#rising again after (almost) dying!

[queerpiratebrainrot]

Zombie rat in front of a rising sun being the Revenge's new flag is so fuckin beautiful and important to me

[ghost-proofbaby]

september love (e.m.)

eddie finds you awake on the first night he's home from the hospital, and wonders what you're thinking.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of canon ending of season 4, except eddie didn't die. mentions of hospital and medical procedures (in passing). sort of sad, sort of not. a little bit of angst? hurt/comfort. religious imagery (specific mentions of heaven).

wc: 1.7k+

an: this was just some sort of weird rambling upon seeing the poem mentioned above at like 11 pm? 1 am? who knows. time is a construct. also, reader is compared to a 'violent' dog/animal during eddie's recovery, and if you like this metaphor/vibe, then i strongly suggest and urge you to go read @myosotisa's fic Half Life. she does it far more beautifully than i ever could, and it is one of my favorite fics. ever.

Your head is on his chest. 

Your temple and your ear are flush with the soft cotton of his wrinkled t-shirt, the one he insisted upon sleeping on his first night home, and it’s all you can think about. The smell of week old laundry, the stubborn linger of a cologne gifted too long ago to remember the worn name of. A steady heartbeat that still pumps along a little too slow for your liking. The rise and fall of each promised breath that you force your lungs to pace themselves with. Just enough heat radiating off of him to keep you warm, here in bed, here in the dim light of twilight as he rests.

No tubes and no IVs to worry about. No nurses barging in every ten minutes. No beeping of a dozen machines to be your symphony tonight. 

No, you don’t need a machine now to keep track of his heart rate. You’ve learned to do that entirely on your own; your heart has learned how to match his with each dulled thump against the skin you cling to through this dingy old t-shirt.

It can’t be long after 3 AM, the moonlight almost as bright as a rising sun as it peeks itself in through the curtains of the window, as if whispering to check if you might still be awake.

And you are. And all you can think about, is your head on his chest. 

It’s been over a month since you’ve had this type of moment with Eddie. A moment where you’re truly, sincerely, utterly alone with him. Privacy had become a delicacy that you weren’t aware of the fragility of. You hadn’t understood its importance until you had to bask in its absence, always on edge for the next body to walk into the room and take the air out of your lungs. Always anxious for the next sound of news, always worried for the next shoe to drop. 

You’d forgotten what it had felt like for Eddie to twitch his fingers along your spine in his sleep, and for you to be the only witness to his quiet worship, even unconscious. 

Your lips part, and you almost consider whispering hard truths into the trembling night air. There’s a million and one dying words cementing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and you know that every single one you could even manage to utter would only make you sound like a broken record. 

I’m sorry this happened to you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent it. 

All things already said to him when he had been drifting in and out of consciousness in that hospital bed. All apologies already buried between muted sobs as you’d clutched his knuckles a little tighter than you should have, a little too selfish in the moment to wonder if it might be hurting him. The only thing on your mind had been keeping him, holding him, feeling him. He was alive – he was alive. And for the first seven nights of his endless rest, all you could wonder is for just how much longer that desperate prayer could ring true.

Would he leave you again? Would he lose the fight? 

You can’t recall without bias which one of you had been the true wounded animal in that little room, scented with burning bleach and cacophonies of nearby patients just beyond the curtains. 

Eddie, looking up at the police who had finally come once he woke, eyes big and teary as he’d tried to wrap his head around his new reality.

You, baring teeth and claws at them in the end, ready to bite hard at anyone who got too close.

It wasn’t just the police. It was everyone. 

It was the same juxtaposition between the two of you at those nurses who would interrupt the nights, always frowning so dutifully at the sight of your carefully curled figure at Eddie’s side. When friends and family came to visit, and they all had the same look of disbelief. As if they were about to tell you that you had imagined it all; he hadn’t survived, he hadn’t come back to you, you were imagining it. You’d been all bark and awaiting bite towards Steve Harrington and the newly revived Jim Hopper, all the same. Their figures bore no difference to you when it came to protecting what was so holy to you. Him, Eddie, here and alive. Eddie, who slept enough for the both of you those nights. The pain in your back from all the uncomfortable hours spent in that little chair at his bedside was insignificant, all the headaches you’d endured from the smell of iodine that still clung to the air after every surgery were pitiful attempts at the Universe removing you from him. 

If you could, you might try to recall your reaction when Dustin Henderson had babbled on through tears as to what had happened to Eddie when the two were left alone. His final act of heroism, or so he thought. 

But you can’t. Right here, right now, you aren’t capable of living in the past. You’ve been haunted enough these last few weeks, and all your numb mind can handle is counting the beats of his heart. Like the rhythm of a song – 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. Staccato verses that you sometimes whisper in time, getting worried when they don’t follow the infallible metronome you’ve set for him. 

“You’re still awake.”

The murmur of his voice is a drink of cold water, startling in the dark greys and blues wrapping the two of you up. 

You lift your head ever so slightly against your better judgment, “Go back to sleep, love.” 

“Touche.” 

You can see his grin even through the shadows. It’s weak, not yet quite as vibrant as it once had been, but it’s there. He’s still alive. He’s still grinning. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” The pads of his fingertips are more intentional against your spine now, longer strokes and mindless shapes, “I’ve got a penny in my pocket if you tell me.”

His words are only slightly slurred. Probably residual of the pain medication they’d prescribed him.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” you say, and you mean it.

You hadn’t been thinking. You had just been listening to his heart and his breaths, feeling the weight of him beneath you. 

Little things you had taken for granted once upon a time. Never again, your soul aches as you let your head drop back to his chest carefully. Never again.

“You’re just laying awake, not thinking about anything, at…” he trails off, turning his cheek and squinting in the direction of the alarm clock across the room. The glow is dim, and you know you’ll have to change the batteries soon, “Four in the morning?”

4 AM. Last you had checked, it had been 3 AM. You hadn’t even noticed an hour had passed. 

“Is that really so hard to believe?” you smile up at him, and it’s just as sincere as your words had been. When his honey brown eyes meet yours, warmth drizzles down your entire being. Across your brain, down your spine, wrapping around your limbs. You could spend an eternity here, simmering in his warmth, content to your heart’s fullest capability. 

You’d almost lost him. You’d almost lost this warmth. 

You take a second to memorize his features. Studying him as if you didn’t already know every curvature, every freckle, every winkle better than you knew your own soul. You’re looking at him as if you may never look at him again, and he can tell. 

He doesn’t have to say that he gets it. His hand simply wanders up to cup your face, basking in you as you were him. Two souls, intertwining over overlapping legs and synchronized heartbeats, and he doesn’t have to say a word. 

The moment his fingers card into your baby hairs, you’re turning your mouth quickly to that warm palm. One, two, three kisses. Quick pecks, rapid succession. A secret language that you know he, and only ever he, can begin to understand. 

I love you.

I love you.

I love you. 

It drowns out all sorrow, all guilt, all hauntings. Your cracked lips, and the feeling of those lines across his palms. If there is a Heaven, it’s not somewhere in a pearly gated kingdom above. There are no hark angels and there is no bearded man awaiting. 

It’s here. It’s now. It’s 4 AM, in bed with your lover, getting to experience moments you’d come so close to losing for eternity. 

Do the poets know? They must. All the love, all the adoration, in both your bodies is too abundant for them to not feel it. To not write about it. 

“Go back to bed, love,” you repeat almost a perfect imitation of your first command when he had awakened, and this time, his eyelids flutter with your words, “I’m not gonna disappear between now and sunrise. I promise.” 

“No,” he quickly whispers back as his eyes fully shut, and your palms smooth out the wrinkles of the shirt to feel the ridges of scars hidden for now. Scars he’s ashamed of, for now. Scars you’d one day show all the love in the world to, sacred proof that he came back to you, only once he was ready. One day. “But you’re looking at me like I might.”

His words are heavy in the shades of violet now sinking into the room. But the moon is high in her sky, and the crickets are chirping to the East, and he’s right.

You’re terrified the daylight will steal him from you. You’re terrified the new day might tear away all that you’ve sunk your teeth into. 

“I’m not going to,” he mumbles around a yawn, arms slowly encasing you, pulling you in closer, “I’m not going anywhere. Yeah?” 

He’s back with that warmth, coaxing you right back into heavenly notions with him. You let him; he baits you, and you follow. 

“Yeah.”

It’s a sigh. Of hopefulness, of relief, of belief. 

This time, the I love you is more than a prayer repeated in your mind. And he somehow manages to say it back, just as he begins to slip back under. Still holding you and hands still twitching where they rest against your back. 

Let daylight come. You aren’t capable of worrying about it, or stressing about all that has happened. You aren’t capable of thinking about anything right now, because only one thing matters as your temple and ear find his heartbeat once more. 

Your head is on his chest.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

[therealcocoshady]

Hi, coco!

You could make a third part of Eminem x Young Actress Reader, where the reader accompanies him to a game in Detroit and the cameras can't stop focusing on them because Em has never been seen so smiling and affectionate with someone. For the rest you can add what you want. By the way, I love your work and I love that you write about Eminem since almost no one does.<3

Family Game

Eminem x Younger Actress Reader

Part 1 : Daddy’s Spaghetti

Part 2 : Red Carpet Appearance

AN : thank you for your request ! I hope you liked it. I added my own little twist to it 🥰

Ever since your remarked outing at the Oscars, everyone knew you and Marshall were dating, much to your delight. Sure, you would gladly do without the press coverage, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a tiny bit satisfying to have everyone know that Eminem, hip hop’s most eligible bachelor was spoken for, by yours truly, no less. After all, you were not the first (nor the last) public figure to thirst over him and it felt nice to have the “competition” know that they should back off. Especially when you were in a long distance relationship : him in Detroit, you in LA. Sure, you trusted each other and often traveled to make it work but, still, it’s easy to get jealous, especially when both parties are public figures. Marshall was well aware of your status as Hollywood’s rising star and, since he had been your crush for years, you knew for a fact that he has tons of ladies throwing themselves at him. 

In spite of the distance and a couple of jealousy episodes, the two of you managed to make your relationship work, however. Marshall frequently flew out to LA to record with Dr Dre and other artists and to visit you and, whenever you weren’t shooting a movie, you joined him in Michigan. Your relationship was now in the serious state of « we’re both hope at each other’s place ». Your living room table was full of CDs and notepads and his living room was made cozy with your favorite crystals (which he always made fun of), scented candles (which he secretly loved) and fuzzy blankets (which he stole whenever you weren’t around). The whole relationship, despite trials, felt cozy and domestic. And it was made even better by the fact that Marshall had finally managed to ease up. You tended to blame it on the good critical reception after the Oscars : as soon as the two of you had been spotted together, holding hands, Marshall happily gushing about you to the press, both your fans and his had showered you with love and showed nothing but support. Whenever you were positing, fans (most of the time, respectfully) asked about him and they seemed truly overjoyed by the relationship. From what you gathered in the social media comments, they were also dying for the two of you to be spotted together again. Marshall was pretty much an hermit and not the kind to go out and about when he knew he might be spotted but, on one occasion, he had to oblige the fans. 

