern voice that follows an eruption of giggles. He doesn’t have to peek around the corner to know who sits on those aged couches and faded carpet to crowd before the buzzing screen.

‘They’re watching that one movie’ He thinks, ‘with that one scene of Jesus fully nude’

“I think he’s almost done…” Connie says hesitantly, getting up from his spot at the island to peer over Niccolo’s shoulder and sneak a glance at the meat on the stove.

“Eren’s just cleaning up.” Niccolo adds, “But yeah, almost done.”

“Even with all that meat?” Armin asks, giving Eren a grateful glance.

“I’ll have it wrapped for another day.”

Armin steps farther in, sliding himself beside Eren, cautiously watching as he shoves the rest of the mess into a trash bag. “If it didn’t exhaust you both so much I’d make you guys go on every run with the amounts you bring in.”

“We’re fine, just send us.” Eren says, “Or I could go alone.”

Armin huffs, “You wouldn’t get half as much done without her.”

“Would too.”

“No, and besides, you would complain if I sent you by yourself.”

Armin was right. The thought of going alone sounded dreadful. Hours upon hours of scouring frozen terrain with no one to carry his game, to reset the traps, to listen to him complain about drawing his bowstring with frozen fingers over and over until his fingertips are red and raw. But it was the thought of going without you that sounded even more upsetting.

When you two were away from the camp, away from the lives you were forced to live, he was able to finally think. You let him say things that he can’t say to the others; let him pour out all the nonsense that’s piled up in his brain throughout the day, you get to talk about your past lives without the fear of being reprimanded for it. It’s like he’s writing in a diary, but the pages are you.

He decorates you with pictures, receipts, trinkets, all sorts of things that he usually keeps to himself. He’ll peel apart the pages of your mind and glue parts of himself onto them. He shows you the things he hides in the box that’s tucked beneath the clothes in his dresser; his fathers broken compass, and his drivers license, and polaroids of his friends and family. And then you’ll ask about Grisha, and laugh and tease him over his short hair and the scowl on his face in all of the pictures. 

He opens himself up for you too, when you let yourself. You’re like a jigsaw puzzle, and you give him pieces over time, and with each piece he’ll compare them to the rest and try to see where they fit into the bigger picture that is you.

He truly wouldn’t want to hunt with anyone else, not even himself. Because when the two of you are miles out after trudging through the frosted foliage with runny noses and watering eyes, when you’re smoking old cigarettes and ashing them into the snow, talking until the sky goes dark and you’re both so tired that you wonder if you’ll even make it back, he feels more than normal. He feels alright.

***

“Dinner’s ready!” Gabi shouts, slightly out of breath after flying up the stairs and around the corner of your doorframe. Ness jumps and nips at the hem of her shirt, and Gabi’s hand pushes at her snout to let her know that they’re not playing chase.

“Okay, I’ll be just a minute.” You tell her with a smile, and she goes bounding down once again, feet thumping loudly against the hard wood stairs. When you hear Levi stern her for running in the house, you finally get up.

Before entering the kitchen, you’re greeted by the savory smell of seared turkey and roasted corn, and you think you can make out the scent of Campbell’s canned vegetable soup, which is confirmed shortly by the large pot you see still simmering over the stove.

The kids have set the table, you can tell by the mismatched plates and plastic cups, something Levi would’ve never let slide if he had done it himself. But he sits contently at the head of the table, his plastic cup replaced with a teacup and filled with freshly brewed black tea. He prefers English Breakfast, but you ran out about a month ago.

Niccolo has Sasha and Connie bring the food to the island, but they don’t do so without sneaking a few bites, and once everyone has gathered into the kitchen, they’re allowed to grab their plates and are first in line for their servings. You and Eren are last to get up for food, letting your appetite return from the hunt before giving the turkey a glance.

He nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands occupied by a plate, and you look up to him. He has a smile on his face and his eyes point to the turkey before looking back at you.

“Yeah yeah, shut it.” You groan over his gloating. The size of the thing is impressive, you’ll give him that, but you won’t let him forget how he whined and complained about the weight of it with every step back to the church.

He lets you go first, helps you when a slice of turkey is stuck to another and you can’t get them apart, then he takes that slice for himself. When you sit beside each other at the table, you pour him water from the pitcher, and he stares at it intently like he’s waiting for it to turn to wine. 

You sit at the far end of the table, and although you’ve aged your ways into your twenties the older bunch are still sat at the kids table with Gabi and the others. None of you mind, you get to whisper amongst yourselves and tell jokes that are a little too mature for the kids and say things that are a touch to vulgar for the real adults. You corrupt Colt with your antics; who’s just a little too young to participate, but old enough now where Mikasa no longer feels the need to cover his ears.

You giggle over spilt soup and steal from each others plates so you don’t have to get up for seconds, and when Connie says something particularly crude, you cover your mouths to try and keep your drinks in, but water slips through your fingers with your laughter and the table is a mess before your meal is done.

Everyone finishes one by one and take turns rinsing their plates before stacking them in the sink, returning to the table to finish conversations before leaving the kitchen. But you never get the chance to leave, because Levi, Hange, and Erwin are standing up at the head of their table and Armin follows short after realizing what’s occurring.

“Alright,” Levi begins, and gives everyone a moment settle down before continuing, “As we can see, the snow hasn’t melted.”

It takes you only a second before recognizing where this conversation is going to go.

“Given that it’s early November, this means it won’t be going away.”

“It also means we’re closer to Christmas.” Hange adds with an excited whisper.

Levi ignores their statement and continues, “There are a few things we need to go over, a few changes that are going to happen since last year.”

You know what this means. Fall and spring give you the luxuries of harvest and game, but the extremes of middle America’s winter and summers will freeze you tough and burn you dry. 

“Myself, Erwin, Hange, and Armin have discussed how we’re going to adjust for this winter.”

Beside you, Eren holds his head in his hands. This discussion has been held every year since you’ve been here and he hates it every time. He’s never agreed with how they decide to handle the cold months, has never shied from sharing his opinions, but it only seems that the rules get stricter and stricter as time goes on.

As much as he hates to do what he’s told at this time, the rules getting tighter makes more and more sense. The longer you stay here, the less you have, the more you go through, and more people come along.

You only half listen to Levi speak, because your job will always remain the same. Go out when you’re told, to get what you’re told. You hear him talk about cutting down on runs, something about rationing, how the radio’s are going to be finicky as always, that the lake is completely froze over, and to not leave unless you have to. His voice is white noise as you watch Eren out of the corner of your eye. He only moves to absentmindedly pet Agnes as she sits beside him.

He does this every year. He’ll tune out Levi’s voice, work himself into unrest, take it out you and Mikasa, blame Armin, then yell at Levi in the middle of the night before storming off towards the moon. No one chases after him, Agnes will bark at the door for a while, then lay down in the foyer and wait for him to return. You do the same, only you lay in your bed and turn to face the cobblestone wall, staring at the grooves, and listening closely for the sound of returning footsteps.

He argues the same thing every time.

“So we’re just gonna hide in here like sitting ducks waiting for someone to jump us or kill us or worse…?”

And he always gets the same answer.

“It’s not hiding, Eren, it’s being smart. We’re playing the long game.”

The moment the conversation ends, Eren’s getting up and walking out of the kitchen. He doesn’t push his chair in. You don’t care to follow him, but you watch where he goes. He heads up the stairs without looking back, and then you hear the door to his room shut just a little harder than usual. You look to Mikasa with wide eyes and pursed lips, she looks back and rolls her eyes in acknowledgement, shaking her head at him. She rubs at her eyes and runs a hand through her dark hair, and that’s how you know that she’s determined its a ‘tomorrow problem’. You listen to her cue, and start your own way up the stairs to your room, following behind Pieck.

“It’s too late for his games,” She says softly from behind you. You smile even though you know she can’t see your face. 

Pieck always takes a little longer to get up the stairs, but you never mind. You’re always far to exhausted to ever think about wishing that she couldn’t go a little quicker. You watch the foot of her crutch knock against the wooden steps, and the monotony makes your eyes heavy with sleep. 

You tell Mikasa a quick goodnight before following Pieck into your shared room. You change out of your clothes with half open eyes, and stumble as you toe your boots off. The beds are small, could only fit two people if you tried to sardine it, but they somehow always manage to feel like the greatest expanse of clouds after hours of walking.

Your curled beneath the sheets with closed eyes before Pieck has even turned the lamp off, Agnes curled at her feet. Once she does, you only stay awake until you can hear her soft breathing, and that lulls you to sleep.

***

The blankets are warm and soft when you wake up, and your eyes are still heavy. When you pry them open, you expect the soft light of sunrise streaking through the window, but instead its only the moon. It’s only a bit more than half full, with a swelling belly and dark craters. It shines though the window panes and patterns across your beige sheets.

Your confused for a moment, staring up at her as she’s in the middle of the sky. Then you feel a push to your shoulder, and it takes a second for you to realize that it wasn’t the first.

“Hey…” You hear a whisper along with another push. You turn from facing the wall to see who wakes you.

“What?” You mumble, irritation slight in your voice. Your eyes are still heavy with sleep and you hope that whoever beckons your consciousness is quick with it.

“Can we take a walk?” The voice asks. 

Your brain associates the question with a person before their voice. He does this sometimes; wakes you up in the middle of the night when the stars are the brightest and the air is the coldest.

“It’s so cold.” You argue, but there’s not enough strength in your words. You’ll give in, you always do.

“Please,” He adds. You begin to  make out the gray of his eyes in the moonlight.

You huff, “Alright.”

You nudge at his bottom with your knee to give you room to get out from the blankets. The wooden floor is cold, you can feel it even through your wool socks. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps and you quickly reach for a sweatshirt before addressing him again. The floor creaks beneath your quick steps and you know Pieck will stir awake. Your eyes flit to Agnes, she’s awake but she doesn’t sit up, she only stares with her beady eyes.

You slip the sweatshirt on over your sleep thermals as fast as possible, and then slide on sweatpants over your long johns. You cover your socks in a second pair and seal them over the ankle hem of the pants. You glance at Eren.

“‘so confident that I’d come with that you already dressed.” You murmur, tugging snow pants atop of the two layers you already have.

“I was gonna go whether or not you joined me,” He says.

You don’t respond. Instead, you pull on your boots and sling your coat on. You pull a hat over your head, one Historia knit in her free time, and zip your coat all the way up to your neck. Gloves follow.

“Okay.” You say, letting him know you’re ready. 

He stands, his windbreaker rustling and boots knocking against the floor. You wonder how you didn’t hear him come in. You glance to Pieck. She’s awake. You can see the glisten of her eyes, but can’t make out her irises or pupils. Agnes is as well, sitting up now.

“Sorry,” You whisper, “don’t tell.”

Her hand slips from under her blankets and to her mouth, and you can just make out her make a zipping motion over her lips. She tosses the key.

You leave with Eren behind you, trying your best to navigate the darkness of the church, toeing softly down the stairs, carefully maneuvering around furniture throughout the halls, then grasping Eren’s bow from the front entrance with gentle fingers. The quiver is grabbed with your other hand. You turn and hand them to him before heading towards the back entrance. The front is too loud with its hefty wooden doors and thick metal locks, it would wake the whole camp. The back door is across the church from where everyone sleeps. You slip out with ease.

You’re not supposed to be out past ten for ‘safety reasons’ that Levi deems important. Eren believes it’s more for his own comfort than anything; you agree.

A new layer of snow flurries softly to the ground and you both press your boots into it as you trail off into the woods. You walk in one direction and one direction only, not risking getting lost. Agnes isn’t there to guide you home if you do.

You don’t have to ask Eren what he wants to talk about, you already know. You also know he isn’t looking for a conversation, he just wants to go on knowing that someone is there listening. You make it almost a mile before he talks.

“I just think it’s stupid. I don’t know.” He says quietly. You can hear him perfectly fine as the snow muffles the sound of everything besides the crunch of your footsteps. “The benefits they claim are just so pointless. We should just keep doing what we’re doing and how we’re doing it instead of going through all the damn trouble of fixing for winter.”

“Yeah,” You murmur, half listening.

“‘and Levi’s just gonna be harder and harder on rules — he’d probably beat the shit out of us for being out here if he found out.”

“Probably.”

“I just don’t understand why we can’t keep it the same and if we find out someone’s creeping on us or planning a raid or getting too close then we just go after them first.”

“Exactly,” You toe at pine cones and leaves, kicking them ahead of you as you walk, meeting them and then kicking them again.

“Or we could just go find and kill everyone else before they even have a chance to think about it.”

You pause behind him and furrow your brows.

“‘cut down the problem at the root.”

“Well, that’s not—” You start.

“Why not?” He stops as well, turning around and stepping up onto what you believe is one side of the train tracks.

You’ve come out here before, walked on the rail lines, followed them until minutes turned into hours which turned into days. Once you went so far you had made it to an old station you would guess to be 50 miles out. You slept at a mattress store in the town that day; back-to-back under sheets that smelt like moth balls.

Eren stands tall on the track, slightly swaying back and forth to keep his balance. He looks down at you with stony eyes and arms crossed over his chest. The moon is right behind him, covered by his head. 

“Interrupt me again, thank you,” You roll your eyes.

“Sorry, go ahead.” 

“It just seems a bit much,” You laugh softly, “very dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He questions, “I don’t think it’s dramatic. Actually, I think this is a very serious issue that needs serious measures to.. you know… deal with it.”

You watch him as he continues on, talking with his hands, pacing back and forth on the tracks. You stand there bundled in your layers, hiding from the cold behind the neck of your coat, feeling the cold zipper touch your lips.

He goes on and on about things you hear every year that you don’t need to hear again to understand. You don’t necessarily agree with him, but you don’t think he’s wrong. You make sure to respond every now and then, ask him questions, give him reactions, doing what you can to let him know you’re still listening. 

You get tired of standing and choose to sit on the same track he paces and balances along. His voice fades to the background as you fiddle with the little rocks before you, collecting ones you think are pretty and then stuffing them in your pocket. 

Eren’s always had this weird carnal desire to protect. It’s almost animalic, like a sheep dog guarding its herd; sniffing out creatures in the woods and going after their necks. He keeps careful eye on everyone but keeps closer on those he cares for the most. You know he keeps the closest eye on you, always watching you out of the corner of it. What you don’t know is what to make of it. He confuses you sometimes, and you find yourself questioning him.

Are you his litter mate? Does the animal in him see you as his sister?

You feel a push to the back of your head, “Hey!” You look up.

“You’re not even listening.” Eren stands above you with annoyance on his face.

“You bitch,” You reach to take a fistful of snow and dirt and throw it towards his face. It smacks him in the cheek and the second it makes contact he begins to wipe it off furiously.

“If you were listening you wouldn’t be saying that. You would’ve heard me say that I’d bomb this whole country if anything happened to you guys,” He flicks the snow remnants from his cheek toward you and it specks across your face, melting into your warm cheeks, “You specifically. I’d probably want to do it all by hand if anything happened to you.” 

“Well now that’s just a lie.” You mutter.

Eren’s face gets hot at his own words, “‘s not.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I’m here.”

“Well why do you think you’re here? You’re the best — the only one I can talk to about this stuff.”

You believe him then. Eren would probably get far too annoyed or far too bored without you. You’re quiet enough where he doesn’t have to listen much, but do enough where conversations don’t grow stale. You make him laugh, let him talk, give him space but never too much and never not enough. You have his trust and he has yours, you’d give him your life and he would do the same and more. 

But you can’t figure out if his distress would be most rooted in selfishness or selflessness. Would he be upset because he’d miss you, or because he’d miss what you give him? Would he save your life because he loves you or because he loves how you make him feel?