His beloved Detroit Lions were playing your Los Angeles Rams at Detroit’s Ford Field Stadium and there was no way in hell you would miss the occasion to attend. Knowing how protective of your relationship he could be, you made plans to attend on your own, with a couple of friends who would fly in for the occasion, but Marshall surprised you by actually requesting your presence. 

Don’t you want to go with me ? He asked. 

You mean… on a date ? You clarified. 

I mean there would be other people around, like family, friends and shit but we could be together, he said with a smile. 

You mean you would agree to being spotted with me ?! You asked jokingly. You know I wouldn’t be caught dead in Lions apparel ! 

What I mean is that I’d be proud to hold your hand, even if you’re wearing that stupid Rams hoodie, he grinned. 

Ok, you giggled. As long as I’m not forced to cheer for your team ! 

You ended up attending the event in a private suite with a lot of other people. Of course, his children were in attendance, as well as a couple of D12 friends. You had met everyone previously. A couple of months into the relationship, Marshall had organized a dinner for you to officially meet his daughters and everything had gone smoothly. You absolutely loved them, and same went for the friends he had introduced to you on different occasions. At the game, you were also joined by a couple of your friends, that you not so secretly planned on setting up with some of his. In your mind, there was no doubt that Alicia and Porter were meant to be and the Game seemed like the perfect occasion. It was joyful and everyone was really happy to be here. You were donning your favorite Rams apparel, much to Marshall’s dismay, but that didn’t prevent him from casually holding your hand. 

For how much would you wear Lions apparel ? Your friend jokingly asked. 

Nobody in this room can afford it, you replied with a grin. 

Oh really ? Marshall asked with a smirk. 

How about if you guys get married ? Porter asked. Would you be willing to support the Lions ? 

That would require a HUGE rock, you giggled. But yeah, sure, if we ever get married, I’ll wear Lions gear for all games, except the ones against the Rams. 

Your friends erupted in « oooohs » and « aaaahs ». The rivalry between your two teams was enough to fuel a dozen of conversations but, other than that, everyone around you had to agree that you were kind of the perfect couple. Your best friends always pointed out that Marshall was good at keeping you grounded and reminding you of the things that mattered - besides all the LA glitz and glamour - and Marshall’s circle seemed happy that you encouraged him to go out of his comfort zone. 

He was usually stressed out whenever there were tons of cameras around. It was unsettling to you, at first, because it was part of the job, but as your relationship progressed and he came with you to some events, he seemed to ease up. Still, he wasn’t big on public displays of affection, but you didn’t mind. You enjoyed his company nonetheless and you didn’t need him to kiss you in public or even hold your hand to be happy to be with him. In settings like football games, though, he was himself - the man you knew and loved in everyday life. He could be seen clapping, shouting, cheering… a far cry from the stoic face he arbored on red carpets and magazine covers. And you absolutely loved to see him enjoy himself and have fun. You were enamored with his smile and happy demeanor and you didn’t care too much about the 60 000 other people, you only had eyes for him. Obviously, though, as a Detroit native and global superstar, he was one of the centres of attention when Lose Yourself started playing before the game and everyone started singing/rapping along to the lyrics. Everyone in your group watched Marshall, who was definitely in a good mood. So were you, to be honest, and you couldn’t help but rap along, this song being one of your favorites ever. As the song ended, you could see Marshall sitting right next to you, trying not to laugh. 

You’re adorable, he chuckled. 

What ? You asked with a giggle. It’s the ultimate stadium song ! And my boyfriend is the one who wrote it !!! 

I love you, he simply said before cupping your face and placing a chaste kiss on your lips. 

That was the last tender moment the two of you shared before the end of the game. When your two favorite teams played each other, there was no romantic involvement anymore. It was all betting, taunting and calling each other names. For the first two quarters, the Rams seemed to dominate, which you gladly shoved in your boyfriend’s face, but when the Lions ended up winning, you knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Despite it all, and in spite of you being a sore loser, Marshall behaved like the perfect boyfriend and pecked you on the cheek, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you exited your suite. His team winning always put him in a celebratory mood and he was more affectionate than usual, not giving a damn what people would see or think. He even went so far as to kiss your lips. 

Of course, in the following hours, the Internet went absolutely crazy over the pictures of the two of you at the stadium. While some accounts were raving about your outfit (because you did put some effort into making that Sports apparel work !), most of them were gushing about Marshall’s display of affection and how in love the two of you looked. 

« Look at his smile 🥰 » commented one, or « Look how in love he looks when she’s rapping his song 😭❤️ » were a few of the comments you could see under the videos of the event. It was extremely cute and, in moments like these, you felt like the luckiest woman on earth. However, a swarm of other comments started to appear, focusing on… Marshall’s daughters. The three of them were sitting on the row just behind you and they could be seen laughing at your nonexistent rapping skills (all fair, really) and mocking their father’s display of affection. You didn’t take offense at all - you’d been there yourself and you knew how icky it could feel, seeing your parent being affectionate with someone in public, but the press and social media accounts seemed to turn it into a family feud. If the headlines were to be believed, neither Alaina, Stevie or Hailie approved of the relationship and thought you were too young for Marshall. They apparently despised you and saw you as the most evil and wicked stepmother who was more than likely after their Dad’s fortune. Of course, reality couldn’t be further from the truth. Whenever you were in Detroit, you spent a great deal of time with Marshall’s daughters and you considered as friends. So much so that you even made plans of your own, that did not include him. It wasn’t rare for the four of you to have dinner or go shopping. On occasion, they even visited you in California and you soon planned to go on a girls’ trip in Morocco. So, when Hailie showed you the headline on your phone, everyone burst out laughing. 

« Evil stepmother », Stevie chortled. That’s hilarious. 

Is that because of the face you made, Hailie ? When Y/N was rapping ? Alaina chimed in. 

I was making a face because they were corny ! She laughed. Look at Dad’s face on the video. He’s all cute and lovey dovey. Of course I wanted to puke ! 

Marshall rolled his eyes. He was no stranger to his kids making fun of how in love with you he was but, honestly, he didn’t care. For the first time in forever, he was happy and thriving in a relationship. A healthy one, at that. Whenever you were around, he could barely contain his joy and good mood and he often thought he would do anything to make you smile. He hated public attention but he simply loved showing you off and enjoying life with you. However, he had to admit he was a little annoyed by the comments involving your relationship with his daughters. He knew there was no truth to it whatsoever but that didn’t make it less annoying. First of all, he hated seeing his kids’ names in the media, especially if it was negative and, secondly, he hated the idea of lies involving all of you, the people he loved the most on this earth. However, the four of you were grown women and he knew better than to say something so he figured it would be best to wait for it to die down. 

Unfortunately, though, the rumors did not die down and the whole thing got blown out of proportion. It wasn’t only on social media : press and other media outlets got ahold of the story and even dug up some obscure social media posts and took them out of context. They really made it seem like there was hatred between the girls and you were a mean gold-digger who wanted to estrange Marshall from his children. Nothing could be further for the truth though, and you even celebrated the holidays together. After years spent in the public eye, you tried not to let it get to you but it was hard. Even if some of your past relationships had been publicized, this one was on a whole other level and you had a hard time dealing with the scrutiny. Especially when some people were starting to wish for the end of your career with comments like « What a b****. Hope no one casts her ever again 🙄 » or « Hope she enjoys her Oscar because she won’t last much longer in Hollywood 💀 ». You tried not to let your feelings show. Marshall was already annoyed and you didn’t want things to get worse. After all, you knew how overprotective he could get over the people he loved. 

A few weeks went by and the attention seemed to die down around the holidays. You had been with Marshall for a year and a half and it was your first time celebrating together. You would spend the days leading up to Christmas in Michigan, go back to your family in California for the holidays and then jet off to a private Island lent by a friend for some vacation time just the two of you. Marshall would even join you in LA to spend some time with your family who was definitely approving of him. They absolutely adored him and considered him a part of the family. 

In the week leading up to Christmas, you were on Christmas tree decoration duty with the girls while Marshall was letting you do your thing. Hailie had come up with some ornaments as merch for her podcast and you thought it would be cute and funny to take a selfie with one of them that said « Shady or Nice ». You posted it to your Instagram account with some cheesy caption and didn’t pay it too much attention. When you checked the comments, a day or so later, you were surprised at the reaction. What you thought would be a cute nod to your boyfriend and his daughter’s podcast ended up in a shitstorm, with people basically accusing you on sucking up to Hailie to get to Marshall. In their mind, you were a master manipulator. Of course, these were just a bunch of people commenting and the rest seemed rather supportive and happy to see you acknowledging your relationship, something you rarely did on your social media account. Still, you were a little bugged off when you went to bed. 

What’s up, babygirl ? Marshall asked as he laid next to you. 

Nothing, you shrugged. Just these mean trolls. 

What are they saying now ? 

That your daughters hate me, you summed up. And that I’m trying to suck up to them. 

That’s stupid, he scoffed. The girls love you and you know it. 

And I love them too, you know ? You replied. But I don’t know… I don’t like people getting the wrong idea. And I see people commenting about me in their posts and it breaks my heart. 

It’s not your fault, he said before kissing your forehead. Let’s not think about that, ok ? Just focus on the holidays and the great time we’re going to have. 

I’m going to miss you for Christmas, you pointed out. 

Three days, he chuckled. And then I’m joining you in California. And after that… you, me, a private island and your tiniest bikinis. 

You nuzzled his neck and enjoyed the warmth of his embrace, making you forget all of your worries. The next day, you were set to hop on the jet to go back to California and enjoy some family time with your brother and your parents. Before that, you enjoyed one last brunch at Marshall’s place, with his daughters. Hailie got everyone matching ugly Christmas sweaters and you were absolutely moved that she got one for you. You took corny pictures in front of the Christmas tree posing with your boyfriend’s daughters while he was rolling his eyes at your dumb poses. You even got Marshall to pose with you. He wasn’t big on taking pictures but he knew how important these were for you and the girls so he obliged with a smile on his face. A few hours later, you were on the jet, scrolling social media and noticed that Alaina had posted the picture of you, her and her sisters in front of the Christmas Tree with the caption : « Happy holidays from our FAMILY to yours 💕 ». You thought it was the sweetest thing ever that she considered you as family. Of course, trolls were still in the comments, but you tried to stay positive. A few hours later, Hailie updated her last podcast episode of the year, with Stevie as guest. 

So, before we begin this episode, we wanted to address something, she began. 

Family matters, Stevie specified. 

Right, Hailie nodded. You guys have been commenting a lot on last episode’s video and on my Instagram account…

All our accounts, her sister corrected.

Yes. Everyone’s account. It seems like Internet is going crazy about a certain video that was taken at the last Lions Game, so I thought… we thought we should clear things up, Hailie said. I understand that there are always going to be rumors about our family, and we can’t help it at this point, but it’s the Holidays and I don’t my mood to be ruined by negative attention and lies. So… Stevie, do you want to comment on the video ? 

Basically, we were at the game, enjoying some family time and people filmed our reaction to Y/N… our Dad’s girlfriend, rapping Lose Yourself, Stevie explained. And kissing afterwards. And what really sparked the whole thing is the face Hailie made. 

Yeah, I pretended to puke, Hailie giggled. And no, guys, it’s not because I hate Y/N or anything like that, it’s just… we’re a normal family, guys. Whenever you see your parents being cheesy and corny, you want to puke, right ? 

Right, Stevie giggled. So, let’s not dwell on this but for the record : we love Y/N and she is not what people make her to be. We see her as family, you know ? 

Yes ! It’s the Holidays, it’s a family time and we all know I love Shady stories but… nothing Shady here. It’s all love, Hailie chuckled. 

Too much love, Stevie joked. 

This warmed your heart even more. The girls absolutely didn’t have to jump to your defense but the fact that they did warmed your heart and you couldn’t wait to spend some time with them again. You sent texts to thank them and wished them happy holidays, saying you were looking forward to seeing them soon. You also texted your boyfriend, telling him how amazing his kids were and that you loved him and his family. 

MARSHALL’S POV 

Marshall was eating dinner with his daughters when he got a text from Y/N that immediately put a smile on his face. 

You girls are amazing, he said with a smile. 

No idea what you’re talking about, Alaina said with feigned innocence. 

I think you do, he replied with a grin. Seriously, you didn’t have to do that but… thank you. It means a lot to me. 

We weren’t going to let people think we hate her, Stevie said.

Not when she is actually about to become our stepmother, Hailie said with a smirk. 

Marshall immediately let his fork fall on his plate, a look of surprise on his face. 

I… erm… wanted to talk to you about it first, he said. How do you even know… ? 

I found the ring sketches in your office last time I went there, Stevie said. I was searching for one of your old CDs. 

And you had to go yapping to your sisters about that ? He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Are you really going to propose ? Hailie said with excitement. 

I mean… I’ve been thinking about it, yeah, he admitted. I wanted to make sure you girls were ok with it first but, if that’s fine with you, I’d like to propose to her over the holidays. 

The girls erupted in cheers and immediately gave their blessings, commenting on how they never thought this day would come. Of course, they quizzed him about his plans. 

Were spending a couple of days with her family before going on vacation for NYE, so I was planning on asking for her father’s blessing, he explained. 

Isn’t he like… almost your age, though ? Stevie chuckled. 

It’s a matter of respect, he shrugged. I appreciated when Matt and Evan asked for my blessing so I thought I’d do the same. Can’t hurt to have your future father-in-law on your side. 

And… as for the proposal ? Alaina asked. 

I know it’s not super original but I was thinking of doing it on the private island, over a nice dinner on the beach, at sunset or something like that, he said. 

It’s so cute ! Alaina said. I love it. 

I think my Dad’s gone corny, Hailie joked. 

You think it’s corny ? He asked with his eyebrows furrowed. 

Oh definitely. But she’s just as corny so she is going to love it ! 

One question though, Stevie said. If you guys get married, she’ll move to Detroit, right ? 

That’s sort of the plan, yeah, Marshall said. She’d move for work quite a bit, depending on where movies are shot, but she’d live with me. Why ? 

So… she’d have to turn into a Lions fan eventually, right ? 

I’m counting on it, he said with a smirk. 

Is that why you’re proposing ? Alaina joked. 

Maybe, he chuckled. I swear to God, I’m putting a ban on Rams apparel in the prenup. 

[d1stalker]

Undercover Flames II [Logan Howlett]

Summary: You may have been rescued, but the enemy is still out there, and it’s going to take way more than just a direct assault to get them to talk. Your plan, however, does nothing to calm Logan’s nerves.

PART TWO OF TWO (part one here)

Warnings: canon-level violence, brief argument

WC: 7.2K - MASTERLIST

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You wake up to the warmth of Logan’s body pressed against yours, the rise and fall of his chest soothing in its steady rhythm. The light is soft, filtering through the curtains and for a moment, you allow yourself to stay still, savouring the peace of this rare, tranquil morning. Logan’s arm is draped protectively over your waist, his hand resting against your stomach, fingers splayed out as if to keep you anchored to him.

As you turn in his embrace, Logan stirs, his hold on you tightening instinctively before he lets out a soft, sleepy grunt.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips as you watch him slowly blink his eyes open. His gaze is soft, warm in a way that’s reserved only for these quiet moments between you.

It has been just over four months since you were rescued from the clutches of the anti-mutant organization, and in that time, you’ve made remarkable strides in your recovery. The nightmares that once haunted you relentlessly have become few and far between, no longer a nagging constant at the back of your mind. Your body, once battered and bruised, has healed with time and care. After three weeks of rest, you cautiously returned to training—starting slow, attentive to not reopen old wounds or strain muscles that were still mending. You’ve not only regained your strength but it almost appears like you’ve surpassed it, driven by a fierce determination to never feel that powerless again.

Last month marked a significant milestone: your first assignment back. The instructions were straightforward—an investigation into a drug dealer whose clients had been mysteriously dying within days of their transactions. It wasn’t the most complex of tasks, but it was a crucial step in regaining your confidence in the field. Logan, of course, wasn’t thrilled about you heading out so soon. You could see the worry in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched when the assignment was discussed. However, true to his word, he stepped back, allowing you the space to do what you needed to do. He trusted you to handle it, even if every protective instinct in him was screaming to stay close.

But his companionship was never lost on you. His actions speak volumes—over the years of knowing each other, he’s learned to read you in ways that no one else can, picking up on the smallest details that others might overlook. And now that you’re lovers, he finally allows himself to show you just how much he’s always noticed, how deeply he’s cared all along.

He’s always a step ahead of you, anticipating your needs before you even realize them yourself. Whether it’s tossing you a water bottle after a grueling training session, offering you his jacket when he notices the temperature drop, or silently placing a hand on your back to steady you when you’re about to lose your balance—Logan is there, solid and dependable.

His support is in the small, almost indiscernible touches. You’ve noticed that he’ll lightly brush his fingers against your hand when he senses you’re anxious, he’ll place a hand on your shoulder when you’re deep in thought, the warmth of his touch a silent reminder that you’re not alone. And when you’re seated beside each other, his thigh will always be connected with yours. 

Seeing this side of Logan, the side that he rarely shows to anyone, has deepened your love for him to a level you never thought possible. You’ve always cared for him—admired his strength, his loyalty, and his unyielding determination—but now, as he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, to let down the walls he’s built up over so many years, you find yourself falling for him all over again, deeper and deeper. 

You’ve never felt so seen, so understood, it’s as if Logan has tuned into every part of who you are, cherishing even the smallest details. Knowing that he trusts you enough to show this side of himself, to let you in past his barriers fills you with a gratitude that words can hardly express. You feel honoured, and so incredibly lucky to be the one who gets to see the real him—the one who’s gentle, thoughtful, and so much more than the tough exterior he shows the world.

Logan’s hand slides up your side, breaking you from your haze, his thumb brushing over your ribs with tenderness 

“How’re you feeling?” 

“Amazing,” you say, and it’s the truth. Everything Logan has done for you, both before and after the incident, has helped you become stronger—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. “Thanks to you.”

He grunts, a sound that would seem dismissive to anyone else, but you’ve learned to hear the subtleties in it—the satisfaction, the pride that he tries to keep hidden. He pulls you closer, his lips brushing the side of your forehead in a gesture that’s more comforting than words could ever be. “Just doing my job,” he huffs.

“Sure,” you tease, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw, feeling the familiar roughness of his stubble beneath your touch. “But not everyone’s job description includes being my personal heater.”

Logan chuckles, his tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you say, your smile widening as you lean in, your lips pressing against his in a soft, lingering kiss. 

When you pull back, Logan’s eyes are filled with that familiar mix of longing and reluctance, the same look he’s given you every morning since the rescue. It’s a look that makes your chest ache because you know what it means. He wants to protect you, to keep you safe from the world outside this room, but he knows he can’t always do that. Even though he’s managed to back off and let you do your own thing, you know deep down that he would rather stick by your side every second of the day. He’s holding onto you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, like the world outside is too dangerous to face without you by his side.

You’re about to say something to ease the tension you can see building in his expression when the X-Men communicator on the nightstand beeps, breaking the peaceful silence.

Logan’s expression darkens instantly, the moment of calm shattered as reality crashes back in. He reaches over, grabbing the device with a resigned sigh. The message on the screen is brief, something you’ve seen hundreds of times, but still manages to make all the muscles in your body seize—a meeting in the war room in an hour.

“Duty calls,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he replies, his tone gruff as he sets the communicator down with more force than necessary. “Always does.”

There’s a heavy pause between you, both of you acutely aware of what’s coming, what you’ll have to face. You know its time to focus back on you and Logan’s original mission—the anti-mutant group. The thought of it sends a shiver down your spine, but before you can dwell on it too long, Logan turns to you, his hand reaching out to gingerly cup your face, his thumb running over your cheek.

“I just wish… we could hang up the suits, ya know?” he says, “Be selfish for once. Just you and me, somewhere far away from all this crap.”

His words break through the tough shell he usually hides behind. You catch the look in his eyes—the yearning for a life without the constant fights, without the endless dangers. It’s a life you’ve both fantasized about in fleeting moments, but one that always seems just out of reach.

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing one of your hands to rest atop of his—the one on your cheek. “That’s not who you are. You joined the our team because you wanted to help people, to make a difference. That’s who you are—a protector. You’d never be happy just sitting on the sidelines, not when you know there’s still work to be done.”

He released a long breath, his gaze moving to where your hands are connected. “Yeah, I know, darlin’. But sometimes… I just wish we could be together without threats hanging over our heads. Without havin’ to fight every damn day.”

It breaks your heart to know that the life he wants—the peace he craves—is something you can’t give him, not yet.

You move closer, placing a soothing kiss on the tip of his nose, a gesture that’s meant to comfort both of you. “I wish that too,” you admit. “More than anything.”

He looks at you for a long moment, searching your eyes for something—reassurance, hope, maybe just the strength to keep going. Finally, he nods, the tension in his jaw easing slightly as he leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours.

“I know I’ve said this before but… I just can’t go through that again,” he says, voice husky and intimate, referring to the time when you were taken and tortured. The memory of those days still haunts him, a shadow that lingers even in the light of your recovery.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore ,” you promise, “We’ll win this time.”

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t push back. Instead, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he can shield you from all the dangers that lie ahead. And for this moment, you let him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him as you cling to the warmth and safety of his embrace.