Does the animal in him see you as a means for survival more than the human in him sees you as a means for life?

You stand up, “Very sweet of you.” 

His eyes meet yours and you can see his cheeks blush in the moonlight, “Stop.”

“I’m just saying that’s very sweet of you to say. You don’t say nice things to me a lot; I’m trying to give positive reinforcement; like Pavlov’s dog.” 

“That makes it sound like I’m mean.” He avoids eye contact, “I’m very nice to you.”

“Yes, you are,” You nudge his shoulder with yours and turn back to the path you came from stepping backwards into the footprints you made on the way there.

He follows behind you, “You do think so?”

You pretend to hesitate momentarily, but take the time to cherish the nice moments you manage to think of on the spot. They always seem to come out of nowhere, and are always a bit out of character; like making you tea when you’re sick, or scraping the mud off your boots after it rains.

“Yeah, I do.”

He feels slightly conflicted with your answer. He’s pleased with knowing that his typically aloof nature doesn’t hide his care for you, but he’s uncomfortable with it being addressed. He doesn’t like it being said out loud, it makes the silence that follows it quite claustrophobic

He watches you walk ahead of him. You’re all puffed up by coat layers, swaddled by cotton and wool, legs wrapped in sweatpants and snow pants so bulky you waddle a bit through the snow. He regrets not wearing as much as you; the cold still bites at him through his jacket, while he can see the finer hairs of your hairline sticking to your forehead from the warmth of your hat.

“Do you think he’ll let us go out tomorrow?” He asks.

“‘should probably wait a bit to even ask him,” You say.

“How long?”

“I don’t know. A week maybe?”

“That’s too long.” 

You press your lips together, thinking, “couple days then.”

You continue walking. The moon is so bright in the sky that there’s no need for flashlights; there’s no light pollution anymore. You can see the stars go on forever, deep into the horizon. They glow so bright that the constellations would be traceable through paper if you had held a sheet up to the sky. 

You see short, shadowed figures in the front window when you return. Their bodies are lit up by the candlesticks they hold in their hands; fingers wrapped around brass holders. Gabi and Falco, awake in the dead of night. You must’ve woken them. It forces you to enter through the big double doors, and you both groan internally at the thought of waking anyone else. The lock on the door rattles as you key it open, and the metal door knockers clank against the wood as you tug at the handle. You wince.

You’re greeted by a nudge at your knees, Agnes wiggling back and forth, nosing at your shins. You reach down to grab her snout, not trusting her to not bark.

“What are you doing?” You whisper at Gabi as she sits on the floor, tying up her boots. Falco stands over her, blatantly hesitant. It obviously wasn’t his idea.

She looks up at you with big brown eyes, if they were gray you could’ve mistaken them for Eren’s.

“I saw you guys leaving. I wanted to make sure you were okay. You shouldn’t leave without anyone knowing, it’s dangerous.”

You want to snicker at her hypocrisy, but instead you press your lips together and smile at her feigned worry. She’s just curious, you know it. She’s just recently been allowed to tag along on runs — only close ones, albeit. 

“I told her it wasn’t a good idea. ‘swear I was trying to stop her.” Falco babbles, but you see his boots were already tied. He had already decided that if he couldn’t stop her that he was going to join her.

“Falco shush. Gab, jus’ go to bed.” Eren says, quiet but sharp.

She stops lacing her shoes, but doesn’t take them off, “Only if you do.”

“We are.” You release Agnes and pet her head in apology. You appreciate her attempt to stop them.

You pat Falco on the back between his shoulder blades, ushering him upstairs. Gabi follows, shamefully holding one boot in her hands, and following Falco with the other on her right foot; the left decorated in a green sock that you know is mismatched from the other.

You and Eren trail them. You give him a look, you don’t know what kind, but you know he gives you the same one back.

You get to close their door behind them, watching Agnes follow them in. When you turn back around, Eren sits in a rocking chair that rests in the corner of the bed hall, lit by the waning candle in the sconce. You pull your hood and hat off your head as you tiredly walk towards him. 

He looks up to you with his elbows resting on his knees. He rocks back and forth so slow that you barely notice.

You fight the urge to bring up the conversation from earlier. It teases at your tongue, pushes at your lips. But you don’t. He looks mean under this lighting. 

You tug at the fingers of your gloves next, taking them off slowly. Your hands are sweaty beneath the wool. You set them on a narrow side table. Your hand outreaches to it and you lean against it. He’s not mean.

“What was that?”

His brows furrow, “What was what?” He gets nervous. He’s afraid you’ll ask about his soft spot.

“That weird little freak show at the tracks. You sound like a school shooter.”

His shoulders drop in relief, “My plan?”

“You mean your manifesto…” You sneer.

“Not a big fan, I take it.”

You step closer, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’d consider myself more so a skeptic.”

He scoots forward in his seat, taking off his own gloves.

“What would you change about it?”

You give a soft laugh, “Personally, I wouldn’t be so for all the… killing of people. But that’s just me.”

He lets you keep the high ground as you critique him, looking up at you from the chair. He doesn’t get angry, he only listens. 

“Didn’t take you for a member of the peace corps.” He murmurs.

You’re getting tired of his misdirections. You’re not looking for an argument, but you are looking for an explanation. 

“Dude, seriously, you’re gonna freak people out if you go around saying that.”

He looks down to his shoes. He tries to not let the guilt of disagreeing with you show on his face. He never feels like he has to explain himself to anyone. With you, he wants to, just so you can understand him. This time he doesn’t have the energy for it.

“Tomorrow conversation.” Is all he says.

You exhale heavily, treading carefully.

“‘kay.” You give up. You purposefully give him a poor excuse for a smile and turn away to head for your room. You hear him rise after you but you don’t look back.

He looks at the back of your head solemnly. He wants to tell you he’s made up his mind.

***

There wasn’t a ‘tomorrow conversation’. In fact, there wasn’t even a ‘later this week’ conversation. You waited for him to bring it up during a run, or for him to wake you in the night again to explain, but the explanation never came. A part of you thought he wanted you to be the first to mention it, so the other part of you refused to.

It’s like an insect bite, the way you want to scratch at it. No. It’s like a cigarette. You only want one because it will relieve the feeling the last one left you with. You don’t smoke, but you hope to find a pack of Marlboro’s during the run. You already have a lighter.

You’re two days in when you start hitting land you have yet to hunt to extinction. This is one of those big trips, where you have the privilege of taking the truck.

Actually, privilege is generous. You’re forced to siphon aged gasoline out of safety cans and into the tank by mouth. The gas burns your lips and tongue, gathers thickly in the back of your throat to where your hacking and spitting it up into the snow and staining the white all purple and green with oil. When you blow your nose the snot is stained black. And then, you’re only allowed to drive it in the mornings. You drive ten miles during the morning, walk it’s radius, and then sleep in the seats, warmed by old sleeping bags and worn blankets. You wake up and do it again until you either have enough game in the bed where you wonder if the truck will even move, or those red gas cartons are getting low enough to cause trouble.

The truck is backheavy when you settle for the night. It covers your east-end, leaves you both to cover the west; the land yet to be explored. You stare at the bones of the rabbit that was dinner, watching the grease and spit glisten under the low embers of the fire it was roasted over. You’re wrapped in layers of wools, furs, and fleece, but still… sometimes when you look at the bones too carefully — when you think about what part of the body you consumed, when you try and piece them all back together in your head like they’re prehistoric fossils — you get a shiver that runs so deep down your spine that you tremble.

Eren stares into the dwindling fire. His pupils are lit up. Amber bleeds from the grays and reflects deep in the black of his pupils. You stare at him through the corner of your eye. He sits three to your six. You watch carefully as the shifting air runs through the stray hairs near his face. 

He feels your eyes on him. He’s thankful the nip of the cold and the glow of the flame have already turned his face red. He tongues at his teeth to distract himself. He doesn’t like the brazen of your staring, he never has. It’s as if you know he’s weak to you, and you enjoy watching him squirm. There’s nothing sensual about it, in fact, it almost always comes off as predatory. 

If anything, that makes him far more uncomfortable. 

He looks at you, right into your eyes, and you don’t look away. His stomach lurches.

There’s a gross, tangible tension that rests in the four feet that are between you. You’ve talked about the subject less than twice, and there’s already and underlying animosity. There’s no argument regarding who’s right and who’s wrong. The fight is in who’s most mad about the fact that you two aren’t on the same page. You’re afraid he’s winning.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

You hear his voice but it takes you a second to realize he’s actually speaking. It catches you off guard. You break eye contact and look into the fire.

“What you said… I know you were serious, but were you like serious serious?” Your resolve weakens. 

He doesn’t speak. You can still feel his eyes on you, scanning over your face, checking for sincerity.

“Why do you ask?”

You groan, “Can we quit answering questions with questions?”

He sits up a bit at your volume. He doesn’t like it one bit. 

“That’s literally a question.” He tries to calm the situation.

“Eren.”

He says your name right back to you, not in combatance, but in mercy.

“I just want to know if you’re going to go through with that if things don’t change. And if you do, is it going to be… like… something that’s soon or something that’ll be like… years in the future.” You don’t want to stop him. You don’t ask for information to aid a prevention of his plans from happening. You want to know if he’s going to be placing his own life at risk for yours sooner or later. You’d like to prepare.

“Years in the future,” He waits for you to look at him again, “I want to figure out which one would be worse for us before I do the other.”

“Okay,” You say hesitantly. A chill runs over your skin.

***

You stir in the passenger seat. There’s a biting breeze at your cheeks and you go to pull up the neck of your coat. Your reach is obstructed by warmth — soft warmth. You try and push it away. You realize the warmth is also at your jaw, wrapped around your neck, pressed against your back. Your eyes fly open. It’s barely visible, just out of the corner of your eye, lit barely by the sunrise, but you the outline of a figure beside you. It’s gripping your face and pulling you towards it, pressing something cold to your neck.

A knife.

Even if you had the gall to yell, their fingers were squishing your lips shut, and then you realize there’s no one to yell to. You don’t see Eren in the drivers seat as you’re tugged out. You fail to catch your footing beneath you, and your heels kick up the snow as you try and find it but keep slipping. 

There’s a sting at your throat as you thrash, and warmth that leaks down your neck and into your undershirt.

You try and speak, but it comes out all slurred and jumbled, “Our game — you can have our game it’s- it’s in the bed. There’s a mag with 15 nine’s in the glovebox — I have a compound, by the fire, a bow,”

“Be quiet. Talk anymore and you’re dead, I promise.” It says, voice gross and nasally; it sounds like a teenager. but the beard scratching at your neck and it’s height says otherwise. 

Your eyes scan, and scan, and scan the snow and trees for any sign of Eren as you’re dragged further from the truck. You can’t find him. Your pupils are blown huge with adrenaline and you can’t see him. The sun blinds you as you’re pulled directly from it, and you think it’s on purpose. You can’t see the truck anymore even when it should be in your sight.

You grip at the forearm around your neck and push at it, scratch at it, dig your nails into the skin, you’re convinced you’re being rough enough for it to release you, but you’re not. You don’t know where all your strength went. The blade digs deeper and another gush of warmth coats over your chest. You want to lurch away, but that would mean running into the knife. Any act of defiance cuts you deeper, sends another sear of pain over your skin and through your nerves. You realize that, for now, walking backwards with it is better.

“There you go.” It grumbles. 

Tears swell in your eyes from the pain. Your neck burns hot like you’ve been pressed to the coals of your fire by the throat. You keep your hands on the forearm and bicep of it. You feel it’s muscles flex beneath your fingers. You breath heavy as you step back with it. 

You’re too far from the truck now. You’ll only sound like an echo even if you yell for him. You don’t understand how you’ve gotten so far so fast. It feels like you’ve fallen down a tunnel.

You’re too far from the truck. You’re too far from Eren. You’re too far from Eren.

Get up. There is no one coming to save you.

Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding into each other so hard you can hear the sound vibrate throughout your skull. Your dominant hand drops from the arm and it’s on your hip with fingers grasping around cold metal before you even know what you’re doing. 

Your jaw opens.

Your gun is tugged from your waistband.

You take flesh between your teeth, an entire mouthful. You gag as your tongue tastes fabric of it’s sleeve.

The metal warms beneath your fingers, slips perfectly into your grasp. You move fast. One hand reaches for the knife, grabs it, and then grabs at it even harder when it slices at the bends of your fingers. 

Your jaw closes. 

There’s resistance at first. Your tongue presses against cotton. You worry you won’t get through it. And then, 

And then, you’re reminded,

It’s only cotton.

And there’s warmth on your teeth, warmth on your lips, warmth over your tongue. And it’s wet. It’s slippery, and hot, and tastes like you’ve taken a bite out of aluminum. And the gun is warm, and hot, and it’s in your hand and reaching behind you to throw it off kilter.

You squeeze. 

And it slips.

It slips out of your grasp like a bar of soap in the shower. And before you can even think of how, your face is in the ground. There’s a fistful of snow in your mouth and you try and sputter it out but you can’t. It’s in your throat. You try and push up against your hands but they hurt. They hurt and they’re hot. The snow is in your mouth, on your throat, in your eyes, scratching your face, on your throat, stabbing into your hands, melting on your tongue, and on your throat.

It’s on your throat and the cold feels so nice. If you could breath proper, you’d want to lay in it. But you can’t breathe. You push against your palms again and let them burn. Your vision is white. You think you’re blind.

When did they get my eyes?

But there’s a deep maroon puddle melting away at the white. And the warmth on your neck keeps dripping into that puddle. You stare at it, and you realize you’ve looked just a second to long far too late.

A splitting pain cracks against the back of your head, and you don’t have to see it to know it’s your own gun being whipped across your skull. 

The snow becomes fire, and you become the snow. You melt into it; slowly at first, and then so fast you feel as if you’re falling. It washes over you in waves. 

***

The road is so bumpy. It makes everything hurt even worse than it already does. You’re conscious before you open your eyes, and when it’s too bright even with your lids shading you from the sun, you decide you’re not even going to try. You cover your face with the crease of your elbow, your coat acting as a mask. Your neck burns as you bury your face into the sleeve. 

Your head feels like it could explode. Your hands and neck are on fire, and your stomach hurts so bad you think you’re going to shit it out of you.

You’re not going to shit it out of you, but throw it up. And theres not enough strength in your body to sit up. Rabbit spills over your sleeve, and neckline, and infests in your wound, coats your jacket. 

“I know, I know. Almost there, I promise. I promise.”

You try and catch the second surge of it in your hands, but it pours into your lap. And you’re so disgusted you begin to cry. Your head hurts so bad you’re convinced you’re dying, and the pressure from sobbing doesn’t help, and you’re covered in sweat and vomit and blood and piss. And more tears flow down your cheeks in a steady stream because you want to shower.

You want to shower.

With soap.

***

There’s only pictures between puking and now. Pictures that flash through your head like someone is spinning through an old carousel projector. The thing is, they aren’t pictures from your perspective. You didn’t see them. You were there, but that point of view isn’t yours. 

You see them from above, like there was a camera in the corner and now you’re looking at it’s film. You see yourself from its view; watch as you’re picked up from the passenger seat, ran inside and spread over the dinner table like a cadaver. And then the film skips, there must be a scratch in the DVD, and you’re in the snow again, face deep. 

But they’re tearing off your coat, throwing it aside.

That was your grandmother’s coat.

You’re stripped to your grey thermals. And you see yourself laying there like you were game that was brought in; tied at the ankles, sweaty and glistening, covered in blood, pissed wet at the britches in fear, defeathered, chunks of hair absent from your head, and cut at the throat like you were shown mercy. 