–

The war room feels like it's vibrating with the unspoken tautness that hangs in the air, the usual hum of quiet conversations replaced by an almost suffocating silence. The X-Men gather around the large, circular table, all eyes drawn to the holographic map that flickers to life at the center, casting a bluish glow over the faces of the team. 

Scott stands at the head of the table. His visor hides the full intensity of his gaze, but the way his jaw is set, and the tension in his posture reveals enough. There’s no need for words to convey the stakes—everyone knows that what they do next could be the turning point in their ongoing battle against the anti-mutant organization that has been a thorn in their side for far too long.

“We’ve finally got an update on the organization’s movements,” he announces, “It’s taken longer than we’d hoped, and we’ve lost precious time because they’ve gone to ground. Their losses during our rescue mission were significant, but that only means they’re going to be even more cautious from here on out.”

As he speaks, the holographic map shifts, transforming into a detailed 3D model of a remote, mountainous region far from any major city. The terrain is rugged, the kind of place where someone could easily disappear if they didn’t want to be found. The map zooms in, highlighting the location where the organization has apparently relocated—another isolated, heavily fortified compound, this time nestled within the mountains. 

Jean, standing just to the right of Scott, steps forward to add her insights. 

“They’ve moved their operations here,” she says, “From what we’ve gathered, this new location is far more secure. They’ve enhanced their security protocols significantly. They’re not going to let another attack happen easily, especially after the damage we inflicted last time.”

The hologram continues to shift, revealing more details about the new facility: the reinforced walls, the watchtowers equipped with advanced surveillance, the array of weaponry designed to repel even the most determined assault. It’s clear that the organization has learned from their mistakes—they’ve gone underground, and they’ve fortified their defenses to the point where any attempt to breach them would require more than just brute force. 

The room remains silent. Your team has faced insurmountable odds before, but this is different. This is a challenge that requires more than just strength; it demands strategy, cunning, and the kind of precision that doesn’t leave room for error.

Scott lets the silence linger for a moment, before continuing. “We’re dealing with a highly secure facility,” his voice cuts through the quiet. “And they know we’re coming. We need to be smart about our next move. No plan isn’t an option; it’s suicide.”

Flickering of the 3D model casts an eerie glow in the room as his words hang in the air. Jean, who has been studying the map intently, speaks up again. “We need to take down the leaders without giving them a chance to regroup or escape. If we can isolate them from their security forces and cut off their communication, we’ll have them cornered.”

Hank nods in agreement. “Their reliance on advanced technology is both their strength and their weakness.”

“We could use the terrain to our advantage, I could create natural disaster—an avalanche, perhaps—that forces them to redirect their resources,” Ororo suggests from her place, “While they’re dealing with that, a small, covert team could infiltrate the compound and take whoever’s directing by surprise.”

Scott considers this, his mind running through the logistics. “It’s risky, but it could work. We’ll need to divide our forces. Here’s the plan: Ororo, just like last time, you’ll create the distraction—a controlled avalanche to draw their attention and forces away from the main compound. Hank, you’ll work on disabling their communications and security systems. ”

He pauses. “And knowing you, you’ll be able to breach their data system and gather all their information, right?” 

Hank smirks, “you didn’t even need to ask.”

Scott turns his gaze to you next, “You, Jean, and Logan will then enter with the primary objective of finding the leaders.”

As he speaks, a thought strikes you—something that could turn the tide even more decisively in your favor. You step forward. 

“Instead of all three of us focusing on infiltration, I think we should split our efforts. Jean and Logan can act as a distraction on the interior—draw attention away from the main targets—while I go in as a spy. I can locate the leaders, snuff them out, and corner them before they even realize what’s happening.”

Scott tilts his head slightly, considering your suggestion. The rest of the team turns to you, their expressions ranging from curiosity to concern. But it’s Logan’s gaze that whips toward you with immediate sharpness, his protective instincts on high alert.

“You’re suggesting we divide our forces even more?” Scott asks cautiously, like he needs you to confirm what you had just said. “Jean and Logan as a diversion, while you go in alone?”

You nod, meeting his gaze with confidence. “Exactly. With Jean’s telepathy and Logan’s… well, Logan’s everything, they can create enough chaos on the interior to keep the guards and security forces occupied,” you state, “Meanwhile, I’ll move undetected through the compound. I can locate the leaders’ exact position and contain them before they have a chance to escape or call for help.”

“It makes sense,” Hank pipes up, “If Logan and Jean draw the attention of the security forces, you can slip through the cracks while they’re preoccupied, get to the leaders, and cut the head off the snake.”

Before anyone else can chime in, Logan steps forward, his features furrowed. “No,” he says flatly, his voice like a growl. “I don’t like the idea of you going in alone—it’s too risky. We can’t have a repeat of what happened last time.”

You meet his eyes, understanding his concern, but you remain resolute. “I know it’s risky, but it’s the best way to ensure we get the leaders without triggering a full-scale assault.”

“Best way? Or the most dangerous way?” he shoots back, and you can feel his frustration growing. “You’re talking about going in there alone, with no backup. If something goes wrong, we might not get to you in time.”

“That’s why we have the distraction,” you counter, “You and Jean will keep the guards occupied, and I’ll move quickly. It’s our best shot.”

He bites down hard, the muscles in his neck straining as he struggles to keep his temper under control. “Damn it, this isn’t about taking shots, it’s about keeping you safe!” His voice rises slightly, “You don’t need to do this alone. We can find another way.”

“I’m not doing it alone,” you reassure, “I’ll have the team behind me, just like always. You know as well as I do that if we all go in together, it’ll be a bloodbath. This is the only way to avoid that.”

“And what happens if you get caught? What happens if they see through the distraction? You think I can just stand back and watch while you put yourself in the line of fire? If you get taken again…” he can barely finish his sentence as all of his fears seem to flash before his eyes. 

“Logan, you’re not hearing me,” you insist, stepping closer to him. “This isn’t about me wanting to take unnecessary risks. It’s about making sure the mission succeeds. If we don’t do this right, it’s not just me—it’s all of us, all mutants, at risk.”

The room is silent, the rest of the team watching the exchange with bated breath, knowing it’s not their place to step in. They look on with concern, eyes flicking between you and Logan.

Logan shakes his head. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. I just… I need you to be safe.”

“I know, Logan,” you respond. “But this isn’t just about you or me. It’s about stopping these people once and for all. I need to do this. We need to do this.”

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, as if searching for the words he wants to say. When he looks back up at you, you can see the conflict in his eyes, begging you to take it back. 

“Just promise me… promise me you’ll be careful. No heroics, no unnecessary risks. You find them, and you tell us. Immediately.”

“I promise,” you say, your voice sincere. “I’ll be careful. I’ll find them, and then we’ll take them down.”

Logan holds your gaze for a long moment, the tension between you slowly easing but not entirely dissipating. Finally, he nods, though his face remains tight with worry. “Alright. But I’m not letting you out of my sight once we’re in. As soon as you notify, I’ll be right there.”

Scott clears his throat, bringing the conversation back to the task at hand. “Then it’s settled,” he says, his voice a little gruffer than usual, as if he, too, felt the weight of the argument.

The team begins to disperse to finalize preparations, but Logan lingers, pulling you aside for a moment of privacy. His hand finds yours. 

“I know you can handle this, but you gotta understand—I can’t lose you again, darlin’. So, whatever happens in there, you keep your head down and remember we’ve got your back.”

You look up at him, seeing the layers of emotion in his eyes—fear, anger, love, and a deep, almost desperate need to protect you. It both breaks your heart and strengthens your resolve. “I know, Logan,” you reply, squeezing his hand in return. “I’m not planning on being a hero. I just want to—need to—do my part to end this.”

He releases a shaky breath, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he nods slowly, reluctantly. “Alright. Let’s get this done.”

—-

Nestled deep within the uneven mountain range, strategically positioned on a plateau that overlooks the surrounding valleys, is the organizations base.  The avalanche Ororo summoned looms threateningly, large bursts of snow and ice whipping through the valley, creating the perfect cover for your operation. Wind whistles through the land, followed by the rumble of mountains that shakes the very ground beneath your feet. 

The distraction is in full effect.

Before you left the Blackbird, Logan pulled you aside. He didn’t waste time with words, instead leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that was both loving and fierce. It was a reminder of everything he felt, everything he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for in the heat of the moment.

And when he pulled back, his gaze swapping over you, like he was seeking to memorize every detail.  

“Remember, I’ll be right with you as soon as you say the words”

Now, you’re crouched near a narrow ledge beside a small door, eyes scanning the base of the mountain where the compound’s defenses are now focused on the disaster outside. Logan and Jean are already inside, their presence wreaking havoc within, diverting the guards’ attention away from you. Every so often, you could hear distant sounds of conflict—the telltale shink of Logan’s claws, and the panicked shouts of guards trying to coordinate their defenses as he ripped through them.

You slip inside, lowering the trap door behind you as the sound of the storm fades into the distance. The passage is dark and cramped, the air thick with the scent of earth and stone. Each movement you make is deliberate and careful to avoid making noise. You’re able to find a somewhat agreeable position on your hands and knees, beginning the descent through the passage as it slopes downward, leading you deeper into the mountain and closer to your target.

After what feels like an eternity, the route widens, and you find yourself at the entrance to a narrow corridor. Pausing, you listen intently for any signs of movement, but all you hear is the mechanics behind the facility’s generators, muffled by the layers of rock and metal that surround you. The halls are freakishly quiet, the guards either drawn away by the avalanche or dispatched to Logan and Jean. Your breathing stays steady, your senses heightened as you navigate the twists and turns of the labyrinthine interior.

You’re close now, so close you can you can hear the muffled voices of the leaders on the other side, in the room where they’re all holed up, their tones laced with fear and frustration. Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach the final corner, every nerve ending on edge as you prepare to make your move.

But as you round the corner, you freeze in your place—there’s a guard standing just outside the door to the leaders’ room. He hasn’t seen you yet, but it’s only a matter of seconds before he does. His hand is already reaching for the radio on his belt, about to call in an alert.

You have no time to think, only to act. With a burst of speed, you lunge forward, slamming your hand over his mouth just as he begins to open it to shout. His eyes widen in shock, and he immediately starts to struggle, his body twisting as he tries to break free from your grip. 

​​Unfortunatley, you knew from the moment you saw the him that using your powers wasn’t an option. The hallway is dark and narrow, the only illumination coming from faint emergency lights far down the corridor. If you were to use your cosmic abilities, the glow alone would give you away, casting unnatural light in a place that should be cloaked in shadows. Who know’s what threats that would attract?

Every instinct in you screams to unleash your energy, to end the fight quickly and decisively, but the risk is too great. One wrong move, one flash of light or sound that doesn’t belong, and the entire mission could be compromised. The element of surprise is your greatest advantage right now, and you can’t afford to lose it.

That’s why you have to do this the hard way—silently, and with nothing but your own strength and wits. It’s a gamble, but it’s the only way to ensure you reach the leaders undetected, without alerting every remaining guard in the compound to your presence.