You watch them poke at you, cut at you, string together your seams, baste you with wine. They wrap you in cloth, anoint you with herbs, soothe you with salves. 

And then christen you with water.

It does not feel merciful.

***

He hates the way you look. You look empty, misshapen, warped.

He hates it so bad.

Your eyes are fat and puffy, and your cheeks cave in, and your wounds are all red and raised. Your skin is covered in bandages that are always dirtied with your blood even when he and Pieck change them to be fresh thrice a day. Even if you were awake, he doesn’t think you could open your eyes.

They’re so swollen. Like two black and blue golf balls stuck to your face. 

He doesn’t want you to open them. Hange says the whites of them have turned red from the blows.

He’d be sick with himself if you did. 

Sometimes he has to step out. It’s not you, no matter how battered you look, It’s not truly you that he hates or that he’s scared of. When he thinks about it too hard, there’s an overwhelming amount of rage in him, and if he doesn’t step away he gets scared he’ll throw a lamp at Pieck.

She’s the only other one allowed in there.

She was the first one allowed in other than Hange, Erwin, Levi and Armin. If anyone came close to loving you as much as he did, it’s her.

She’s much more gentle than he is. His hands shake too bad, he gets too angry, thinks too hard. She can detach herself just enough to think straight; Eren doesn’t have that skill. He couldn’t detach himself from you if it was between life and death.

Pieck brings him back to reality a lot. She keeps him from spiraling. She can see when he gets lost in his head, just like you do. Usually she’s far more kind, but right now she’s not as nice as she was. Where she’d used to call him out with words so soft you wouldn’t dare to argue with them, she now slaps him across the face open-palmed. 

It takes everything in her not to hate him.

When they sit at the edge of your bed, holding your bandaged hands, she falls asleep last. When Eren has nightmares while asleep, Pieck is tortured while awake. She looks at him with dark eyes, lids so low they’re barely slits, pupils small as pinpoints, and she blames him. She lets herself, and she doesn’t have shame. When they’re awake, she stares him down and waits for him to look back at her so she can see him feel her eyes to the core of his being.

Often, she lets herself wish it was him.

***

You don’t have to be in the room to hear the screaming from the kitchen. You hear voices you recognize, but there are so many different ones that you can’t number how many are truly in there. You could get up to see the commotion, but you really don’t want to. It involves you, but you don’t want to be involved. So you pretend your head hurts and fake sleep.

You hear Armin negotiating.

Hange is giving half-snarky side comments.

Eren is yelling mostly nonsense and Levi is yelling back,

and Erwin just jumps in here and there to tell everyone to shut up.

It’s a sweet little voice that takes you off guard, and obviously everyone else as well. You can only hear Historia’s voice when she talks. She’s firm and loud, and upset. She’s upset and she’s fighting for you, which is strange. She had been there since the beginning, and only favors Ymir and Erwin. Hearing her not only agree with someone other than them, but Eren, and shamelessly fighting for you, takes you back just a bit. You wonder why, and then you wonder if you want to know the answer.

And then there were a few scuffles; shoves and punches exchanged, followed by brief and insincere apologies.

You don’t know what to think, or who to agree with, and you don’t know if there’s a right answer to the conversation. You don’t like how there’s weight put on your thoughts because of what happened. You want it to go back to how it was; Armin, Erwin, Levi, and Hange making decisions with Eren always complaining and Connie always confused and Gabi not giving a damn as long as she can explore.

The next day goes the same way. You don’t want to go downstairs; you don’t want questions, answers, looks, no looks, conversations, quietness. You don’t want any of it. Someone brings you food every meal; Pieck, Eren, Mikasa, or Armin often eat with you. When they don’t, you feed it all to Agnes, because when you’re left alone you think too much and that always ends up with dinner on the floor.

When sitting doesn’t hurt, and then when standing doesn’t hurt, you take a bath and scrub at the scabs on your palms and neck and everywhere else until they’re fresh and bleeding again. You make the kids heat the water until it boils; when it’s so hot on your feet that your body reads it as cold. You let the water tinge pink. Zofia brings you a towel she warmed by the fireplace.

You do that a second time that day. And then a third time the next day. And then again, and again, until you’ve lost count. 

***

Eren sits in a chair at your bedside. He’s cut his hair. You had told him to almost a week ago after picking leaf fragments out of it and flicking away pine needles. He had visited you after going on a run with Jean. He complained and you had let him. He said he misses you.

You need to cut it. You’ll get burrs in it. 

He had taken a dull razor to it in the bathroom, cut at it until it was choppy and rested above his shoulders. You told him you’d fix it with shears when you can get out of bed. 

He insults your hair next. It’s a nest of knots at the back of your head from where you tossed and turned on your pillow. He says he’ll comb it out when you’re better.

For some reason it makes him angry.

***

Anger is exactly what Eren felt. Pure, unbridled, unadulterated, anger. It got worse when he looked in the mirrors. He wanted to take a knife to the person staring back at him.

He tells Connie this, and only Connie. Connie is the only one he can trust. He’d never tell anyone, and if he did it would be Sasha. Sasha would only tell Jean. Jean doesn’t care about him enough to tell anyone else. And even he did let it slip one night between the linens to Armin, it wouldn't be enough, and it would be too late.

He woke up early that morning.

***

All the doting, the sympathy, it makes you feel weird and pathetic. You let yourself rot in the sheets until you’re bored of it. 

Two weeks later, you get up. You take Gabi and Agnes with you, and tell no one else.

“How far are we gonna go?” She asks eagerly. Her knuckles are turning white as she holds her Daisy branded BB gun excitedly. 

“Couple miles, I’m thinking. Or until you get tired.” You smile.

“That’d be you first, you haven’t done shit in almost a month.” She laughs and knocks at Agnes’ hip with her own.

“Bitch.” You smile and kick at her butt with the sole of your boot. She stumbles forward with a giggle. 

Her carelessness is admirable. It lets you feel normal, and in a way, vengeful. She’s told you before that you should go find them and kill them; more specifically ‘do what they did do you but with a gun and then make them beg for Mother Mary’s mercy’. You agreed with her. It wasn’t in a way to make her feel smart, or make her feel like she fits in with adults, or to acknowledge her maturity in knowing about the subject, but because you truly agreed. 

Unfortunately, you couldn’t do what you wanted.

When you woke, fully woke — when you didn’t just open your eyes and then fall into unconsciousness again — , it was almost dusk, you could tell by the way the sun stretched over the sheets. The first thing you asked is where they were. Usually, the rule is that enemies are kept not killed. But Pieck had told you that Eren had taken them out back the night they were captured and shot them point-blank execution style after having them plead for their lives for hours. 

You cursed him out for days on end. He cried, apologized, pleaded, and you didn’t care. That was supposed to be yours. Pieck tried to explain to you that he probably saved your life, and that your anger is misdirected. 

You told her she was wrong. Just because you’re anger isn’t at the expected person, doesn’t mean it’s misdirected. One thing about anger is that it’s a secondary emotion, and it never comes first. Which means, anger can be towards anyone, or everyone. Anger spares no one.

With Armin and Erwin and Levi, you felt betrayal first.

With Mikasa and Annie you were ashamed.

With Pieck you felt lost.

Jean, Connie, and Sasha annoyed you.

And Eren, 

Eren…

You were embarrassed.

Not by what happened, or what was done, but by what wasn’t done.

In those weeks you laid in bed — when you laid there in silence and stared at a the shadow of a moon you wish was there — you ground your molars together in frustration. You thought over, and over, and over… where were you for those 20 minutes?

Where were you for those 20 minutes?

And you ask him, every time you ask him, ‘Where was I those 20 seconds?’

Where was I in those 20 seconds where you decided that you’d get to kill them and I wouldn’t?

***

Eren left when he couldn’t find you. He has too many things to do with not enough time.

He wrote you just in case.

He brought too many weapons for himself to carry. They stuffed his backpack, lined his pockets, were clutched to his side, slid into his boot. Brass lined his knuckles, barrels sawed off of shotguns. His compass pressed against his chest, the cold metal sending goosebumps against his skin. He tied Agnes to Pieck’s bedpost, knowing she’d follow if she could. There’s no place for her here. No one will be guided home.

Where was I in those 20 minutes?

He can’t remember. It’s all gone from his head now. He thinks he was looking for dry wood. He’s not sure. How is he not sure?

First thing he remembers is seeing those hazel eyes peering over a mound of snow, eyes almost yellow; crouched over behind it. He remembers an open mouth, a pink tongue that was slobbering down it’s chin. Panting. And there was another one beside it, gripping your gun in it’s hand, pointing it beneath where the other one mounted.

That’s your gun.

He knows. He doesn’t know how but he does.

He remembers tying knots so tight his fingers blister, he remembers tying their hair into the knots, gagging them so hard they puked and choked on their tongues. He remembers cutting things off, shoving things into faces. And blood, pouring, oozing, puddling blood. Gushing, and gushing. 

And he’s covering you with an old quilt, sewn together with bible verses in the squares. Strapping you into the passenger seat, wrapping cloth over your neck, driving one handed as he holds it in place.

The truck was soaked.

He sees them in his rearview mirror. Hog-tied. Apples in their mouths. Their coats getting shredded into nothing but feathers over the gravel, their skin getting grated by the stones, faces torn apart by wood slivers. It’s in their eyes, their noses, buried into their gums, dust in their lungs. They’ve lost all their pink from either blood loss or cold he doesn’t know and doesn’t care. They’re tied out back to the crucifix.

He goes farther than you went that day. Taking that blood soaked truck with him. He drives until the sun rises the next morning.

***

You almost knock Gabi over when she stops abruptly in front of you. Your hands go to her shoulders to steady her to keep her from toppling over. She grips her gun with eager hands, and is raising the barrel before you can see what she’s looking at.

Her pupils swell, flooding her entire iris with black ink. Her fingertips are pink as she flips off the safety, even in the bitter winter air. Adrenaline surges through her body. The hair framing her face flutters about and wisps at her cheeks and brows. She doesn’t seem to notice. 

You step to her side and watch her carefully. She stares down the scope, brows scrunched, eyes narrow, hold so steady you could balance a coin on the muzzle.

You tilt your head, stretch your neck, and make binoculars with your hands to try and see what she’s got in her eye. When you finally crouch down to her level, with healing palms against rough jeans that send shockwaves through the mangled nerves in your hands, you see what she does.

200 meters away you see a triangle of yellow in a field of white glimmering in the morning sun, and beneath it, a base of umber. With it’s bald head and sharp eyes, it stares the two of you down. It sees you, you know it. You let it watch.

Gabi waits on an inhale. And it takes you a second, but you realize she’s waiting for you.

You look up at her. Her fingers wait near the trigger, and you don’t think she’s blinked since she’s seen it.

You look back at the bird.

“Get him.”

And before her exhale is complete, her clip is emptied between its eyes.

[imnez-daydreams]

“You’ll be off Poindexter’s case.”

brb cashing out. what.

He requested it.

Dex requested this.

nooo !! im holding out hope, either dex didnt request this or like idk theres a bigger play here.

Reassigned. Removed. Like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing.

stawpppp :(((( u are something !!! i feel like if dex rly made this choice it was less of tossing reader aside and more of like idk shielding reader ? based on dex's experience everyone hes ever cared for or let into his life have all gone. whether by rejection, abandonment or death. so maybe this is also dex's way of not only protecting reader but himself too. like almost as if hes thinking theyre just gonna dissappear like all the rest before, might as well rip off the bandaid now and get it over with. "leave them before they leave me" type beat yaknow ?

“I know,” she says gently. “But he’s not thinking like that. He’s thinking like someone who’s been hurt so badly, so many times, that letting someone love him feels like handing them a loaded weapon.”

man this brought me back to the time dex was going to off himself after losing his job and julie and everything. if dex allows someone in again, allows himself to believe that they care for him, when they leave just like they always do then dex is going to spiral to the deep end once again.

“Because he knows he can’t give you what you deserve,” she says. “Because he’s scared he’ll hurt you. Because it’s easier for him to push you away than risk watching you stay.”

i feel like dex would feel super paranoid or as if hes walking on eggshells. justtt waiting for the moment the person decides to leave. the smallest frown, the tiniest change in tone. so its easier to just deprive himself of the love.

“I know,” she says again. “But sometimes the people we want to save… won’t let us.”

tears. this is very realistic writing since this happens in real life too. we can try our hardest to help but sometimes the door to peoples hearts will remain closed off and shackled.

i agree that this chapter and last chapter were more on the heavier side, but i dont think thats a bad thing ! its realistic, dex is still a very complex person with a complicated past so it makes sense for this back and forth/distrust/pushing away. thank you for writing as always raey <33

Chapter 12

⌖ 

Morning Light

I woke up smiling.

Not wide. Not dramatic. Just a soft, sleepy curve of my mouth against the pillow. A breath that didn’t ache when I took it in. The light coming through the window was warm. Diffused. That honey-yellow that only shows up when the world is still quiet and soft and untouched by the day.

For a moment, I didn’t move.

I just let it sit there. That weightless feeling. The slow stretch of my legs beneath the blanket. The way the air felt cooler on my arms. My hair was half-stuck to my cheek. I turned my head, eyes still closed, and breathed in the stillness.

He kissed me.

The thought came like a whisper. Gentle. Unforced.

Not the way it haunted me before. Not like a question.

This time, it felt like a truth.

He kissed me.

Again.

And he didn’t regret it.

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling looked the same as always, white, cracked slightly near the corner, but the room felt different. Lighter. Like the silence wasn’t crushing anymore. Like it wasn’t pressing into my ribs or settling in my throat. I slipped out of bed slowly. The floor was cool beneath my feet. I padded to the bathroom, peeled off my shirt, and let the water run hot. Steam billowed up fast, curling around the mirror like it was trying to blur the version of me that existed before yesterday.

I stepped in.

Let it hit my shoulders.

Closed my eyes and exhaled.

My body felt like mine again.

Not like something fractured and overanalyzed. Not like a puzzle I couldn’t solve.

Just… mine.

And under the water, I thought about his hands. The way they shook, just barely, when he touched me. The way his breath caught. The way he kissed me like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

He was scared.

But he kissed me anyway.

And I stayed.

My fingers stilled under the stream.

He let me stay.

I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair slowly. Stepped out and wrapped a towel around myself, letting the steam follow me back into my room. I wasn’t rushing. I wasn’t scrambling to beat the clock or silence the doubt in my head. I moved through my routine with something I hadn’t felt in days.

Ease.

I dried my hair, combed it out with patient fingers, even clipped it half-up just to feel more like myself. My lashes curled, my skin glowed a little from the heat of the shower, and for once, I didn’t flinch when I looked in the mirror. 

I didn’t see someone falling apart.

I saw someone still standing.

Still trying.

Still here.

I moved into the kitchen barefoot. The tile cooled my steps, but it felt grounding. Real. I cracked two eggs into a pan, turned on the coffee machine, and hummed to myself as I toasted a slice of sourdough. The sunlight hit the counter just right.

And I let myself think about him.

About today.

About walking into that room again. About meeting his eyes and not needing to say much, because we already had.

Because he kissed me.

Because we’re not broken.

Not like I thought.

And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m being naive.

But I don’t think I am.

Not this time.

He heard me yesterday.

Really heard me.

And whatever weight he was carrying, whatever fear that had stitched itself into his silence, I saw it shift. I saw it crack.

He let me in.

I sipped my coffee. Slow. Let the heat bloom behind my ribs. I was going to see him again today. Not as a ghost of last week. But like this. Like someone who mattered again. Like someone he didn’t want to push away.

Maybe we’re not there yet.

Maybe we’re still figuring it out.

But today didn’t feel heavy.

It didn’t feel impossible.

It felt like something was beginning again.

And for the first time in days…

I was looking forward to what came next.

─────── ⌖ ───────

The walk through the halls didn’t feel as heavy today. No nerves. No tension coiled tight behind my ribs. Just footsteps, quiet, even. The walls didn’t feel like they were closing in. They just felt like… walls.

For the first time in what felt like forever, my badge didn’t weigh a thousand pounds against my chest. I nodded at a few people I passed, colleagues, nurses, the quiet receptionist who always tucked a granola bar under the counter in case I forgot to eat. No one asked if I was okay. Which was… new. Usually, someone could tell. That I wasn’t sleeping. That I was unraveling at the seams. But today?

Today, I looked like a person again.

I felt like one.

I slipped into my office and closed the door behind me. The click echoed softly through the space, and the silence that followed was different than the kind I’d grown used to. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t lonely. It was peaceful.

The kind of quiet that lets you breathe.

I set my bag down, shrugged off my coat, and sat at my desk with a slow, content stretch, back arching, arms raised, fingers brushing the ceiling. My chair creaked just a little under me, but it felt good. Solid.

I opened my laptop.

Emails first. Notes second.

Then the charts.

I moved through them with ease. Clinical. Efficient. No second-guessing, no mental fog thick enough to drown in. I was clear. Focused. Even my handwriting looked cleaner, sharper. I jotted down updates for two patients I’d seen last week, flagged one for med reevaluation, then paused when I reached the last file in the stack.

Poindexter.

Benjamin.

I hesitated for a second.

Then opened it.

Just to check.

Not out of obsession. Not because I was spiraling.

Just because I wanted to.

Because I could.

His file stared up at me, his name, his photo, that barcode the system tagged to his wristband. I scrolled through the notes. I could almost track his progress like a line graph in my head. The steep slopes. The climbs. The crashes. The plateaus.

And the shifts.

The parts that weren’t measurable in ink or metrics.

The moments. The trust. The fight in his eyes when he tried.

The silence that wasn’t apathy, it was fear.

The kiss that wasn’t weakness, it was something real.

I added a brief update.

Patient’s emotional restraint remains high, but relational responsiveness has shown recent signs of breakthrough.

Recommend continued sessions to assess behavioral stabilization over time.

I paused.

Then added-

Notable improvement in eye contact. Voluntary touch noted.

My lips twitched. Barely.

A smile.

Small. Private.

I saved the file and leaned back in my chair.

For the first time in weeks, the air in this office didn’t taste like nerves. It felt still. Clean. Like I had the right to be here. Like I was good at what I did. And maybe, just maybe, it was working.

All of it.

Him. Me. The thing we weren’t calling anything yet.

The day moved slowly, but not in a bad way. I answered emails. I scheduled two more check-ins. I re-filed three loose charts and actually remembered to finish my tea before it got cold. It felt like balance. Like peace.

And then-

A knock.

Firm. Knuckles to glass.

I looked up.

One of the nurses. Jason. Friendly, a little awkward. Always wore mismatched socks under his scrubs. “Hey,” he said with a half-smile, lingering at the door. “Sorry to interrupt. Chief Calder wants to see you in his office.”

 “Oh yeah. Of course,” I said, already rising to my feet. “Did he say why?”

Jason shook his head. “Just asked me to send you over.” I nodded, brushing my hands down the front of my slacks as I moved to the door. “Thanks,” I murmured, stepping out into the hall. He gave me a polite nod and turned the corner, disappearing down the hallway.

I stood still for a second.

Then started walking.

I wasn’t nervous.

I should be nervous. When your boss asks you to come to his office, you should be nervous. But I wasn’t,

Not at first.

Calder called people into his office all the time. Routine updates, chart reviews, program changes. Sometimes he even pulled doctors in to thank them for their performance. And today, after how this week had turned around?

Maybe that was it.

Maybe he’d seen my notes, my patients.

I walked faster.

Shoulders straight. Hands calm at my sides.

It was probably nothing.

Just a check-in.

Just another quiet moment in a day that had started off so good.

So steady.

So full of hope.

─────── ⌖ ───────

His office is warm.

Not in the cozy sense, but in the way that nice offices are supposed to feel. Neutral wood paneling, low light, books stacked neatly behind his desk. Everything is in its place. He’s already sitting when I step inside.

“Morning, Doctor,” he says, gesturing toward the chair across from him. “Close the door behind you.”

I do.

No tension. Not yet.

Just the quiet click of the door as it seals shut. I take the seat he motioned to and smooth the fabric of my pants against my thighs. There’s a coffee mug near the edge of his desk, half full, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling. His laptop’s closed. No charts open.

This isn’t about a file.

“First of all,” he starts, folding his hands over a legal pad, “I just want to say, you’ve been doing exceptional work lately.”

I blink.

Not the sentence I expected.

“Thank you,” I say, cautious but polite.

“I mean it,” he continues, nodding slowly. “The patient reports I’ve reviewed? Remarkable. Your cases show growth, structure, and clarity. And the progress I’m seeing in some of our most complex patients, Poindexter included, isn’t something we see every day.”

He smiles.

A real one. Not forced. Not stiff.

Pride flickers in his eyes.

And I feel myself relax, just a little.

A small breath leaves my lungs.

“Thank you,” I say again, more softly this time. “That really means a lot.”

He nods once more.

And then his gaze drops.

Only for a second.

Barely long enough to register.

But it’s enough.

Something shifts.

“And that’s why this isn’t easy,” he says.

My smile doesn’t fall yet. But it starts to falter at the edges.

He leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

“You’ll be off Poindexter’s case.”

The words land with quiet finality.

At first, they don’t register.

Like I misheard him. Like maybe he misspoke. My brain tries to rearrange them into something else. Something softer.

But they stay.

Right there in the air between us.

You’ll be off Poindexter’s case.

“I-” My voice catches. “What?”

His face shifts, less warm now, more composed.

“I know this comes as a surprise.”

No.

No, no, no.

No.

My spine straightens, the chair suddenly too rigid against my back. My hands curl into fists in my lap before I even realize I’m doing it. “But- sir, I’ve been working with Poindexter for months now,” I say, trying to keep my tone level. “He’s progressing. We’re making headway. I don’t understand why would you change his doctor? You just told me you were proud of my work.”

“I am proud,” he says quickly. “This isn’t about performance. It’s not even a question of method.”

He hesitates, just briefly.

That flicker again.

Then he says it.

“It wasn’t my decision.”

And that-

That’s when it starts to sink in.

Slowly. Like ink bleeding into water.

My breath feels shallow.

“What do you mean it wasn’t your decision?”

He sighs, folding his arms now. Leaning forward. “You’ll be reassigned,” he says. “We’ve got a new intake arriving later this week, classified, high-risk. You’ll be leading it. It’s a challenge, I know. But you’ve proven you’re more than capable.”

I don’t care.

I don’t care about a new intake.

I don’t care how “capable” I am.

He’s still talking, words I can’t hear. Something about it not being personal. Something about opportunity. Career growth.

But it all fades.

Blurs.

Like, my ears aren’t working anymore.

Like someone pulled a plug and drained the noise out of the room.

My stomach sinks.

I feel it in my ribs. My throat. My chest.

He requested it.

Dex requested this.

And just like that, everything soft from this morning turns cold. All that warmth, all that hope-

Gone.

─────── ⌖ ───────

I don’t remember leaving his office.

I know I stood up. I know I thanked him. I know I kept my voice even and my expression composed because that’s what I was trained to do. But it wasn’t me who walked out of there. It was some version of me on autopilot, nodding, smiling, saying all the right words as if something hadn’t just been ripped out of my chest. The hallway feels colder now. Too bright. Too clean. Each step echoes louder than the one before, and by the time I get back to my office, my hands are shaking. I close the door behind me, slower than I should.

Staring at nothing.

Poindexter.

He requested it.

He asked for someone else.

And the worst part, the part that’s making my skin prickle and my lungs burn, is that I didn’t see it coming. Not even a little. I walked into that session yesterday believing we were on the same page. I just sit there in my office, hands loose in my lap, eyes fixed on nothing. The corners of the room feel sharper somehow, like everything has been hollowed out and left to echo.

The silence isn’t soft anymore.

It’s not peaceful.

It’s suffocating.

I blink at the wall in front of me, but it doesn’t feel real. Nothing does. The light through the blinds feels wrong, too warm, too bright, like it doesn’t belong in this moment. My ears are ringing. I don’t know if it’s the blood rushing to my head or the words replaying in it on a loop.

You’ll be off Poindexter’s case.

Reassigned. Removed. Like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing.

I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. My fingers thread into my hair, clutching the roots like they’re the only thing keeping me from floating off the floor. I press my forehead to my hands and squeeze my eyes shut, willing something, anything, to make this make sense.

We were okay.

Yesterday, we were okay.

He kissed me.

He held me.

He looked at me like I mattered.

I sit up abruptly, breath catching in my throat. The urge to cry comes fast, but I fight it back with a hard blink. No. Not here. Not now. I reach for my phone. My hands are trembling, but I unlock it anyway.

My thumb hovers over Gigi’s name.

I don’t think- I just tap.

It rings once. Twice.

“Heyyy,” she answers, voice light. Unknowing. Warm.

I swallow.

“They took me off his case.”

There’s silence. Just a breath. One second. Two.

“What?”

“Dex,” I say quietly. “They pulled me off his file.”

Another pause. Her voice drops, serious now. “Wait- what? Why?”

“They reassigned me to some new high-risk intake,” I mumble, my voice already wobbling. “My boss called me into his office. Said it wasn’t his decision.”

Another silence.

Longer.

“Oh,” she breathes. Then, carefully: “Was it…?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “He asked for it.”

Gigi doesn’t speak for a beat. And then she exhales, slowly. “Fuck.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. I’m still trying to process it. Still hoping there’s another explanation waiting to surface. “He didn’t say anything yesterday,” I say, quieter now. “Not a word. He let me sit there. Pour everything out. And then he kissed me. Held me like I was the only person in the world. And now I’m off his file like none of it meant anything.”

The tears come now.

Not loud.

But steady.

And they sting more than they should.

“I want to go up there,” I mutter, wiping my face with the sleeve of my shirt. “I want to yell at him. I want to scream. I want to walk into his room and just-” I pause, my chest tightening. “I want to beat his ass.”

Gigi makes a sound-half laugh, half breath, but it’s not because she thinks it’s funny. She just gets it. She always does. “Okay, babe. Listen to me.” Her voice changes.

Softer. Firmer. Anchored.

“You can’t go up there.”

“I know,” I murmur.

“You’re not his doctor anymore.”

“I know.”

“I know you want to scream. I know you want answers. But this isn’t how you get them. He made this choice. For whatever reason, he asked to be reassigned.”

“But why?” My voice breaks. “Why would he do that if he didn’t want me to leave? Why kiss me? Why let me in? Why hold me like that if he was just going to shut the door the next day?” Gigi sighs again, softer this time.

“Because people like him, people who’ve been through what he has, they don’t always know how to have something good. So when they do, it scares the shit out of them.” I press my hand to my mouth, trying to steady my breathing. It doesn’t work. My chest still shakes.

“You don’t do this to someone you care about,” I whisper.

“No. But he probably thinks he’s protecting you.”

“I didn’t ask him to protect me.”

“I know,” she says gently. “But he’s not thinking like that. He’s thinking like someone who’s been hurt so badly, so many times, that letting someone love him feels like handing them a loaded weapon.”

I close my eyes.

It hurts.

It hurts in that quiet, permanent kind of way. Like something’s shifted in me and can’t be undone. “You kissed him,” she says softly. “And he kissed you back. He held you. That wasn’t fake. That wasn’t meaningless.”

“Then why?”

“Because he knows he can’t give you what you deserve,” she says. “Because he’s scared he’ll hurt you. Because it’s easier for him to push you away than risk watching you stay.”

I wipe another tear off my chin.

“I’m so tired, G.”

“I know.”

“I really thought this was going to be different.”

“I know,” she says again. “But sometimes the people we want to save… won’t let us.”

I sit in that for a long moment.

And then, quietly, so quiet it’s almost not there:

“I miss him already.”

“I know, y/n,” she says. “I know.”

There’s a pause. Long. Quiet.

Then Gigi’s voice shifts.

Sharper. Drier. Like she’s done holding the soft space for me.

“Okay. But babe… what if this is who he is?”

I blink. “What?”

“I mean it. What if this is just… him? We’ve always known he’s high-risk. You said it yourself, he’s been through shit, he’s dangerous, he’s emotionally unstable. So why are you so surprised?”

My mouth opens, but I don’t know what to say.

“He asked for another doctor after kissing you, y/n. After holding you like you were air. That’s not normal. That’s not okay. And it’s not your job to try and make it make sense.”

“He’s not- he’s not manipulative, G.”

“Are you sure?” she shoots back, voice firm now. “Because I don’t know, if I looked like him? I’d probably use it too. Wrap a pretty girl around my finger, kiss her like it’s the end of the world, make her feel like she’s the exception, and then drop her before she gets too close.”

“G…”

“No. Listen to me. You’re smart. You’re good at what you do. But this? This wasn’t clinical. This was personal. And he knew it.”

I go quiet. She keeps going.

“I’m not saying he’s evil. I’m saying he’s sick. And maybe this isn’t the first time he’s done this. Maybe you’re not the first person who thought they were saving him. Maybe that’s the cycle.”

Silence buzzes in my ears. I can barely breathe around it.

“You want to think you mattered to him,” she says. “But y/n, even if you did, especially if you did, he still made the choice to let you go. And I think you need to stop trying to turn that into something noble.”

I sit there, completely still.

Because even though I don’t want to hear it…

Part of me knows she might be right.

But God-

It hurts worse than silence ever did.

─────── ⌖ ───────

My apartment is quiet.

The kind of quiet that feels personal. Thick. Like it’s sitting in my lungs. Like it knows what I did today.

I’ve got a glass of wine in one hand, cheap, red, something I forgot I even had, and Gordon Ramsay is yelling at some poor chef on the TV screen across from me. Hell’s Kitchen. I don’t even remember turning it on. It’s background noise now. A distraction with a British accent and too many knives. The window’s cracked open. Just a little. Just enough for the night air to slip in. I can hear Hell’s Kitchen below me, the real one. Not the show. Cars. Horns. Sirens. Some guy is yelling down the block. Music from someone’s second-story apartment bleeding into the street. The usual mess of life outside these walls. It’s comforting, in a way. All that noise. All that movement. Everything else keeps going.

Even when I feel like I can’t.

I take another sip. It doesn’t taste good. Too acidic. But I don’t care.

I stare out the window, unfocused.

And I think: I got too attached.

Too fast. Too hard.

I wasn’t supposed to. I knew better. From the moment I felt that pull, I should’ve said something. Should’ve stepped away. Handed the file to someone else. Requested a reassignment. Something. Anything.

But I didn’t.

I stayed.

I leaned in.

I crossed every line I swore I wouldn’t, and now I’m here, alone, tipsy, staring at the city like it has answers.

This was a mistake.

Letting myself care about him.

Letting myself believe for even a second that there was a version of this where it could work.

That we could work.

God, how stupid could I be?

There was never a future here.

He’s a patient.

A high-risk one. A murderer. A convicted assassin with a documented kill count and a track record that reads more like a horror film than a resume. People fear him. They build walls and systems and entire facilities to contain him.

And me?

I thought I could… what? Reach him? Fix him?

Love him?