The guard’s elbow connects with your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs, but you don’t let go. You tighten your grip, your other hand grabbing his wrist to prevent him from drawing his weapon. He thrashes violently, his strength surprising as he drives his knee into your stomach, nearly doubling you over with the force of the blow.

Pain radiates through your abdomen, but you grit your teeth and hold on, knowing that if he gets free, it would all be over. You push back with all your strength, slamming him into the wall with a sickening thud. His head snaps back, dazed, but he’s not down yet.

He recovers quickly, his free hand darting toward your face in a desperate attempt to claw at your eyes. You twist your head just in time, feeling his nails graze your cheek as you shift your weight, using the momentum to drive your knee into his thigh. Letting out a muffled grunt against your hand, he swivels his body again, this time managing to get one arm free. Before you can react, his fist slams into your side. You stagger, your grip slipping for just a fraction of a second—long enough for him to start reaching for the radio again.

Panic surges through you as you realize he’s about to call for help. Desperation drives you and with a burst of adrenaline, you bring your elbow up, smashing it into the side of his head. The blow is hard enough to daze him, and you use the opening to drive him back against the wall again, harder this time.

He slumps slightly, but you know you can’t let up. You release your grip on his wrist and, with a quick movement, drive your hand into the pressure point just below his ear. His eyes widen in shock, his body going rigid for a brief moment before his legs give out beneath him. You catch him as he falls, easing him to the ground as quietly as you can.

Your heart is pounding, your breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as you crouch beside the unconscious guard. The silence of the hallway is deafening in the aftermath of the struggle, your pulse thundering in your ears. You take a moment to steady yourself, forcing your breathing to slow as you check the hallway for any sign of other guards. It’s still clear—for now.

You glance down at the guard, making sure he’s truly out cold before dragging him into a shadowed corner, out of sight from anyone who might happen to pass by. You press a hand to your side, wincing as you feel the dull ache where he landed that brutal punch. But there’s no time to dwell on the pain—you’re too close to your target to stop now.

With the guard taken care of, you turn your attention back to the room, adjusting your stance and running through the plan in your mind. There’s no mask, no barrier to hide your identity. The men in that room will know who you are—or at least, they’ll think they do. At the gala, you were Mrs. Daniels, the woman they believed was just another wealthy socialite. But tonight, they’ll learn the truth.

“I’m at the target,” you whisper into the comms, keeping your voice low. “Moving in now.”

With one final glance down the corridor to ensure there is no one else following your tracks, you slither through the door, moving like a shadow into the room. The old men are gathered around a large table, their expressions ranging from fear to fury as they argue in low, heated tones. Papers and maps are strewn across the table, evidence of their frantic attempts to come up with a plan as the everything falls apart around them.

They don’t notice you at first, too absorbed in their dispute to realize they’re no longer alone. You take advantage of their distraction, positioning yourself in the shadows near the door. 

“What do you mean we’ve lost contact with the guard tower?” one of them hisses, his face pale and sweat-slicked. “This place is supposed to be impenetrable!”

“We should never have moved to this location,” another snaps, his hands trembling as he clutches the edge of the table. “We’re sitting ducks here!”

You let them bicker for a moment longer, taking in the layout of the room and assessing the situation. The leaders are cornered, with no visible exits other than the door you came through. 

They’ve completely exposed themselves to you, and they don’t even realize it yet.

Finally you step forward, your presence announced by the soft rustle of your clothing as you emerge from the shadows, and the effect is immediate—every head snaps in your direction, eyes widening in shock as they take in the sight of you standing there.

The man who was speaking freezes mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he takes a closer look at you. Recognition dawns on his face, followed quickly by fear. “You… You’re the woman from the gala,” he stammers, his voice shaking. “Mrs. Daniels?”

You give him a cold, measured look, the corner of your mouth twitching into a faint smile. “Not exactly,” you answer, “But I’m glad you remember me.”

Without warning, you raise your hands, cosmic energy flaring to life around your fingers, shimmering with an ethereal glow. You begin shape the energy into chains, each one snaking through the air and wrapping around the men, binding them to their seats. They struggle, but the chains are unbreakable, pinning them in place with a force that leaves no room for escape. It’s almost satisfying, seeing these men in chains, so helpless—reminds you of when you were in the exact same position, in the dark, cold, cell of the island. 

One of the men lets out a strangled cry, his eyes wide with terror. “Please! Don’t hurt us! We—we can negotiate!”

You step closer, your eyes cold as you survey the scene. “Negotiate? You think you have anything to bargain with?” you demand, knowing they won’t be able to answer. “You’ve done enough damage. Now it’s time to face the consequences.”

Just as you finish speaking, the door bursts open, and Logan strides in, Hank, who had managed to enter the compound after downloading all the data, following close behind. Logan’s eyes immediately zero in on the men and his expression shifts from that of concern to a furious glare. 

“You’re lucky it was her who got here first,” the mutant seethes, “She spared you.”

The men cower in their seats, trembling visibly under the weight of Logan’s unrelenting gaze as he stalks toward them with a predatory grace. His presence fills the room, seeping into every corner, suffocating any hope they had of escape. With each step he takes, slow and deliberate, the air thickens, his movements calculated to instill fear in their very bones. His claws, unsheathed and glinting ominously in the dim light, are slick with fresh blood, and as he takes in the sight before him, his eyes narrow with cold, lethal intent, the silence punctuated only by the sound of their labored breaths, ragged with terror.

“If it were up to me, you’d be begging for mercy right about now.”

Hank, who had been watching from behind with a calculating expression, steps in. He places a hand on Logan’s shoulder, “Logan, we need them to talk.”

Logan doesn’t move at first, his eyes locked onto the quivering man in front of him. Ultimately, he narrows his eyes, pulling his claws back ever so slightly, though his posture remains alert and intense. 

“They better start talking, then.”

Contrasting Logan’s blatant display of fury, Hank steps forward collectedly. His voice is even, almost clinical, as he addresses the leaders. “We have all the information we need—every file, every document. Your entire operation is in our hands. You have two choices: confess everything in a public conference, or we leak it all. The world will know what you’ve done, and you’ll be hunted down by more than just us.”

The man you recognize as the stocky one from the gala, perhaps emboldened by Hank’s more measured approach, tries to regain some semblance of control. He splutters, “You can’t do this… We’ll—”

But before he can finish, Logan is on him in a flash, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him forward until they’re nose to nose. The corners of your mouth flip upwards while the man lets out a strangled gasp, his eyes wide with terror.

“You don’t get to tell us what we can or can’t do. You’ve already lost, old man. Now it’s just a matter of how much pain you’re going to be in when this is over.”

Instantly, the stocky man loses all bravado, his face draining of colour is response to Logan’s aggression. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, but no sound comes out. He’s utterly terrified, and rightfully so. The other groupies, seeing their comrade’s terror, exchange nervous glances. They’ve been completely outmaneuvered, and now they’re at the mercy of those they’ve wronged.

“They’ll confess,” you decide for them, stepping forward, gaining control over the situation. You deactivate the cosmic chains binding the men, though the energy still crackles ominously around your hands, a reminder of the power you wield. “Because they know what’s waiting for them if they don’t.”

Logan gives you a nod, his gaze softening slightly as he looks at you. There’s a flicker of pride in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the strength you’ve shown. “Good work, darlin’,” he muses.

You return his words with a small smile, feeling a wave of relief wash over you now that the worst is over. 

“Let’s get them out of here.”

You, Logan, and Hank quickly work together to secure the leaders, ensuring they’re ready for transport back to the Blackbird. They’re too shaken to resist, their egos completely shattered. The sounds of battle outside have quieted—the rest of the team has done their job well.

Once inside the jet, Logan pulls you into a close embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist as he tucks his head into the crook of your neck. The warmth of his body against yours should be comforting, but as he tightens his hold, a sharp pain flares up in your side where the guard had landed a solid kick earlier.

You can’t help the wince that escapes you, the pain lingering and making it hard to fully relax in his hold. Logan immediately pulls back, concern flashing in his eyes as they search yours. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low but edged with worry. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head slightly, “I’m fine,” you say, but the way Logan’s eyes narrow tells you he’s not buying it.

He doesn’t say anything else, just waits, his gaze steady and insistent. Finally, you sigh, knowing there’s no point in hiding it from him. “I ran into a guard right outside the room,” you admit, glancing down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “He was about to call for backup, and I had to take him out quietly. It got… a little rough.”

His expression darkens, his jaw clenching as he processes what you said. “I should track that bastard down and make him regret ever laying a hand on you.”

Despite the seriousness of his tone, there’s a warmth in his words that makes your heart swell. You reach out, placing a hand on his chest. “I handled it, Logan. It was just a fight, and I won.”

He grunts, though the anger in his eyes doesn’t entirely fade. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy making him pay for it.”

You give him a small, reassuring smile. “Well, you can save that energy for when we get these guys to talk.”

Logan nods, his expression becoming serious once more as he looks toward the secured leaders, who are being watched by the rest of the team. “They’ll talk,” he says, his voice carrying a promise of retribution.

“And if they don’t… well, we’ll make sure they wish they had.”

—-

Turns out, getting people to admit their crimes when threatened with their lives is easier than you thought. The men, who at one point, seemed so arrogant and untouchable, crumbled like a house of cards under the pressure. Faced with the undeniable evidence the X-Men had gathered and the very real threat of exposure, they agreed to hold a public conference, where they would confess to everything. 

The world watched in shock as these well-known figureheads divulged their involvement in anti-mutant activities, including kidnapping, torture, and illegal experimentation. The fallout was immediate and severe—governments and law enforcement agencies across the globe moved swiftly to dismantle the remnants of their organization or any ties they had to its leaders, and within days, the men found themselves behind bars, stripped of their power and influence.

For the first time in months, you feel a sense of peace settling into your bones. The constant weight of fear, the dread that had plagued you since your capture, begins to lift. You’re finally able to breathe again, knowing that the people who hurt you, who threatened everything you cared about, are rotting in a cell, where they belong.

—

It’s late evening at the X-Mansion, and you find yourself in the kitchen, the comforting whir of the refrigerator and the soft clinking of dishes the only sounds breaking the quiet. Logan is there too, leaning next to you against the counter with a beer in hand. He’s out of his combat gear now, dressed in his usual casual attire—a worn flannel shirt and jeans, still stunning in the rugged simplicity of his appearance. 

“You know,” you say, glancing at him with a playful smile as you pour yourself a glass of water, “I never took you for the beer-in-the-kitchen type. Always thought you’d be more of a ‘brooding with whiskey in the dark’ kind of guy.”

He smirks, taking a long sip from his bottle before responding. “Depends on the night,” he replies with a wink. “Sometimes I like to mix things up, keep you on your toes.”