He kills people. Innocent people. People like me. And yet I sat there, on that couch, in his room, and let him touch me like I was something he wanted to keep.

I close my eyes.

My head tips back against the couch cushion, and I exhale hard.

Why would he care about me?

I’m just a name on a badge. A signature on a file. A face he’s seen every few days for a few months.

He probably saw an opportunity.

And he took it.

Started cooperating. Started talking. Made me think he was progressing. Made me feel like I was helping, like I was special. Like I was getting through to him in a way no one else had.

And then he kissed me.

God, I let him kiss me.

More than once.

I let myself believe it.

And now?

Now I’m sitting here, drinking half-warm wine and wondering if this entire thing, every session, every look, every pause between breaths, was just part of some bigger play. A manipulation.

Maybe this is what he wanted all along.

Get me close. Make me care. Get me on his side.

So when the time came, I’d make it easier for him to walk free.

So I’d be the one to convince the board he was stable. Safe.

And when I wasn’t useful anymore-

He’d drop me.

Like he did today.

Like I never mattered in the first place.

My throat tightens, and I press the heel of my hand to my eye.

I feel so stupid.

I should’ve never let this happen.

I’m a professional. A doctor. I’ve worked too damn hard to get here. My license. My career. My entire future- I risked all of it for a man who has nothing left to lose. A man who could’ve easily made me the next name on his list.

And I miss him.

That’s the part that breaks me.

That’s the part I can’t say out loud.

Because after everything, after today, after that look on his face when I walked into his room, I still miss him.

I still want to be close to him.

I still want to know why.

I wrap the blanket tighter around myself and stare at the flickering lights on the TV. My wineglass rests on my knee, hand loose around the stem.

I’m an idiot.

I got fooled.

I fell for it.

And now I’m trying to explain it away. Trying to rewrite the narrative in my head, like maybe there’s a version where it wasn’t cruel. Where it wasn’t calculated.

What if I’m overanalyzing this?

What if Gigi’s wrong?

What if he didn’t mean it like that?

What if he’s hurting too?

What if this is how he protects people? What if he thought it was safer to push me away than to keep me close? What if he’s sitting in his room right now, just as wrecked as I am?

What if he cares?

What if he really, truly-

I clench my jaw.

My wineglass trembles slightly in my grip.

No.

Who am I kidding?

He asked for the reassignment. He didn’t even look at me when I confronted him. Barely spoke. Barely moved. All that connection, all those things we weren’t saying aloud? He walked away from them. He let them die.

Because it was easier.

Because I didn’t matter enough.

I’m not the exception.

I’m not the one who changed anything.

I was just next.

I sip the wine again. It tastes worse now.

I need to get over this.

Get over him.

He’s not mine to care about anymore. He’s not mine at all. He never was. He’s out of my hands. Out of my case file. Out of my future. And I need to remember who I am. I need to remember what I worked for. I need to find someone normal, someone stable, someone safe. Someone who doesn’t live behind bulletproof glass and prison bars. Someone who doesn’t look at me like they’re starving and kiss me like it’s the end of the world.

I deserve that.

I know I do.

But the ache in my chest says otherwise.

Because all I want is to go back.

To that moment.

That second before everything fell apart.

And it hurts.

It hurts more than I thought it would.

More than I want to admit.

Because even now, after everything, I still don’t know if he ever really felt it.

And worse?

I still do.

─────── ⌖ ───────

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. ♡

I know the last few chapters have been a bit heavy (okay… very heavy), and I’m so sorry for putting you all through the emotional blender, but trust me. I’m cooking. The good stuff? The everything-you’ve-been-waiting-for stuff?

It’s coming.

Veryyy, very soon.

I’m already writing the next chapters, and I can’t wait for you to see what’s ahead.

Thank you, truly, for reading.

Enjoyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Yours truly, Raey ♡

─────── ⌖ ───────

[ next chapter ]

[lucithornz]

hellooo!!

as someone who just finished red horse, i have to ask, will we get ch 9??

Hi omg yes. That project probably took the biggest hit after my accident because it's the hardest to write (complicated etc) so I needed to work on some shorter stuff to cope.

I will be getting back into it in a few weeks. I have a rough schedule (we'll see how that goes lol)

Now I have been slowly writing scenes for it (the chapter is probably gonna be long lol) and I will use this ask as motivation to add 500 words to the chapter today o7

[lovenliterature]

Give me back what was mine

Of all the things my broken body has taken from me I miss my memory the most I used to be able to recall whole scripts and lists of every person I had known at the drop of a hat Losing that is something of the natural process of aging, I know Old and useless information makes way for the new But I turned 19 and my time was taken, slowly at first Snatches of hours lost to sleep here and there Creeping up faster and faster until there was little of me left When I came round from the slumber, I remembered less than i thought I would Natural, I suppose, when your body goes through a trauma But I didn’t realise that effect would be long-lasting That I’d lose the clarity of memories of a first love, of throwing up my first drinks of alcohol, of seeing my father cry for the first time Cognitively, they are still there I have told and retold them enough times to know them in a different way Half the memory is in its telling, after all But they’re always shrouded in a layer of fog Sometimes I live through an experience, knowing half of it will be gone in the blink of an eye Important moments used to be catalogued down to the very words and intonation Now I’m lucky if I remember the feeling But the worst of it, the worst feeling of all Is not even knowing how much was lost

[wingedcatastrophe]

11 for wrapped (from writinglyra)

11. Little Wolf (Epic Musical)

Send me a number for a short based on my spotify wrapped playlist! Content Warnings: implied violence/gore, bullying, obsession/stalking

Ty for the ask, @writinglyra

Look, it wasn't because I like you, okay? You were just the runt of the little, weak, pathetic. You were going to die anyway, given enough time. I spent enough time watching you to know that, without a doubt. I've been watching you from the beginning.

Just take it as another sign that you wouldn't have made it, alright? I was there from the beginning and you never knew.

See, when the other kids started coming into their magic, you were left behind, right? They gained their abilities - the power to fly or to move objects with their minds or set fires at will, whatever it was they gained - but you? You stayed pathetically human. Weak. Of course they picked on you; you were an easy target. You didn't know how to fight back.

I'd have picked on you, too, if you'd been one of us.

I watched as you just... let them take their frustrations with childhood and the horrible agony of growing up out on you. You just rolled over and took it. Why didn't you try to fight back? You may not have had an ability, but you still had your fists.

Why didn't you use them? Why didn't you bite or kick or scream or anything?

I saw when you gained your ability. I watched the first time you moved the earth, pushing a sunflower out of barren ground and smiling that rare smile as it pushed its petals towards the sun. It'd been so long since you'd last smiled, I'd forgotten what it looked like on your face, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners.

When you heard them coming, your flower wilted. You did it on purpose.

I kept waiting, from that point, for you to do something. To use your powers to defend yourself, to get revenge, to leave this terrible life of yours behind and start over somewhere new. You were old enough to do that, right? Human ages are so weird. But you didn't do any of those things. Nothing in your life changed. Except now, when you were alone, yellow petals would reach for the sun.

After a while, I got bored of watching you. I'd check in, sometimes, just to see if anyone had offed you yet. It was only a matter of time, after all, and you can't blame me for being curious. I wasn't checking in because I liked you, okay? You were just an investment; a fruit to pick once you were ripe.

Don't mistake the timing of my picking for anything so mundane - so human - as liking you. See, those boys had you with your face in the ground and your blood under their nails and they were laughing and -

Look, I knew the look in their eyes. If I hadn't intervened, they would have killed you. Because you were weak and pathetic and you didn't fight back and they could. Simply because they could. And you were an investment. You were mine to kill. I couldn't let them have the pleasure of taking that right from me.

So will you please do us both a favor and stop screaming, okay? I get it, okay? It's not everyday a demon takes over your body; but it's not like I'm going to keep it, alright? I already gave you control back! But now I'm in here, too, and I can't just leave. It doesn't work that way. I know you were conscious for that whole thing, but it's just blood! It'll wash off! And they deserved everything I did to them; you are mine, alright?

We're stuck together now, so you'd best just get used to this arrangement. One day, I'll kill you. But right now? Right now is a perfect time to pull up some yellow petals; we are alone, after all.

[thesnailtail]

;; haruan thoughts again because im actually looking at the line distribution for the april fools covers. and??? it's impossible to match up haruka and an's lines 1 for 1 because of the number of people being different person cover but a lot of them do match up either way.

;; tw: mentions of familial death

;; spoilers for: the more more jump! main story, beyond the dream on that day, the vivid old tale and light up the fire

;; they both have the opening two lines about emotions being useless no matter what. and the both of them have emotions they deem "useless" to their goals.

;; we know from beyond the dream on that day that haruka has problems expressing her emotions and is confused as a kid as to why she can't smile like the other kids her age. on the other hand, an is shown to be very expressive in a vivid old tale, to the point of most of the people around her being able to tell what she's feeling at any given point. during chapter 5 she notes that if her unhappiness is audible in her singing, then she just needs to try harder. both of them have different reactions to their own emotions, but they come to the same conclusion. if they appear unhappy and other people notice, then they need to try harder to mask that. they think this as young kids. so imagine that but perpetuated by themselves over several years. and that's how you get main story+ haruka and an! who's relationships with their emotions are even more questionable. because an is still open to talk about problems but adopts a "fuck it we ball" mindset with her own. then (as far as im aware) she hasn't voiced any of her fears regarding the future of vbs to them, because what she's afraid of mirrors what happened with nagi, taiga and her dad when she was a kid. light up the fire also happens but i haven't read that event.. and haruka likely ignored many of her 'negative' emotions during her idol work because they didn't fit in with her image. within mmj, regarding the person problems of the members, haruka (especially in the early events) tends to focus on getting rid of or ignoring the problem rather than dealing with it properly.

;; in the april fools cover haruka gets the line ""no one can oppose, so abide by your desires"", which is interesting because that is the opposite of what she does. she had to have an entire event dedicated to her to say "you're allowed to relax and enjoy yourself, you know that right?"

;; the next line both of them share between the vbs and april fools cover is the third and fourth lines in the chorus, describing how if you see your life as "incorrect" you can throw it away.

;; haruka can fit into this line in the sense that she threw her dream away because she felt she did something "incorrect" (failed to help and unintentionally hurt someone). knowing full well that it was what brought her lots of happiness. an, on the other hand, had someone else try to throw her dream away, because of something she was unaware of at the time, causing her to (at least for a period of time (??)) view the place she grew up in as cruel and "incorrect".

;; the next lyric is in the last chorus, which is about how believing in others blindly can lead them to bury their own beliefs in favour of others', and the singer(s) questioning that (??).

;; an, who was told by everyone around her that nagi was alive and well, and she believed them because she trusted them fully. only to learn that she wasn't, it was kept from her, and for her to question everything she knew about her home.

;; and haruka who listened to the people (one person) around her and buried a part of herself in an attempt to make them happy. because that's all she wanted to do. only for her to go between regretting that choice and fully believing it was the right thing to do.

;; LAST LYRIC!! about how the way people share certain ideals or lies as fact disillusions others.

;; an, was lied to for three years of her life, leading to her own disillusionment of everything she held dear.

;; haruka, who caused someone's disillusionment with something that brought them hope, who tried to stop someone else from finding out the truth so that they could keep their ideals in tact and who personally? was left with her own disillusionment because of her guilt!

;; so yeah, i think both of their devil's manner covers are banger. i love them <3

[mimir97477906]

im so sosry for ranting abour this again but auhgufhgh im making a ref sheet of my ocs for myself beacse EVERYTIME I DRAW THEM THEY LOOK SOOOSK DIFFERENT os i thoguht maybe this can help me memorize their faces but EVEN THO IM USING GUIDELINES THE SAME CHARACTER LOOKS LIKE DIFFERENT PEOPLE ITS JUST A HEAD TURN AROUND I CANT DO THIS I FEEL SO VIOLENT WHY IS MY ART STYLE HAVING AN IDENTITY CRISIS HOWWWWWWW DO I FIX THIS

[techno-rat]

learned my lesson <3

[meganegatari]

You should definitely write for Vi bc oml she’s so fine 😮‍💨

DO U EVEN KNOW THE WAY IM TWEAKIN OVER HER like omfg. my poor moots getting bombarded with fucking piles of edits upon edits of her and my thirsty comments...yeah...i gotchu, you don't needa ask me twice ♡ tbh feel like this is one of the better short smutty thingies i've written, lol. it was really fun.

nsfw drabble—dom!vi + spit kink. originally i was gonna make this three smaller blurbs, but decided to just smash em all into one longer drabble situation. cw: praise, bossy vi, finger sucking (r! receiving), oral (v! receiving), vi bush mention RAHHHH, yapping... yk how it is by now. + 1.1k wc.

you were gazing up at her with watery eyes, kneeling by vi's seated form, trying your hardest to ignore the deafening ache between your thighs.

vi is loving, and she knows how to treat you well. she always provides you with tons of care and happiness, however—she also possesses a dirty side to her.

a bandaged hand swipes at the bottom of your chin, her thumb prodding at your pursed lips. there was a smirk playing on her scarred lips, her powder-blue eyes twinkling with pure lust at the scenario playing out before her.

“open.” she says roughly, and who are you to deny her? you were willing to take anything she'd give you, so you obediently part your lips, allowing her to fully push her digit inside your hot mouth.

almost instinctively, your puffy lips wrap around her thumb and you begin to suck, your eyes rolling ever so slightly at the taste of her salted skin. she hums, “atta girl—keep going. just like that, until i say you can stop, alright?” you open your eyes and nod in approval, wishing to commit her expression to memory.

see, vi wasn't one of those mean, degrading doms with an icy exterior who get off on hurting you an excessive amount, and in moments like this where she's got you in a position of submission under her, her natural “switchiness” peeks through. you see it in the way her throat bobs as she swallows, her unsteady, shallow breathing coming out in rasps, and the distinct furrow in her flaming brows while she struggles to maintain eye contact. regardless, you both enjoy toying around with various dynamics, she makes it fun.

you get lost in a daydream while staring into her eyes, but are startled out of it when she strongly presses down on your wet tongue, and pushes her thumb further inward until you gag.

it surprises you, but you know she would never overdo things. tears well up in your eyes, their presence only widening her voracious grin.

then she soothes, her now-soft voice caressing your ears, “exactly, just like that. good job, baby. you're so perfect f'me—yeahhh.” she continues rolling her thumb around your wet muscle, every so often dragging the pad of her finger over the ridges of your teeth, then pushing experimentally up against the roof of your mouth.

saliva has been gathering all this time, and she hasn't given you a moment to swallow it, so it dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin, decorating your chest as it slides down your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps along its path.

her face gets impossibly redder as she observes the sight, still while playing with—rather, using—your mouth. her movements speed up a touch, and she triggers your gag reflex once more before abruptly stopping. she pulls her hand out of your mouth with a pop, and throws her head back as she tries to steady her breathing. “you're so fuckin’ hot, god—i can't.”

you smile up at her, reveling in her break of character and being pleased with yourself. she's panting, and examines her hand; it's shiny and dripping with your spit, she's mesmerized by the sparkle it emits in the low light. her periwinkle eyes gloss over and suddenly there's a flash of fabric flying by, and you realize she has undressed herself in one fluid motion, throwing everything on her bottom half across the room. she’s so desperate, you can’t help but sneer at her horny distress, even though technically you were the one being overpowered.

your eyes drop, meeting a wild tangle of vermillion and crimson, her muscular thighs separating east and west to make space for you.

she leans back and gently nudges your head towards her tender, drooling core, her chest heaving at the way you're just melting under her touch. turning to jelly, you let her guide you where she wants. needs.

vi groans quietly, her breath hitching, “c'mon angel, you know what to do.” and you very much did. with her assistance, you advance and bury your face in her center, tongue finding her scarlet pearl—twitching and ready for you to obliterate.

you flick, you suck, and you moan at the heavenly taste of her essence, revel in the noises she's producing above you. she pulls you further in, bucking her hips frantically to chase your skilled mouth. you push your tongue inside her quivering hole as far as it'll go, taking as much of her in your mouth as you can, and ignoring the lack of oxygen you're experiencing—you would be more than pleased if you were lucky enough to die this way.

she's watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, chewing on her rosy lips. when you meet her gaze from in between her legs, her face contorts and she releases a guttural whine, more slick leaking from her and filling your hard-at-work mouth.

her grip on your hair tightens and her abs tense, providing you with an image that's worthy of a climax just on its own. her head falls back, her lips parting to allow for pretty, high pitched and pathetic pleas to grace your ears. “ple—please baby, just like that. you're so fuckin' good, don't you dare stop—ah!”

without any warning she makes a vulgar mess of your face, the vice grip on your crown causing you to wince, but just as she requests, you don't dare move.

you tilt your head to get a better angle, practically making out with her swollen pussy. you drink up her cum, the near-sickly sweetness clouding your mind, coating your thoughts in a drunken haze.

the high is rippling through her at such an intensity her loud moans are replaced with pornographic whimpers, the sensations utterly ruining her. she squirms and arches, caging your head between her thighs until she gasps.

"hah—okay, okay, oh—fuck.” she stutters while she pushes you away, the tremor in her body evident. you sit back and examine your work, feeling proud of yourself, her fucked-out condition proving you did a good job.

she's sprawled on the bed like a starfish, still trying to slow her racing heart but manages to chuckle, basking in the aftershocks of a mind-melting session.

her words are slurred, yet satisfied. “did so good, that was so good…love your mouth s'much babe.”

you guffaw, and throw at her through chuckles, “i know, i am the best.” that sends her into a fit of giggles as well, and once she's calmed down she confirms.

“yeah, you really are.”

thanks for reading! comments, reblogs, and asks are appreciated more than you know ♡ if you'd like to be tagged in future works, fill out the form here! until next time ;)

@andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ne @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @mascdom @ashaynep @angelynn-nicole @wilddrown @aylabv02108 @lonelyfooryouonly @melsmunch @e11williamsgf @spncrrdlvr @flowrmoth

[ghstzzn]

so needy — enhypen hyung line

pairing(s): enhypen hyung line x fem!reader (separate!)

genre(s): pure smut. with some plot from overexplaining.

tags/warnings: SMUT! MDNI! needy but not quite subby, rough & sloppy unprotexted sex, face fucking, jake munch agenda, masturbating (m. rec), male whimpering yupp, lots and lots of descriptions of boners, seriously they are all hard. no prep for reader, exhibition heh.. (parking lot & bathroom at a party), tried my hardest to go needy im a hard!dom writer im sorry, creampie, one pullout method, cum eating, cum... feeding?, biting, uhh lmk if i missed any srsly. wc: 3.2k. 400-700 for each

💭: WE LIKE OUR MEN IN HEAT GROWLS🦅🦅🦅 @jjunieworld and i. we went insane. i went insane. i seriously tried to make them needy and jakes is probably the closest ill ever get to writing a subby idol. its hard. sorry. ill try harder because i like this i think. <3 i need to get them pregnant asap.

heeseung had been in the recording studio since he had woken up, and yet he still had a long night ahead of him due to editing and touch ups. he was going insane.

you had sent him a selfie of you when you woke up, complaining about him being gone. it was innocent. but heeseung has been rock hard since.

his thoughts were full of you— every lyric had just reminded him of you and fuck he’s never needed you this badly before. the pillow that he’s kept on his lap all day felt like a fucking brick and he’s been subconsciously bucking his hips into it.

heeseung lets out a groan, throwing his head back as he cups his hardened cock through his flimsy sweats. he cannot take it anymore. pulling out his phone, he shoots you a text, complaining that he was hungry and didn’t feel good— a little lie because he knows if he told you he was painfully hard, you’d just tell him to wait. he can’t do that.

you’re so sweet to him, truly, you ask him if he’s okay and tell him you’ll be there in ten.

the door automatically locks when it's shut and you walk up to him, resting your hand on his forehead. he is feeling warm. heeseung leans into your touch and groans softly before grabbing your wrist, throwing the pillow and sitting you on his lap.

not even three minutes later, he’s thrusting up into you relentlessly. you’re desperately trying to grip onto anything, his shoulders, the chair and even the equipment table behind you. heeseungs grip on your hips is tight, bruising even. 

you’re both already cumming, the pace he set was too much for you and he’s simply been hard way too long to last more than seven minutes. though, as soon as he emptied himself inside you, he’s lifting you out of his lap, shoving aside an expensive keyboard and shoving your face down onto the table.

“fuck- fucking take it,” he spits as he continues pounding you from behind. “b-been so fucking hard all day, all because of you.”

his cock is hitting the most sensitive spots with his brutal speed, you almost feel as if you really did something wrong. you reach up to grip onto something, knocking into a few buttons in the process, turning on some music— which honestly helped cover the sounds of your moans but probably not necessary due to the soundproof room.

“hah- heeseung it’s t-too much!” you manage to squeak out, hiccuping and whimpering.

you’re spasming around his cock once more, he sloppily thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out and emptying himself on your lower back. you weakly lift yourself to peek behind you, glancing back and forth between his still hard cock and his eyes that were full of nothing but lust. 

heeseung will be here all night— and so will you.

─────────────────

jay thought it’d be a good idea, a great one! he brought you with him to tour some fancy guitar museum he was invited to. you both were so excited to attend, throwing on your best outfits— which included that one dress that jay absolutely went feral for.

he could barely focus on the guitar he was testing out when you were sitting so pretty and patient in front of him, smiling and cheering him on. he didn’t even realize he was fucking up the chords, face red when he realized it wasn’t just you and him in the room.

you sat in the acoustics room with him, dress riding up your legs, leather jacket hanging off your shoulder as you watched him pick at each string with so much adoration in your eyes.

jay was going to go fucking insane. he can feel himself hardening at the mere sight of you— truly he’s usually better at keeping himself kept in public.

when you asked so sweetly to try out at guitar yourself, he thought he would combust right there.

he helps you choose a guitar, slipping the strap around your neck and even setting up the amp for you. jay sits back and watches as you play around with different chords you’ve picked up from him, but his eyes refuse to leave your fingers.

the way they delicately pluck each string or how they grip the guitar pick, how your other hand grips the neck of the guitar to hold down strings. he almost groans when he watches you almost struggle to fit them around it.

if only that were his cock. 

jay has to keep yanking and pulling at his jeans. he almost grabs the guitar from you just to cover his inevitable boner. his jaw is clenched, he wants to leave so fucking bad. he’s seconds away from pulling you into the closest room and tarnishing his image just to fuck you.

finally, your time at the guitar center was over. jay’s practically dragging you to the car and you aren’t even sure why. maybe you did something to upset him?

as soon as you reach the car, he’s sandwiching you between him and the cold surface. your boyfriend doesnt waste a second before grabbing your hand and forcing you to grab his throbbing cock through his jeans.

“for the past four fucking hours,” he grits out, nuzzling his face against your cheek, “four fucking hours that i’ve been so fucking hard. because of you.”

your face is red and you’re whipping your head around the parking lots, it’s almost empty thankfully— and dark outside. “i-i did this?”

he groans in the crook of your neck, “please, baby, fucking need you now.”

those are the only words you need to get you to drop to your knees. your hands shake slightly as they fumble with his belt, pulling it apart and yanking his jeans down just enough to free his cock. 

it’s practically red and leaking, you almost pout when you think about your poor boyfriend being that hard for so long because of you.

jay seems to not like how long you're taking because he’s immediately taking your hair into his fist and smacking his tip against your lips. you eagerly invite his length into your mouth, using your hands to work whatever you can’t fit. 

he has to hold back from cumming right there. the way your lips wrap around him so well, your throat struggling to take him. this is exactly what got him hard in the first place. jay rocks his hips back and forth, pushing his cock further and further into your mouth.

“yeah- fuck. taking me so well, huh?” jay mutters, biting his lip to contain his grunts. “thought about this exact fucking thing in there. so pretty around my cock.”

his words make you hum in arousal, sending vibrations down his length. jay groans and throws his head back, pushing you further down his cock. the gag that rips from your throat is almost enough to make him empty himself all over your face.

jay continues to practically fuck your mouth. your hands drop to grip his thighs as you let him use your mouth however he pleases. both of his big hands in your hair, forming a messy ponytail tail as he continues to thrust into you roughly.

“fuckfuckfuck! almost there, baby.” he’s almost whimpering, it’s so good. after a few more thrusts, he’s pulling out and cumming, emptying himself onto your cheeks and lips. 

there’s so much cum you have to take him back into your mouth to save yourself from a messy shirt.

jay pants as you ride him through his intense orgasm. needless to say, he’s fucking you again in the car this time.

──────────────────

jake was restless. he was quite literally rolling around on your bed as you ignored him for some stupid fucking book.

“jake, i seriously need to cram this by tonight. then we can hang out!” you promised him.

six fucking hours ago. he groans loudly, loud enough to make you scoff and shake your head.

“why don’t you go play on my pc?” you suggest sweetly, “you love the games i have on there!”

“i dont want to do that.” 

you sigh and shrug your shoulders in response, you already told him countless times that you were busy and he’s the one who chose to stay.

“baby, please just take a break.” he pleads. “there’s no way you’re finishing this by tonight.”

he rolls over on his stomach and grips onto your leg, sporting a dramatic expression. jake was right, there was no way you were finishing any of your work tonight, but that almost gives you more reasons to not take a break. 

“the sooner i finish, the sooner i'll be all yours baby.” you tell him, patting his fluffed up hair down, messy from rolling around.

he groans again, “noo, baby i want you- no i need you now!”

“why are you so antsy right now, jake?” 

jake drops his head into your lap, muffling his voice. “ ‘m so horny.”

“hm?” you hum, not quite hearing him. he only responds by softly kissing your inner thighs, unable to hold back any longer.

he pushes his jean clad cock against your soft mattress as he travels down your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses behind. 

“jake.”

“i said im horny. im so fucking horny and you smell so good.” he repeats, lifting his head to look you in your eyes.

your brain freezes at his words. “i… i’ll be done soon, i promise- just-“

he cuts off your words by pressing a desperate kiss over your clothes cunt, sending shivers down your spine. you can feel yourself getting wet by his needy and desperate actions.

“jake!” you whimper out when he licks a stripe over your pajama shorts. he doesn’t even care that you’re still fully clothed, a piece of flimsy fabric won't stop him.

your boyfriend continues to make out with your cunt through your shorts, shifting to bite and suck at your thighs. “pleaasee.” he lets out a muffled whine.

you’ve already dropped your books and papers beside you, soft whimpers leaving your mouth as your hands find their spot in his long hair. “fuck— jake slow down!”

jake shakes his head, his own hands moving to yank down your sleep shorts. he knew you weren’t wearing panties, and he’s pretty sure that’s what got him so horny in the first place. the amount of times he looked down at your thighs to catch small glimpses of your ass and cute cunt because they were barely covered.

it took so much restraint to not shove his aching cock between your thighs— make you forget all about your boring paperwork.

jake attaches his lips to your clit, sucking and practically making out with it. every now and then he shoves his tongue as deep as he can inside your oozing hole, gathering all your juices on his tongue and slurping.

you can’t tell who's moaning louder, you or him. he’s attacking your cunt with everything he has all while rutting his hips into your mattress, attempting to pleasure himself but he could honestly cum untouched as long as he had your sweet pussy in his mouth.

he’s groaning against your cunt and letting out incoherent curses, “f-fuck.. hmph so- so good.”

your eyes roll to the back of your neck and you can feel the heat pool in your lower stomach.

“jake- gonna cum, please dont fucking stop!” 

jake listens well, continues to suck and lap at your wetness as if its his last fucking meal. you don't even notice his hand leaving your thigh to jerk himself off but when you do— it pushes you immediately over the edge. 

you tremble as you cum all over his mouth, and he only eagerly slurps it up. he doesn’t pull away and until you yank him up by his hair, you stare at his soaked lips, your arousal dripping down his face. 

he lifts himself up to kiss you, feeding you your own cum, his hand comes up to grip your neck as you engage in a desperate kiss.

when he lets go of you to rid himself of his pants, your hand comes up to touch the wetness left on your cheek— it hits you that jake came all over his own hand while eating you out.

there was no way you were letting him out of your sight tonight.

───────────────────

sunghoon was giddy when he found out he could bring a plus one to the prada after party. he literally couldn’t wipe the grin off his face when he told you that you could accompany him.

but now he almost regrets it. 

since you were his plus one, you had gotten a free outfit from the brand. and god was it the best thing he’s ever seen you wear. but also the worst.

this wasn’t his only issue. you were his plus one. so why the fuck were you pretty much attached to jungwon at the hip? why were you ignoring him when he’s the reason you were there?

it’s not like he was angry either, instead he just really really wanted you right there next to him. he was so fucking horny. 

even before you both left the house to head over. he had no idea what the outfit looked like until you put it on and his eyes almost popped out of his head.

sunghoons also not really the type to voice his every thought to you, otherwise you both would’ve skipped the party entirely just to fuck.

well, he wasn't angry. but he can’t help it when the horniness eventually turns into pure sexual frustration. he leans further into the couch as he watches you bounce back and forth from jungwon and heeseung. 

your lonely boyfriend couldn’t even tell if he was jealous, angry or hurt. above all, he just wanted you to sit on his cock for the rest of the night. he understood that you were having fun, some of your other friends in the industry were also invited to this party but he couldn’t help but to feel so left out.

he almost groans as he watches you make your way to yet another one of his members. what about him? he’s here too! his cock twitches beneath his dress pants and he sets his hand with his drink on top of it, hoping it’s not obvious that he’s suffering at this very moment.

“you okay, man?” a voice calls from behind the couch, sunghoon looks up to see jake hovering. “you haven’t moved from that spot in about 40 minutes.”

sunghoon nods and shrugs, “can you tell my girlfriend to meet me over here? i haven’t seen her all night.” he lies through his teeth, he’s literally been watching you all night.

jake tilts his head in confusion, “uh, yeah. i’ll go get her, be right back.”

he taps his finger on his cup as he watches jake whisper in your ear, pointing behind him in his direction. you glance behind jake and sunghoon quickly averts his gaze.

you nod and respond to jake before making your way over to your boyfriend. 

sunghoon quickly downs his drink as he sees you walk towards him, a soft smile on your lips. so now you’re finally paying attention to him?

“what’s wrong, hoonie? jake said you needed me.” 

he nods, setting his drink down and grabbing your wrist instead, “yeah. i do need you, right fucking now.”

you don’t get a chance to question his words before he’s yanking you towards the furthest bathroom in the building. you’re heels almost make it too hard to keep up with him and you’re calling out his name but he’s too occupied on finding any empty bathroom to fuck you in.

sunghoon finally finds one, tugging you into it and slamming the door behind you and clicking the lock.

“what’s wrong, baby?” you ask him again.

“why are you talking to every single one of my members but not me?” 

you blink at him, surely you’ve interacted with him throughout the night. a smile grows on your face when it clicks. “awwe, hoonie! are you jealous?”

sunghoon grips your chin with his hand, “i’m not jealous. you ignored me, there’s a difference.”