You roll your eyes, setting your glass down on the counter as you lean in a little closer. “Is that so? Well, I’ve got to admit, seeing you all domestic in here is kind of nice. Who knew the Wolverine had a soft spot for late-night kitchen hangouts?”

Logan chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that makes your heart skip a beat. “What can I say, sweetheart? Can’t have you thinking I’m all claws and no charm.”

“Oh, so you’re charming now?” you tease, reaching out to poke him playfully in the chest. “I must’ve missed that memo.”

Settings his beer down, Logan captures your hand in his and pulls you closer, his voice dropping to that thick, throaty tone that shoots right down to your core. “You know better than anyone that I’ve got plenty of charm. You just keep pretending not to notice.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as close the distance, resting your head against his chest. “Maybe I like keeping you on your toes too.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and for a moment, everything feels perfect—just the two of you, in the quiet of the kitchen, with nothing hanging over your heads. No missions, no threats, just peace.

Just like he had wished for. 

“You know,” Logan starts after a long stretch of comfortable silence, “you’re a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

You tilt your head back to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Says the guy who can heal from pretty much anything.”

He gives you a small, affectionate smile, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles along your waist. “I’m serious. What you went through… what we just did… not everyone could come out of that as strong as you have.”

“It helps to have someone like you around,” you admit softly. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you.”

A tender look crosses his face, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You did more than just survive, darlin’. You fought back, and you won. Don’t ever forget that.”

The moment is interrupted when the kitchen door swings open, and Ororo walks in, pausing mid-step when she sees the two of you wrapped up in each other. Her eyebrows shoot up, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Ororo teases, her tone light and playful. “Logan, I never expected you to be such a romantic. You’ve been holding out on us.”

Logan doesn’t miss a beat, his response immediate and full of that rough-edged warmth that you’ve come to love so much. 

“Only for her.”

Ororo’s smile widens, and she gives you a wink before heading to the fridge, grabbing an apple and turning back to the door. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it, then. Just remember to keep it PG in the kitchen.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound bright and unburdened as you bury your face in Logan’s chest, feeling the deep rumble of his own laughter vibrating against you. The sound is rich, a low and genuine noise that fills the space between you with fondness and affection.

“PG, huh?” you murmur into his shirt, your voice laced with amusement. “Guess that means we’re in trouble.”

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’m always on my best behavior,” he smirks

“That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

He chuckles, his hand coming up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe. But I can be when it counts.”

You shake your head, grinning as you playfully swat his chest. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Logan captures your hand again, his grip warm and firm, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “You’ve already seen it,” he says huskily, “But if you need more convincing…”

You laugh, reaching your free hand to the back of his head, pulling him down into a passionate kiss, his mouth warm against yours, the taste of beer clouding your senses. 

“You’re a good man, Logan,” you get out in between kisses, “And I’m glad you’re mine.”

Logan’s eyes gleam, and he pulls you impossibly closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. “I’m glad you’re mine too, darlin’.”

Later, when he finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle on the counter, he turns back to you, his expression content. “Ready to call it a night?”

You nod, feeling the pleasant weight of exhaustion beginning to settle in. “Yeah, I think so. But only if you promise to keep up this charming act tomorrow.”

Logan grins, taking your hand as you both head toward the door. 

“Just for you, darlin’. Just for you.”

-------

A/N: thank you everyone for all the reblogs, comments, and notes i've received on this blog these last few days, i can't believe it's growing to fast!

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

older brother touya au !!, touya dyed his hair like once, scratching but not shigi level lol, touya has a motorcycle cus he's cool like that..pls don't ask it's just cool. asshat endeavor, big bro touya on top !! and maybe slightly ooc but he already is since hes big bro touya lol, uber touchy bubbly reader, hurt/comfort, lmk if i missed sum else !

on the first day at your new school, you immediately notice shouto. mostly because he's the only one in your class with different coloured eyes. you don't get much time to dwell on him, because you still have to introduce yourself to your classmates.

when break rolls around you're alone. it's not like this was new to you, but you're interested in the one other boy who's alone too. the boy from earlier with the different coloured hair and eyes. you can't help but wonder who his favourite hero is. that's always something people want to talk about. would it be all might ? he's always everyone's favourite. his favourite colour would probably be blue..or maybe green ?

you have to find out, so you march up to where he's sitting alone by the swings.

"hi !" you chirp, offering him your widest smile. he doesn't smile back, seeming a little startled. woops, maybe you were a little too loud. his eyes look even cooler up close.

"i'm yn !" you say, just a little bit quieter this time. he keeps observing you, recovering from his earlier surprise. "i know, i heard. in class." he responds, you blink at him.

"i didn't think you were listening. you were lookin' out the window and stuff, so.." he keeps inspecting you, he's quieter than you are for sure. he decides to simply not respond to you, continuing to slowly rock back and forth on the swing. suddenly, you get an idea for a new topic.

"say, do you know how to swing on your own ?" you bounce over to the swing next to him. his eyes follow you and they widen thinking of your question. slowly, he shakes his head. you beam, a lightbulb rises above your head. " i know how !" you boast, slightly proud to see his eyebrows raise.

the dual haired boy blinks "i didn't know you could do that." he says it a little airily, like it was truly unbelievable to him. you feel your chest burn a bit, you grip onto the bars of the swings and kick your feet.

"then how come you're sitting on the swings alone ?"

he thinks, then shrugs as a response. you don't mind, taking this as your cue to act. you pull yourself backwards as far as you can looking to see if the boy with the cool eyes follows your movements. he does, so you continue until you’re far enough and lift your feet off the ground, jumping onto your seat. kicking your legs forwards and back to gain momentum, you giggle at the air wooshing past your skin.

"you do it like this, see ?" you speak a bit louder, since you're swinging higher and higher. you briefly see him nod and then he's copying your previous actions. he gets the hang of it in a few seconds but he's still a little lower than you, so you drag your legs against the floor, that way you're going at the same speed. "see, it's super easy !" he looks at you again, but you think you see the lightest of smiles on his face.

"yeah." he responds simply, but his voice is just a bit louder so he's sure you hear him. and it makes you smile harder. after a bit of swinging you ask him his name, "shouto" he says. you can't help but think it sounds cool, so you tell him so. he looks a little confused, but he nods in thanks anyway.

you drag your sneakers against the floor to stop and launch off of your seat. you land almost perfectly, stumbling a little towards the end, but you quickly recover. shouto, the boy with the cool different coloured eyes and hair looks intrigued as he slows down too, but prefers to stay seated. you hop over to his swing, gripping onto the bars right above his hands and grin at him. shouto looks surprised, you want to see him smile again like before, except wider.

"hey, shouto. who's your favourite hero ?"

before you, shouto's never had any friends. so he's never had to feel what it was like to be ignored by one.

you're the first person who'd ever asked him who his favourite hero was, and he'd told you his was all might. he still doesn't know why you laughed about it, everyone likes all might.

you talking to him your first day of school made him realise how different you both were. you were way more outgoing than he was on his first day, but even then he never bothered to talk to his classmates. he'd been okay with that, but shouto doesn't like the idea that most likely, if you hadn't talked to him, if you hadn't taught him how to swing by himself, he never would've talked to you. because he wants to talk to you all the time, even if you don't want to talk to him.

after break and your argument, you return to class. you're sitting next to him in class due to assigned seating. you'd been happy about it at first, because now you were desk buddies and he could help you with problems you didn't understand. but now it's like you're practically sitting in the next class over. you act like he doesn't exist, it feels like you've pushed your chair the furthest possible from him. shouto can tell you're having trouble with some problems the teacher gave you, and you're supposed to work with your desk buddies for these, but you keep tucking your arm over your notebook and glaring at him. it feels like when the sun is beaming in his eyes, he doesn't like it.

you don't wait for him anymore when the bell rings. you don't stomp your feet excitedly and grip his hand to walk out of the gates with him, you don't tell him you'll see him tomorrow. you just shove your pencil case and your notebook and you trudge off away from him even as is hangs out of your bag. shouto realizes it then, that he's being ignored. and when he does, he's finished packing his bag neatly, not like usual when he's rushing just a bit because you're waiting and he wants to hold your hand. he takes his time. and when he does he can't move for a while. it doesn't feel normal not being with you. he's only snapped out of it when his teacher asks him if there's a problem. he shakes his head, and walks out of class dragging his feet a bit.

natsu-nii came to pick him up today. shouto stays quiet when he asks him how school went. his older brother offers him his hand, but he doesn't take it, he only wants to hold yours. they walk home in silence while shouto grips his bag.

getting ignored sucks.

"knock, knock."

shouto looks up to see his older brother touya, standing in the doorway of his room. the boy visibly brightens up, focus on him homework now gone. he doesn't smile visibly, but it looks like his eyes smile in a weird way only shouto’s could. and just because it's him, touya thinks it's a little sweet.

"hi." the boy's voice is a bit quieter than it usually would be, it makes the worry in the older's chest grow. he tries not to look too suspicious, tired eyes gazing around the room. "mind if i come in ?" he asks, to which his younger brother responds with a shake of his head.

touya settles down in front of his younger brother, sitting cross legged and resting his face in his palm. shouto hadn't talked about what had upset him when he got back home from school. blazer still neatly tucked in, hair still the same as when he was sent off. touya finds it ironic that that was alarming. shouto had walked off to his room looking gloomy, not saying a word to anyone and not coming to eat dinner even after he was told it would be his favourite. even their father found it strange, opting to leave him alone for once.

touya guessed it probably had something to do with him getting pulled out of school though. he holds back a scoff, of course the old bastard told him.

"hey.." he leans in a bit closer to his brother and talks in a hushed voice, looking around the room to sell the act. shouto tilts his head in confusion, his eyes slowly widen when his brother pulls out tiny fruit candies from his pocket, the oldest smirks "look what i got."

still a bit weary, shouto whispers as well to answer "i'm not supposed to..father said that.." he trails off, pouting to himself.

"what that old fart doesn’t know won't hurt him right ?" he taunts, nudging the treats in his hands towards the little boy. shouto smiles at the nickname used for his father, and finally takes one of the candies, popping one in his mouth as his brother does the same.

"how was school ?" touya asks after a minute, shouto visibly slumps, drawing little shapes on his homework sheet. touya's eyebrows furrow. "no good ?" wordlessly, shouto shakes his head.

"i know i'm not going anymore." the white haired boy sighs, shoulders slouching as his hunch was proven correct. "i heard you and the nanny talk about it."

"oh shit, you did ?"

"swear." shouto dodges, touya can't hide the roll of his eyes. "yeah, sorry, sorry.. you heard me ?"

the boy nods, "did yn get sad when you told her ?" at that, he frowns, bangs in his face but touya clearly sees his little lower lip wobble.

"yn said she wanted to get married. and i said okay, but then i said i didn't wanna anymore..and she got mad at me."

"oh yeah ?" he nods again, the movements of his pencil against his work sheet stop. he speaks so sadly, in a way touya has never heard his brother speak besides when he'd come to him crying at night and when their mother was taken away.