“i wasn’t! and i’m here now, right?” 

he rolls his eyes, smushing his body against yours and the door. “baby seriously. need you so bad right now, i had to watch you talk to everyone while i was sitting there so fucking hard.”

your eyes widen slightly, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“god this fucking dress— i’m going insane.” he ignores your question completely, pulling the bottom of your dress up your thighs.

“sunghoon! we can’t- not here!” 

“mm, i don’t care.” sunghoon mutters as he pulls your dress above your hips. “told you i needed you, huh?”

he grips your hips and moves you against the fancy bathroom vanity, turning you around and laying you flat against the counter.

sunghoon ruts his clothed hardon over your own panty clad cunt. “feel it? feel how hard you make me all because a stupid dress?”

“y-yeah, hoonie.”

he sucks in a breath of air and yanks down your flimsy thong before practically ripping the button off his overpriced pants to free his angry cock.

you glance at him in the mirror when he aligns his leaking tip with your wet entrance. no amount of slick and arousal could make taking his size any easier.

“wait- baby i can’t take you like that..!” you pleaded with him.

sunghoon doesn't listen, stuffing you with his length, ripping a gasp from you, forcing you to throw a hand over your mouth to contain any more noises from you.

he wastes no time before beginning to pound into you, your hips slamming against the edge of the vanity with each thrust. you feel every vein against your walls and soon the initial pain turns into pleasure.

your boyfriend’s sloppy and brutal pace tells you just how fucking needy he’s been for the past few hours. sunghoons letting out a string of curses as he continues to abuse your cunt to chase the orgasm he’s been craving for so long.

“god. fuck- so fucking tight.” he groans out. “n-need it so bad.”

you’re biting your own hand to contain the noises that are desperately escaping your mouth, his pace making it impossible for you to stay silent. sunghoons bending over as he continues to fuck into you, gripping your throat as he leaves harsh bites on your shoulder— marks that’d be impossible to cover due to the thin and flimsy straps on your dress.

“shit—“ his movements stutter before hitting his peak, his warm cum filling up your insides but he doesn’t dare stop.

he continues to desperately thrust into you, overstimulating himself because he’s still so stupidly hard. grunts and whimpers are leaving his mouth, muffled by your neck and hair— but his noises only bring you closer to your own peak.

“hoon..! c-cumming, please.” 

even after you cream around his cock, his movements don’t stop. his thrusts are sloppy and his cock is knocking against your cervix, fucking you hard and deep all because he needs to cum again.

sunghoon lets out a loud groan as he finds himself emptying himself once more inside of you. rocking his hips slowly to ride himself through his second intense orgasm, it was almost painful.

he slips out of you with a grunt, his cock still half hard but he decided right there that the both of you would be leaving the party early.

[dollgxtz]

Sleepy Crow

Word Count: 1.8k words

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, noncon, mentions of breeding, pet names such as kitten, sweetie, darling, reader is somewhat drugged but its her sleep meds!

AN: Hi all! This isn't my first time writing fanfics but I noticed a lack of Sylus fics with a darker undertone ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ". PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read the tags and if this isn't something that interests you or is potentially triggering, please do not interact! I get this isn't everyone's cup of tea but this is a fic for people who like darker romance stuff!! Please enjoy, and I AM taking requests as I really want to get back into writing again. Do not hold back, this is a safe place! Ty!! <333

Sylus trudged through the pouring rain, his jacket soaked through and his hair matted against his forehead. The drops were heavy and unrelenting, pelting against the pavement and creating small rivers that flowed along the gutters. The barely lit streetlights of the N109 zone cast an eerie glow on the slick surfaces, reflecting off the wet asphalt like a distorted mirror.

As the man approached his mansion, he couldn't help but feel relieved. The warm glow of the lights shining through the windows beckoned him home. He fumbled with the keypad to the door, his fingers slightly numb from the cold, before finally hearing the click that beckoned his entrance.

The sound of raindrops hitting the roof and windows followed him, a steady drumming that seemed to fill every corner of the place. He took off his sodden jacket and hung it up, feeling the weight of it pulling him down. He walked through the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps echoing softly on the marble floors, trying his hardest to be quiet. Mephisto was perched on his cage (not that he was ever really in it, it was more for decor) tilting his head when he saw Sylus brush past him but not making any sound himself.

He made his way to the bedroom chambers, deciding to make sure you were where you belonged. Peeking his head in the bedroom doorway, he saw your sleeping figure, chest rising ever so slightly with each breath. He smirked, closing the door behind him as he entered. He was happy you finally seemed to be getting some rest.

Your insomnia had been getting worse, and he'd been getting worried when he saw you were often messaging him at 4 am, sometimes as late as 8 am with no sleep. Of course he’d offer to have you over, to hold you and whisper sweet things in your ear until you succumbed to sleep, but he couldn’t always. Sometimes business was needed to be handled, and for those nights he had gotten you the best sleep medication that money could buy. You had been weary about taking them at first, but he had assured you that the side effects were basically none. He had made sure of it.

Sylus made his way to the bathroom, proceeding to rid himself of the damp clothes clinging to his skin. A quick shower and then he could finally curl up next to his little crow. Not that he would be sleeping yet, but it was nice to watch you dream. Sometimes you’d whine or make little noises, which he found absolutely adorable. He wondered what you dreamt about sometimes, but you had refused to answer much to his annoyance.

The hot water felt amazing after being gone practically all night. He washed all the blood and dirt from his skin, examining all of his various injuries. He had a run in with a few “pests” that he quickly exterminated, but they had managed to get a few nicks on him. He touched his arm where the biggest cut was, his Evol immediately snaking around it and healing it faster than he could blink. He did the same for the others, feeling brand new once more.

Some time passed before he finally turned the water off, dried himself, and slipped into a pair of boxers. He slowly made his way into the bedroom, hoping that he wasn't being too loud but you were out like a light. Sleeping like a rock.

Sylus slipped in bed next to you, sighing with pleasure as the soft mattress sunk beneath his weight. It felt heavenly. He turned to put his arm around you, trying to get as comfortable as possible so he could hold you. He softly kissed the corner of your ear, his head starting to swim with thoughts. Surprisingly, he felt comfortable enough to possibly fall asleep with you.

But he couldn't.

He had been laying in bed for thirty minutes just thinking. He thought about all the business arrangements he needed to finish. Tonight had been…messy. No doubt he had made some new enemies. How impatient he was getting about the new weaponry he had bought from Spain. They should be arriving soon, but it had been taking forever.

How he wanted to feel your tight cunt pulsing around his fingers.

Sylus stiffened, attempting to rid his head of these thoughts about you. His efforts were in vain though, as he was already rocking a semi hard on that was steadily growing into a full erection.

Obviously there was nothing he could do about it. You were sleeping after all. And not only that, it's not like he could wake you to do anything anyways. He hates quickies, they bored him. He likes to take his time. To take in your reactions, your faces, and your noises. Besides that, you were taking a pretty high dose of your sleeping meds and he kinda doubted he could wake you even if he really tried.

This thought stirred in his head for a bit.

Yeah...you wouldn't wake even if he tried. He sighed with a twinge of pleasure as he pressed his erection against the soft cotton of your underwear. The pressure felt immaculate, and if he hadn't been gone all night he probably could've finished just by pressing himself against you. You were the only girl ever that could make him finish that quickly.

But it wasn't enough. He needed more. It had been a bit since he touched you like this.

You moved a bit in your sleep, letting out a small whine. He leaned over you to get a better look at your face. Still sleeping, mouth open slightly ajar. You were so fucking pretty when you slept.

“Such a sleepy kitten” he growled lowly, snaking his fingers underneath the hem of your underwear. He didn’t know why, but the mere sight of your sleeping face was getting him worked up. You looked so docile, so vulnerable. He wanted you. Sylus began to tug them down slowly.

This was very wrong. He knew this and yet he couldn't stop. He kept going, making empty promises to himself that he would only take a peek. He just wanted to see you. All of you.

Sylus froze has he finally pulled your underwear down to your legs, practically breathless at the site of your cunt at his fingertips.

"Fuck..." he groaned, unable to stop himself from pressing a finger between your folds. He watched you carefully for any signs of discomfort or movement, but you were still fast asleep as he pushed his finger in. You were warm, inviting even. It's like your pussy was sucking his finger in, deeper and deeper. He slid a second finger in, picking up the pace. Soon enough, your cunt was slightly wet, spots of your slick forming on the backs of your legs near your pussy. Pulling out, he practically shivered with excitement.

Sylus was quick to put his fingers in his mouth, savoring every drop of you. You tasted so sweet to him, the best flavor he ever had the honor to try. He wanted nothing more than to dive head first into the source and lap it up. But his erection was so starting to bother him. It was rock hard, and throbbing ever so slightly, begging to be freed.

He had to have you. And he had to have you now.

He pulled his erection through the hole in his boxers, beginning to stroke himself with an intense grip. Groaning as quietly as he could, he stared at your wet and welcoming cunt. He swore it was just begging to be filled by every inch of his cock. Still wanting him, even when you were asleep.

"You’re so pretty sweetie" he whispered in your ear, closing his eyes as electrifying pulses of pleasure crashed through him. Sylus told himself he should stop now, but it was past that point. He knew himself better than that. His mind was already made up, no matter how much he was trying to talk himself out of it.

Turning you a bit more on your side, he readied the fat head of his tip to your entrance. You stirred once again, mumbling incoherent nothings before becoming silent again. Sylus chuckled softly, pressing his lips to the tip of your ear as he stroked himself a few more times.

As he sinks his tip into your tight entrance, his precum smears all over your hole. He shudders with intensity, trying his best to hold back a groan, worried that making too much noise next to your ear would wake you. He pushes further and further until he can't possibly sink himself into you anymore. You squirm, letting out another whine, this one a bit louder than the last.

"Im sorry kitten…" Sylus coos, laying his head behind yours as he fucks you with a slow, rhythmic pace. "Just need to cum in what’s mine. Be a good girl and stay asleep for me”.

He rests one of his hands on your hip, trying to keep from shaking you too much as he continually plunges himself inside you. You were warm, your gummy walls constantly tightening around him. He moans your name over and over like a prayer, feeling lost in your walls. The soft clap of his skin meeting your ass echoes a bit in the room.

"You're fucking made for me. Look at you sweetie, tightening around me, trying to squeeze me dry even when you're sleeping" he whispers, feeling himself getting closer and closer to bliss.

His thrusts became sloppy and he had to slow himself, trying to savor every moment he had inside of what essentially felt like heaven. He had been wanting to fill you for days. Images of his seed erupting onto the walls of your fertile pussy, eventually giving you a nice, round tummy that would grow his baby filled his head and he couldn't stop himself from finishing anymore.

As his hot ropes of sticky cum shoot against the walls of your womb, he accidently grips your hip a bit tighter than he meant to. You yelp, and he quickly rubbed his hand over the spot he'd hurt you, ensuring you remained asleep. He checks the spot and sees some slight bruising already starting to form and curses himself silently for losing control and hurting you. His Evol was quick to move over the injury where his hand lay, instantly restoring your skin back to a healed state. Sylus was amazed he could even do that. His Evol had only ever healed him. It wasn’t until you came along that it had ever revealed that kind of power and it didn’t work for anyone else either.

"Shh shh, its ok. Just be still, I'm almost done filling you up darling…”

Once his orgasmic high subsided, he took a moment to catch his breath before watching as his cum pooled out of you. He took his finger and scooped as much of it as he could gather before gently pushing it back within your folds. Feeling satisfied with his work, he pulled your panties up before finally pulling the cover back over you.

"There you go. Gotta keep my seed where it belongs so you can make us a baby. Right kitten?" he chuckled, finally feeling tired enough to cuddle you and fall asleep.

[ravenslvt]

hii can i please request bucky coming back home after a long mission and him and reader are just enjoying each other? thank you!

☆bf!bucky barnes x f!reader fluff and smut!☆

☆ bucky comes back after a three week mission, and all he wants is you.

content: super short! mainly fluff and some smut at the end!! kissing, fluff, bucky in love, bucky eats pussy, fingering, grinding, both of them are pent up, bucky loves his girlfriend.

a/n: wasn’t sure if you wanted fluff or smut so i did both! first time writing in a year sorry if i’m a little rusty.

masterlist

its only been three weeks since bucky left for his mission with sam. yet you felt like its been years.

you two spoke on the phone a few times, he spends any free time he has talking to you. all you know is that it's important and probably very dangerous.

you lay on your soft couch in your apartment, watching a random show you had been binging. the ambient lighting setting a more comfortable tone over the room.

your eyes can barely stay open, letting them close for a few seconds before forcing them back open, trying your hardest not to fall asleep. it was late, almost 1am, but you were determined to finish this episode before falling asleep.

suddenly, your phone lights up from beside you, forcing you to snap out of your trance on the show.

you reach to flip the screen, but before you could even pick it up there was a familiar knock at your door. you perk up from your comfortable spot on the couch, pausing the show and quickly walking over to the front door.

you open the door, and there he stood. his hair a little bit longer than when he had left. in his black compression shirt and black tactical pants. he came straight from the plane.

bucky stands in the hallway, a weary expression on his face. he offers a small smile as you open the door, bags under his eyes, looking exhausted.

for a moment, he stands there, simply taking you in. he didn't realise how much he missed you until this very moment.

“hey.” he lights up seeing your suprised expression.

“hi” you respond, not wanting to waste another second apart.

you both smile, he immediately wraps his arms around you, bringing you into a crushing hug as he closes the door behind you guys.

he nuzzles his head into your neck, breathing you in. “missed you.”

your arms quickly find placement around his shoulders. he notices the fact that you’re wearing a pair of his boxers and his t shirt that magically went missing a few months into your relationship.

as you wrap yourself around him, you notice he still smells the same, the second you reckognize his familiar scent, your eyes shut. the warmth of his arms embracing you making you greatful for having a boyfriend in the winter.

you pull back and he brings his hand up to cup your face, his thumb gently running over your cheek.

“god, you have no idea how much i’ve missed you.” he leans in and kisses you. you’d never get bored of the way his lips felt against yours, even after over two years of being together.

his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer to him. you smile into the kiss. “i can tell” you giggle.

he looks around at the familiar setting of your apartment. looking to the living room and taking notice of the paused tv show and snacks on the coffee table.

“you were just soo bored without me, huh?” he smirks, making you roll your eyes.

“no…” you playfully slap his real arm, noticing the way he slightly winces as if he was in pain.

“bucky…” you look up at him.

“yes…” he responds, avoiding eye contact.

“did you not go to medical after the mission?” you ask, feeling his arm.

“i-no” he lowers his head in defeat. you groan.

“i told you to stop doing that after last time you showed up borderline bleeding out, buck!” you immediately start inspecting him, making sure there’s nothing else wrong.

“i know, but i promise i’m okay.” he assures you, gently holding onto your hands and kissing your cheek. you held back a giggle at the tickle of his beard against your skin.

“i couldn’t wait to see you, medics would have taken over an hour to check me out-“

“you couldn’t wait an hour?” you ask, seriously. “what if there was something wrong?” you frown.

he shakes his head, his blue eyes searching your own.

“no, baby, i couldn’t.”

you weren’t really mad at him, you were just worried, rightfully so.

you lift yourself up on your tiptoes and kiss him again, your hands moving to behind his neck as he grasps your waist.

he gratefully accepts the kiss, your lips moving at a perfect pace. just when he pulled you flush against him, his grip tightening on your waist, you pulled away from him. both of you heavily breathing from the make out sesh.

“but you have to at least let me see your injuries. no arguing.” you turn around to walk to the bathroom, him groaning as he follows behind you like a lost puppy.

he knows not to say no to you at this point in your relationship.

you flip up the switch to the obnoxiously bright light of your bathroom, bucky sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

“take your shirt off.” you tell him, hiding a smile. you lightly tug on his shirt that fit his form way too well. he smiles back.

“whatever you say, beautiful.” he grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling it off over his head.

your eyes are immediately drawn to the decent sized cut on his arm, and the gnarly bruise on his rib. you frown, finger hovering over the bruise.

“buck…”

“it doesn’t hurt.” he grabs your hand that hovered over his rib, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it.

you look at him, unsure. he notices.

“i promise.” he reassures you.

you lean down, giving him a peck on his cheek.

“okay, you’re letting me clean the cut at least. i don’t want anymore blood on my carpet, please.” you fake pout, reaching under the bathroom sink for the bandages and anti bacterial spray.

“i apologized. purposely for that.” bucky says, watching you bend over to grab the supplies, eyeing you as you walk back over to him.

“that you did.” you giggle, spraying his cut with the aid spray, thankfully it was the one that didn’t burn. not like it would have hurt him anyways.

you take a second to stare at your hot super soldier boyfriend's arms for a moment.

not a second went by when he was gone that you didn't miss them.

and him too of course.

“and i made it up to you, remember?” he smirks, giving you a knowing look. you roll your eyes, ignoring his comment. he speaks again.

“you came four times that ni-“

“okay all done here!” you cut him off, taking the sticky part off of the large bandage, carefully but quickly placing it over his wound, thankful it wasn’t bleeding.

he chuckles at how shy you get when talking about sex, you were so cute.

“c’mere.” he whispers, standing up. you oblige, wrapping your arms lazily around his neck. his gaze goes from your eyes to your lips to your neck.

you watch his hungry stare, not missing the way you feel yourself getting more turned on by the second. the tired and rugged look on bucky making him somehow seem even more attractive.

your boyfriend was practically obsessed with you. his pure admiration and devotion to you almost shine through his eyes whenever he looks at you.

“bucky…” you practically whine. his eyes snap back to yours.

“yeah, baby?

“kiss m-“ before you could even finish your words, his lips were on yours. you missed being this close to him, but you both needed more.

his hands go lower on your back, pulling you against him so he could feel more of you. you gasp into his mouth when he unconsciously grinds against you.

“bed.” you say in between kisses. he smirks, picking you up bridal style with complete ease and walking to your bedroom. “you’re bossy today.” he jokes.

“i just missed you.” you say as he gently places you down at the edge of your mattress, legs spread as he stands between them.

he gives you another kiss.

“lay back, gorgeous.” he commands, you scoot back and do as he says, watching his shirtless form as he crawls up to you. you do the favor of taking your (well, his) own shirt off, leaving your upper half exposed.

you are about to complain to him to take off his pants, but before you can protest, his mouth is on yours again. the both of you having had no form of relief for almost a month making you both more needy and impatient.

he grinds himself against your clothed clit, the thin fabric of (his) boxers you were wearing making the feeling of his clothed erection even more intense.

you lightly moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hips continuously rocking into yours, feeling yourself getting more wet.

“bucky, need it.” you whine, not wanting to wait any longer. he shakes his head.

“not yet, baby. it’s been weeks, i gotta prep you.” he gives you another kiss before moving his path downward. down your neck, sucking small marks. down your now bare chest, not forgetting to give your breasts attention before moving down to your naval.

“you look good in these.” bucky compliments, two fingers tapping on your clothed clit, making you hiss. “bucky!” you pout.

he doesn’t hesitate to give you what you want, leaning his head down and sucking your clit through the boxers, making you moan and buck up into the feeling.

one of your own hands squeezes your breast as the other is combed in his hair, the feeling of him tasting you and drenching the fabric between you two making your head spin.

finally, he taps your hips, you lift them up as he quickly takes the shorts off your body. before you can even look down you feel his tounge directly on your soaking pussy.

it had been so long since you felt his touch, the scruff of his facial hair tickling your inner thighs as he eats you out. he goes from sucking your clit to licking your entire pussy, wanting to feel every single part of you.

you writhe around, trying to hold back your moans as his grip on your body tightens. he takes his hand and inserts one of his metal fingers into your needy hole, making you gasp.

“fuck!” you cry out as he hammers his finger into you, already being overwhelmed from all the stimulation.

bucky soon adding a second finger, making you lose control, grinding yourself into him. the contrast of his cold fingers in your warm cunt felt even better. still eating you out like a mad man as he does all of this.

he loves watching you like this. the love of his life feeling so fucking good, all because of him.

you squirm as a familiar feeling starts to rise in your lower stomach.

“bucky-ah! don’t stop!” you cry as your first orgasm quickly approaches. he doesn’t stop his actions, watching as you desperately whine out for release.

“m’gonna cum, baby.” you grab onto his arm, squeezing as you buck into his mouth, his fingers slamming in and out of your weeping cunt as you cum all over his hand, using your free hand to (poorly) cover your mouth from all the moans.

you’ve already had one complaint from the neighbors, not like bucky cared.

you shake from your long awaited orgasm, whining as you try to push bucky’s head from your cunt. with one last kiss to your pussy, he pulls away, sitting up on his knees to look at your disheveled form.

suddenly, the tiredness from before along with a combination of lack of sleep and the insane orgasm from your boyfriend hits you all at once. you close your eyes for a few seconds, recollecting yourself.

you lazily hold your arms up to him, wanting to be held. he smiles, immediately laying on his side to hold you.

this is your favorite part of being intimate with bucky, the way you hold eachother after.

he stares at you as you bring your thumb up to trace his jawline, making your way to run your fingers through the back of his dark hair.

he leans in and kisses your forehead, which is what he usually does right before you two fall asleep.

“i thought you wanted to-“

“no, no, we don’t have to. it’s 1am and i know you’re tired, baby.” he assures.

you frown.

“but-“

“we’ll save it for tomorrow, trust me.” he leans in to capture your lips in yet another kiss, this one softest.

you smile, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“water?” he asks, about to get out of bed until you stop him.

“no, just stay with me, please.” you don’t even bother opening your eyes, just grabbing onto his arm.

he chuckles, grabbing the blanket from the end of the bed and wrapping it comfortably over the both of you. he sighs as he finally settles into your bed, kissing your forhead once more, arms wrapped comfortably around your figure.

he whispers your name. you peak open your eyes to look at bucky. it’s like he gets even more attractive the more you look at him.

the sound of his voice making your heart squeeze and your stomach all warm.

“i love you.”

you tuck yourself even closer into him, kissing his jaw.

“i love you too, buck.”

a/n: this is my first time writing in like a year LMAO i’m a little rusty but i love getting requests because it helps me feel more inspired!! thank you for reading my first writing in a long time. :) i feel like i wrote this one a little plainer than i usually do, but hey i missed writing!

[yumeboshi]

𝜗𝜚。．．❛ #02. XXX!

𐙚 topic。．hcs of random things that turn on hsr men

．。𝜗𝜚 cw。suggestive content, i wrote this with no brain, MINORS DNI

．。𝜗𝜚 a/n。aven, sunday, and blade. I wanna write for my bootyhill but i need to study him more to get a grip of him lol

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE ⇢ rebuking his argument in a fight

。i js know he would go crazy when you do this 。he’d find people who just agree with him as boring. To him it may look even insincere 。but you? countering his smartly crafted arguments with irresistible logic with your pretty brain, glaring at him as you do with those adorable eyes? 。this man would go from being mad to being horny. tbh he would have probably already been horny in the argument 。nobody can be more masochistic than he is

“ARE YOU STUPID?” You glare at your boyfriend who looks nonchalant as he idly examines the coin between his fingers. “Fucking look at me. Do you know what happens when you join forces with them? You’re just risking the IPC and it will eventually lead to your unfortunate befall.”

You continue barreling on furiously with concrete points. Every time you prove him wrong, his eyes dance and he tries his hardest to bite back the grin that plays at his lips as you rant on. You are so perfect, he thinks- he is nonetheless impressed at you, your wondrous little brain. Something snaps inside of him when he sees you focused on derailing his points, your lips moving quickly to spit out syllables. He feels a loud moan caught in his throat.

“I get it, I’m sorry, princess, I won’t do it.” he suddenly surrenders and you eye him suspiciously as he advances, hands sneaking up to your back. “Let’s talk this out in bed, ‘m gonna apologize to you there.” He says softly, giving you lovely kisses along your neck but the way his fingers dig into your skin lets you know he’s not going to wait any longer.

And you will be confused as hell, because although you did win the argument, you feel like you just lost something else, a hidden little game he never taught you the rules to.

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY ⇢ whipped cream on your lips

。hear me out… i have a gut feeling he likes it a little too much 。ik it’s totally random but he will go nuts when he sees you bite down a particularly creamy cake that promptly smears its remains over your mouth- he tries to think of something more dignified, but he just can’t. His poor brain keeps returning to the most vulgar visuals of you. 。he will always point out whatever you had near your mouth when you two eat, because he’s such a clean freak, but anything with cream, specifically white whipped cream, he will be unable to comment on it and fall weirdly silent to he point you are confused why you not hear his scolding to wipe your mouth. 。he’ll just watch you eat dessert with a smile on your face as you savor the taste innocently. Unfortunately his brain is not, and he will start to feel his cock struggle under the fabric. 。”you have cream over your mouth, sweetheart. should i clean it for you?” he’ll sound restrained, like he’s being choked but his expression doesn’t waver. 。and after he found out his new obsession, he will literally only buy you huge whipped cream cakes for dessert.

“THE CAKE HERE IS SO GOOD.” You savor the taste happily and dig into the whipped cream cake and eat without much care. “Where’s it from?”

Sunday is too busy staring at you to register that. The creamy ring around your pink lips. It bothers him in a bad way. It’s making him feel like he is out of breath. His wings flicker wildly like a cooling fan, trying to blow off the heat that suddenly started to build inside his stomach like a raging primal flame that’s trapped by his own conscience.

You tap his shoulder gently and he snaps back to reality and tries to stare at your eyes instead, yes, lovely eyes, he thinks- your words phase in and out as he gulps, darting his eyes back to the cake.

“…the brand? The cake brand?” You ask again, frowning at his silence.

“Ah, yes, sorry, sweetheart. I was thinking of something else for a moment.” He breathlessly apologizes, the words spilling out a little too quickly like an excuse that makes your frown deepen in confusion— he closes his eyes and opens them again so the heat will ebb away. But his plans are obliterated when you take a portion of the cake and eat it, all while looking at him in the eye with curious doe eyes.

That’s when he can’t restrain himself anymore. He suddenly seizes your chin with his gloved hand, making you squeal in surprise when he practically devours your lips, licking up the cream residue around them roughly before shoving it inside your mouth with his tongue. The sweet cream melts when it gets to your mouth, mixing with his saliva that dips down your chin to make messy thick lines.

“It was from a shop at Golden Hour. I hope you like the taste,” he’d say as if he didn’t just feast on your mouth like a starved beast. “Me personally, i think it’s a tad too sweet.”

#BྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིLADE ⇢ treating his wounds

。it’s ironic because Blade doesn’t want to be healed at all 。but how could he refuse you you’re frantically at his door with an emergency kit, worry written all over you- you are like a cute puppy that keeps following him around. 。he lets you do it reluctantly at first, grumbling about it inwardly 。but when you lift up his shirt with no hesitation to put gauze to soak in the blood, his muscles tense visibly, when your touch ghosts over his skin like tiny little lilies blooming in their wake. 。what have you done to him? He feels nothing but tension and something he didn’t want to register, something a little too pleasant to him. 。and at some point he will actually look forward to having his would treated by you. He still likes pain, but he likes your touch drifting over his bruised skin like an innocent butterfly way more.

“DOES IT HURT?” You softly pat the ointment around another fresh scar on his broad chest. It pains you to see that most of the scars are near his heart. You sigh like a worried mother. “You worry me.”

“I enjoy it,” he grunts in response, but his brain ran a quick recap. Enjoy what? The pain? Or your smooth touch?

“Stay still,” you say, and he does, as you carefully squeeze in another ointment into an ugly looking scar. His eyes never leave you the whole time, his muscles tense at the pain but otherwise he’s relaxed. His intimidating stare makes you scared a little, considering this mysterious man didn’t speak his mind often.

“I think that’s it,” you say, quickly trying to lower Blade’s shirt back- but the man grabs your wrist mid-action. You jump, confused. His eyes are unreadable but he states, “You’re not done.”

you frown in puzzlement. “I double-checked, im pretty sure I didn’t miss a spot.”

He lifts his shirt up and with his bandaged finger, cuts open the scar you just treated for him, making it ooze another layer of fresh blood around the dried wound. His lips form a rare smirk as he looks at your wide-eyed stare.

“There, you have a new wound to work on.”

He will do that until you are out of ointment, and the next day he will come visit you first this time with another set of fresh scars.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Showtime☆

pt 1

Little Miss

Your momma was just a regular lady. Despite not being rich she gave you everything she could.

She'd take you out to parks with your cousins, she'd drop you off at your grandfathers house when she had a job interview, she'd listen to you talk about your nonsense, and she would bake for you and help you bake! She wasnt rich by any means but she tried her best! You knew she'd give you the clothes on her back if you asked!

Momma wasnt anyone important to others. A mere fling by Bruce from back in his Brucie Wayne days. but she was important to you! Momma didnt hide your father. She wasnt emparrassed. She said it was amazing to have "such a ball of sunshine" with her!

She never told you she was glad you werent broody like your father

Despite never meeting your father, you wondered what he was like. Was he as sweet as momma? Was he kind like momma? Would he take you out for ice cream like momma?

You never fully had time to wonder though, Momma was always dropping you off at your grandpas house whenever she had a job interview. Which was basically every other day. You didnt mind though! It gave you more time to get closer to your grandpa!

You both had similar personalities! you both liked music, games, themeparks despite how you could only go once at 5 years old. your grandpa and momma had to save up for 8 months and a half, walking and talking and baking and, and, and-

Youre 7 when your mom dies. She died from not getting her Pneumonia checked out. You wanted to beat yourself up for not noticing, you wanted to cry and throw up and blame it on yourself, but the truth was no one knew besides her.

You felt something was off because the months leading up to her death her smile was fading. Momma didnt want you to worry and snitch to your grandpa and put more on his back so she kept quiet and never told anyone.

She couldnt even tell a doctor, she couldnt afford the medical bills and she'd rather die then tell bruce

You always were very observent. You mourned for a while, as much as you could anyways. You couldnt mourn for long, you had to keep going, for momma! You kept smiling, for momma.

You and your grandpa tried your hardest to keep going for her, to keep her memory alive. You held onto the art projects she started but never finished, onto the books she never released, onto the movies that never made it in the industry.

Youre 7 when your grandpa dies. He died from accidental overdose from his off-brand medications.

You tell yourself he isnt dead hecantbedeadhecantdieandleavepleasedontleavemecomebackplease

Everything was a blur from there. You decide to creamate him, like momma.

You space out for what feels like hours. Its been a while when you stop dissasociating and realize you're at a police station where theyre taking dna tests on you to see if you have any other family to take care of you.

Its a shock to others when it points to Bruce Wayne being your father, and it shocks them more when you immidiately say you already knew and how you immidiately brighten up and go on talking about the things your momma said about him.

After what feels like hours, someone who definitely does not look like who your father picks you up.

He says hes your fathers butler, you didnt even know those were real! You thought they were made up for movies!

He keeps trying to talk to you in his fancy car, you try to keep the conversation going to distract yourself from how you really just want your momma.

hi im new at writing pls be nice sorry for the mistakes

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