"she said she hates me."

touya feels his heart break. shouto's always been his weird little brother ever since he was born. he was ten years old when shouto had popped out and honestly back then he was weird too. he was pudgy and loud, and he always had this weird little look on his face, fuyumi would tell him that he was just copying the look touya would give him. but that was stupid, he didn’t look that ugly.

but then his weirdo little brother started crawling over to him, started toddling his little feet in touya's direction constantly the moment he managed to drag himself up on his two feet. pudgy little hands reaching out for him even as he pushed him away. and then he'd fall straight on his face and instead of crying he'd just..try again. reaching for his older brother with his big weird two coloured eyes and drooley mouth. touya knew he'd get in trouble if his brother fell over again and he ended up with a mark on his big forehead.

so begrudgingly, he let his brother cling onto him. and he keeps doing it at eleven, and thirteen because he'd get in trouble for pushing his little brother around. but as he reached fifteen, sixteen and seventeen, he could admit that he kind of liked being the favourite. the one his youngest brother always ran up to quicker and quicker the better he learned to walk. he liked being the oldest that his youngest brother could rely on to let him cling to.

he likes being touya-nii, the coolest older brother in the world in the drawing shouto had given him once. it was crude, he doesn't look like that at all. and he definitely didn't tear up when he'd gotten it. but he still has it in his desk drawer.

"i'm sure she doesn't mean that, shou.." he tries, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, "'m sure she was just mad. you know how people get when they're mad."

"but yn isn't like that. she doesn't get mad, she's always happy. and she wasn't, 'cus of me. 'cus i lied." shouto's voice breaking breaks touya into a million pieces. "c'mon," he coaxes, opening his arms up for his brother to jump in, which he does, like he always has.

shouto's never had friends, or bullies that touya's known of, besides that no name brat that yn had beat up for him from what he'd heard (he laughed very hard when shouto had told him the news, you were sick as shit). he's never had to deal with this before, it must hit him just that much harder to have to lose a friend. for something he didn't even do or have a choice in. it makes touya's blood boil. touya the coolest brother in the world wouldn't have let this, wouldn't have let his fathers bullshit happen to his youngest brother who doesn't know any better like he once did. until he did, and then it was too late.

he was ruined, but shouto isn't.

"do you still wanna be friends with yn ?" shouto stiffens, but nods into his brother's chest. he blinks away little tears when touya pulls at his shoulders so their eyes could meet.

"do you wanna tell her that ?" shouto's eyes widen. he nods hesitantly, but his eyes drift towards the floor. "but she's ignoring me, i don't like it." he mumbles. touya squeezes at his youngest brother's shoulders to get him to look at him again, putting on his best smirk.

"don't worry about it, yeah ? touya-nii'll do somethin' about it." he answers easily. shouto's eyes brighten, and he hugs the older boy tightly, who hugs him right back. touya likes being the oldest when it's this, not when he has to take the blame for stupid shit, not when he has to set the example for his younger siblings. but when his siblings rely on him, when they trust him to make everything right, and he's big bro touya who gets shit done.

shouto doesn't know what to do now that he's not going to school. it’s been two days now he doesn't know why he bothered with his work sheet since he knew he wasn't going back, just routine he guessed.

lunch break should've passed by now, class would be out soon. he wonders how you're doing today. maybe you're still sad, or maybe you've already made some new friends. his teachers were supposed to be let known a day ago that he wasn't coming back as his father told him so this morning, so you must know by now. he wonders if you're happy about it, and that just makes him sad, so he tries not to. he tries not to think about it but all he wants is to see you.

maybe you're worried about him, or maybe you're hanging out on the swings with someone else already. asking them their favourite ice cream flavour and they're not weird like him, so they'll actually be able to give you one and not answer "i don't have ice cream enough to know." like he did. you'll ask them their favourite colour, and they won't think about it as long as him, they won't shrug like he did. they'll smile back at you and be able to match you and they'd be the one to hold your hand, not him.

shouto doesn't hate much. in fact, he can't think of anything he hates more than this.

training is tiring, but it was a bit more bearable because you'd tell him you'd see him tomorrow and he couldn't wait. but now he won't be seeing you again. and you hate him.

he itches at his scar, his father told him not to and his nanny said it would irritate it more. but he can't help it. because if he doesn't he feels like he'll cry. but that's not working either because he feels like crying anyway and his breathing grows heavier. he wishes he could see you and say sorry for lying. he wishes his mom we're here and he could say sorry for scaring her. he wishes he could cuss at his dad the way touya does, he wishes he didn't scare him so much.

the sliding of his door pulls him out of his gloomy thoughts. touya runs a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, sliding the door shut behind him. one time when he was sixteen, touya had dyed his hair completely black. his mom had made a big deal about it, his father was more than displeased, natsuo found it really funny and fuyumi scolded him, telling him people might mistake him for some type of delinquent. "or even worse, a criminal !" shouto didn't see what the problem was, he thought it looked really cool. but he'd changed it back to white soon after. "i just felt like it at the time." is what he says every time.

"hey, you okay ?" he breathes, kneeling in front of his younger brother shouto nods. his eyebrows furrow as he brings a hand up to his face “stop itching at that.” he chides, pulling shouto’s hand away from his face before he continues.

"hey, today's a school day, yeah ? and yn's at school ?" shouto tilts his head in confusion, but nods. touya smirks. grabbing onto his brother's arm and pulling him towards the door where he tells him to put on his shoes. shouto obeys, but when he’s told to hop on the back of touya's motorcycle, he finally asks where they're going. his older brother sends him a lopsided grin, and drops his too big helmet onto his head roughly, tightning it and clipping it shut.

"we're goin' to school." he answers easily.

apparently, you’re going to the beach in two weeks.

last night during dinner, that’s what your parents had announced since you get a little break from school. you’d been ecstatic about it at first, you love going to the beach. except when it’s too hot, because the sand burns under your feet. but most of the time it’s fun even if seagulls are a little scary, and maybe you’ll even get to pet someone’s dog.

but now, you’re sitting in class and you realize. shouto didn’t come to school today. again.

but you don’t care.

you thought he was just late yesterday, that usually happened when his oldest brother touya (the super cool one) had to drop him off, but then first period passed, then lunch and then school had ended and he still wasn’t here.

you don’t care, though. you really don’t. but you’re desk feels so empty without someone sitting next to you so it’s awkward. and usually, shouto helps you with math problems you don’t get, but he wasn’t there during math. and you had no one to sit with at lunch, or on the swings either.

and you don’t care, but you feel a little bad about telling him you hated him.

shouto lied to you. that means he’s a liar and you hate liars, that was true. but you don’t hate shouto. you don’t think you can. you’re convinced you hate tanaka for what he did to shouto despite your parents telling you that hate is a strong word and you shouldn’t casually say it. but you do.

shouto made you angry just like tanaka did, and you hate tanaka. but you still don’t hate shouto. because shouto’s your first ever real friend. and you want to say sorry for saying you hate him. it’s lonely without him holding your hand, on the swings, or sitting next to you.

there’s a pit in your stomach and you feel like crying, you wish you could go to the beach with shouto. you don’t know if he’d like to swim much. he seems more like he’d like to make sand castles.

you really want to know.

when he comes back, you’ll say sorry for sure.

later that day, your teacher pulls you aside to tell you shouto won’t be coming to school anymore.

"i'm taking shouto to school tomorrow."

eyes identical to his settled on touya. endeavor remains silent as he briefly glances at his son.

“i keep telling you to knock before barging in.” he says coldly, fixing his gaze back on his paperwork.

“and i keep telling you i don’t give a damn.” touya says just as coldly, “we’re going tomorrow, and you’re going to let us without making a fuss.” he bargains, gaze fixed on his father’s back. he sees his fist clench and holds back a smirk, it’s always fun seeing the old man get mad.

“who do you think you are giving me orders ?” the older man grits out, voice still even “you’re in no place to bargain with me, especially not after i got a call from your school about your behavior again. touya scoffs, he never lets the school shit go does he ? it’s not like he really cares, simply trying to hold something over to boy’s head.

“ ‘m saying this for you, pops.” touya shrugs “you might not realize it, but shouto really wants to go to school. kid even made a friend.” endeavor scoffs harshly at his sounds words.

“so what ? he can easily make more.”

touya’s eyebrows furrow. he grits his teeth “no he can’t. kid’s a major weirdo. this is his first ever friend.” he feels his fists clenching despite telling himself he’ll keep calm, “he managed to make a friend who’s just as weird as him, and he’s really depressed about it. i doubt he’ll want to do any training right now.”

“he will.” his father answers smoothly.

“nah, he won’t.” touya answers just as smoothly, or he tries to. he’s sure his father can pick up on the anger in his voice because he sighs.

“it’s already been done, i’ve already warned the school about it.”

“so just tell them you changed your mind. what’re they gonna do about it ? you’re the number two aren’t you ?” touya tries not to sound too smug about the slight taunt. a sore spot that his father hated to be reminded of was that he was always a close second. in a way, just like he is.

“look, you can do whatever you want. but..” he pauses, his father looks back at him slightly. he keeps his eyes locked on his “shouto likes going to school. pretty sure it’s the highlight of his day, which in itself is fucking weird. but he’s just like that. he’s always been like that.” he chuckles humorlessly. “but he’s met someone he can be as weird as he wants to be with for the first time ever, and i don’t think he’ll take it very well if you just take that from him. might even impact his training..” he trails off, finishing with a shrug “but that’s just my theory.”

endeavor keeps his gaze and touya thinks this plan might be a bust. looks like his father really was a stone cold asshole. but he sighs gruffly, touya looks surprised as he grips at his temples and huffs out “i’ll do something about it. close the door behind you.” shooing him away with his hand, no more words leave his mouth. touya doesn’t say anything else either as he leaves. he wonders if he should leave the door just a smidge open to piss his father off, but he decides not to risk it for now. another time.

but for now, touya-nii managed to do something, and he smirks to himself.

shouto doesn’t really know what he’ll say to you. he’s worried you still hate him, because he’d been told that hate was a strong word and you shouldn’t say it thoughtlessly. he’s sure he hates tanaka, because he’d punched you that one time you fought for him. but he worries that you feel for him the same way you do for tanaka.

he wonders if his words can come out as smoothly as the main leads in the movies when they try to make up with their love interest towards the end of the movie, if he can woo you and make you want to marry him again and say you don’t hate him. he doesn’t have time to think anymore because touya’s bike slows to a stop, not in front of a red light. because he sees the shape of his school, he gets a bad feeling in his stomach.

“you see her anywhere ?” touya grunts pulling him off his bike. shouto always thought it looked really cool, but it was really loud and it hurt his ears sometimes when touya would rev it on purpose to annoy fuyumi. shouto scans the area, classes should be done by now. shouto knows sometimes your bag takes a bit of time to close properly, so he thinks maybe you’re taking a little longer. he shakes his head. he feels touya ruffle his hair, probably to reassure him. or to fix it after being under a helmet for so long. he hopes his hair doesn’t look too messy in front of you.

more people start leaving, and the more he sees of his classmates the more he worries. he sees some students pointing towards him, and he knows it’s probably because of his older brother’s huge bike. but it feels like they’re talking about him, about how you hate him. he doesn’t like it. he feels his older brother’s hands still in his hair. and he feels a bit better because he’s here.

“oh, isn’t there her right there ?” shouto’s eyes widen. and he sees you walk a but further from him. you’re kicking at some rocks under your feet and there’s a pout on your lips. you’re not smiling and shouto finds it extremely hard to call out to you. his lips just won’t move. then you’re eyes are wide as your eyes land on him, because his older brother calls out for you instead. shouto freezes as you march over, he thinks maybe you’ll push him again. but you just stand in front of him, eyes still wide.

“i thought you weren’t coming anymore.” it’s weird to hear you speak to him, your voice yelling at him hasn’t left his mind. he grips his hands together as his gaze locks onto the floor. he hears touya say that there’s been some changes done, changes that he knows nothing about but he nods anyway.

shouto doesn’t have a big speech planned. he doesn’t even know if he can look at you right now, but he thinks as long as he just says what he thinks, he can hope you'll understand.

“are you still mad at me..?”

you stay quiet for a bit “a little bit..” you admit. you don’t sound angry, shouto clenches his fists. he dares peek at you.

“..do you still hate me ?” shouto bites his lip, awaiting your answer. he sees you toeing at your shoe.

“..no,” shouto looks up at you then, wide eyed. this time you’re the one who won’t meet his gaze. “i lied..i was angry..that makes me a liar too then.” shouto gets closer to you after a pause. you blink at him, his eyes look even prettier now that you’re seeing them up close again, one surrounded by red. he shakes his head furiously.

“you’re not a liar..i lied first..” he trails off. shouto doesn’t have a big speech ready. he can’t woo you like the cool guys in movies can. but he can tell you what he thinks, because you’ll understand.

“ do you still wanna get married ? i lied when i said i didn’t want to, ‘m sorry..” he looks up at you then, a determined flicker in his eyes that stuns you, his eyes shine like this.

“i’ll ask you this time, if you want to. you won't have to ask me everything all the time. i’ll ask you again when we’re grown ups until you say yes.” you’re stunned. you don’t think you ever heard him say so many words in a row. usually you ask him questions and he usually responds, shortly. but he does anyway. you were happy with that, you were happy to ask and with him listening. it made you happy because he listened to you.

but shouto wants to marry you, and he wants to be the one to ask you. you’d been so proud of yourself for not crying throughout the day, but you feel tears cloud your eyes. you smack your hands against your face to hide them. shouto jumps, asking you if you’re okay.

“‘m sorry, shou ! i called you a liar an-an’ i said i hated you, but i didn’t mean it” you mumble, voice wobbly “c-cus you’re my best friend !”

“you’re my best friend too..” slowly, you feel him wrap his arms around you. usually, you’re always the one hugging shouto first, especially at his left side because it’s warmer. he says he doesn’t like it but he let’s you hold him anyway and when it’s colder you’re always standing on his left before you can realize it. he’s warm like this and you missed him, so you squeeze him back with all your might. he stumbles a bit but doesn’t let you go.

“i don’t like when you’re sad.” he says simply, pulling a way so he could smooch your cheeks together in his palms. it makes you laugh hard and smile bright, like the sun but not when it’s in his eyes. when it’s beaming softly against his skin and it feels nice. he smiles back at you softly and shouto’s sure he wants to be with you forever. even if natsu-nii had joked that he was too young to know he’d get married to you when he’d told him, shouto knows he’s wrong for sure. and he reaches for your hand. it feels normal again, shouto's sure it'll always feel like this as long as he's with you. normal and fitting perfectly just like your hand in his.

you cling to him and bounce on the balls of your feet like your argument had never happened, touya sees you talking his brother’s ear off about what he’d missed at school, that his classmate had gotten in trouble for fighting and that you had a test due next week. all he can think about is how…easy that was. sure, you’re both still kids. but..really ? he shrugs it off, maybe it was just a weirdo thing.

you ask shouto if he wants to go to the beach with you, shouto hesitates and before he can say anything, touya speaks “sure he can.” he says simply. you squeal, swinging shouto’s arms around and telling him about all the fun the beach is, touya personally doesn’t like it much. too hot.

shouto blinks up at him, and the older boy sends him a wink. touya thinks he’s never seen his little brother smile so wide about anything before. he can admit it's pretty sweet, it makes him smile just slightly too.

as they ride home, shouto rambles about what you’d told him at every stop light, touya hums and offers him a few “oh yeah ?”s and “that so ?”s even though he was literally there the entire time and heard everything. but he’s pretty sure his little brother had completely tuned him out with his sole focus being you.

what a total weirdo, how can you just completely tune out someone standing right behind you ? so weird. but touya can’t help but smile to himself as he rambles about his day at the beach two weeks from now. his weirdo little brother could tune others out all he wants, but he’s sure he’ll never tune you out. cus you’re just as weird as each other and touya’s sure he’ll be just fine.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

pairing: past wanda maximoff x fem!reader / present natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: When you see Wanda again after the secret relationship you shared during your college years, you realize the lasting impact she had on you. Haunted by flashbacks of your time together, you struggle to reconcile the memory of the Wanda you once knew with the woman she has become a decade later.

content warnings: angst, homophobia, a few homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia, heartbreak and grief, some smut, tragedy

word count: 7.1k+

Masterlist

A/N: This is heavily inspired by the song Us. By Gracie Abrams ft. Taylor Swift. I would recommend listening to it simply because it is a masterpiece and the foundation of this fic.

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

The Secret of Us

“Babe, are you ready?” 

Green eyes peek around the doorframe, delicate fingers working a dangling diamond studded earring through a slightly reddened ear. There’s a gentle smile on Natasha’s face, a strand escaping her perfectly curled hair and falling somewhat in front of her face. It brushes softly against her cheek, a sharp exhale moving it as a wince appears on her face. 

“Here, let me,” you say, curling a single finger in her direction. You place your makeup brushes onto the vanity in front of you, your fingers gentle as you pluck the earring from Natasha’s hand. 

It’s a beautiful piece. The golden metal is dainty, yet solid, woven into complex swirls that catch the dying rays of sunshine streaming in from your window. Your hands are careful, threading the earring through her skin like a seamstress, with confidence that comes from years of practice and love woven into each measured touch. 

“Perfect,” you mutter. You both know you’re not just talking about the earring. 

Natasha smirks at you, full of confidence that is only slightly contrasted by the pink flush rising to her cheeks. You laugh slightly, the sound low and full of warmth as you turn back towards the mirror. 

Strong hands rest lightly on your shoulders as Natasha’s fingers firmly rub circles into your skin. You can feel the tight knots give away beneath her ministrations and sigh in relief as you brush highlighter onto the highest point of your cheekbones. Green eyes track your movements lazily, taking you in like it's the first time she’s seeing you. You find it quite romantic and tell her just as much.

“Well,” the bright smile on Natasha’s face shines through the word, “That was my goal, detka.”

A soft shove from you has Natasha’s hands wrapping around your own as she pulls you to your feet. You sway slightly, blinking against the headrush that comes from changing positions too quickly. Arms wrap around your waist as strong as the pull of gravity, unwavering and inevitable. 

“You look beautiful,” Natasha murmurs, her lips brushing yours. 

“Compared to you, I am nothing.” The words flow from your lips easily, the truth of them lying comfortably under your skin, feeling like the steady weight of a cat curled up on your chest. You kiss away any protests, your tongue swiping against hers when she tries to speak. 

“We should go,” Natasha manages to say, the words separated with the firm kisses she places against your lips. “We’re about to run late, and I know you hate it when people are inconsiderate with their timing.”

You nod against her, your hands squeezing her waist gently as you breathe deeply through your nose, unwilling to part your lips from hers. 

“Sweetheart.”

Natasha’s tone is firm, her hand pressed against your sternum as she pushes you away. It's gentle, almost hesitant. You know that if you pressed back against it, she would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide. It's for that very reason that you don’t, not wanting to disrupt her carefully planned evening. 

“Lead the way, my love.”

—

You find yourself hanging from Natasha’s arm, feeling every bit like a trophy. Shining, and put on the highest shelf, gazes sliding appreciatively over you before moving on to the next impressive thing. You wonder how long it will be before the dust begins to collect. 

A man, standing close to your wife. His fingers twitch, his eyes glancing dismissively at you. He’s talking just a bit too loud for the short distance between him and Natasha, and you feel a white-hot rage rising before you take in the fake smile plastered across her face. 

It's too wide, showing too many teeth and yet not enough at the same time. Her eyes are sharp, the soft crow’s feet that normally appear at the edges nowhere to be found. The pressure of her fingers against your waist grounds you, leaving you feeling every bit like a rock standing solidly against the crashing waves. 

The man moves on, loses interest. You don’t mind. The memory of him is already floating away, being replaced by the soft look Natasha is sending your way. You feel shiny again, not a speck of dust in sight. 

Dragging your eyes around the room, you let yourself get lost in the sea of bodies. 

Natasha had brought you to some important work event. It was essentially a party, disguised under layers of professionalism in celebration of a multi-million dollar partnership with their rival company. 

There was an undercurrent of tension, being slowly filtered into a sort of understanding and grudging respect. The alcohol probably helped. 

A woman’s laughter rang around the room. The tension in the air shuddered and released its hold slightly. 

You amend your statement. The alcohol definitely helped. 

Lazily, you return your gaze to the room. Natasha is slowly walking you towards the center of the room, leading you with gentle touches at your waist. You feel every bit like a lamb, awkward with growing limbs as it is shepherded into a crowd. 

Bouncing around the room, your eyes take in the multitude of people. Features start to blur together. A pointed nose, blue eyes almost hidden under thick eyeliner, shimmering dresses that catch the light and make your head spin.

Your eyes catch on brunette hair. Soft, flowing like a calm river on a warm summer's day. 

Startling slightly, you blink, a memory dredging its way to the front of your brain like molten lava, slow and inevitable. 

Brunette hair, falling effortlessly over strong shoulders. The scent of vanilla washing over you and enveloping you like a well-known embrace. Green eyes sparkling down at you as soft lips move. You focus, dragging your eyes away from the perfectly manicured nails softly brushing against your desk. 

“Mind if I sit here?” 

A feeble shake of your head, and rapid blinking as you attempt to return the moisture lost to wide-eyed staring back into your eyes. 

She’s beautiful. 

Her words are kind, a small smile seemingly locked into place on her lips as she regards you. Green eyes roam your face, lingering around your lips for just a second too long.

“I’m Wanda.”

The memory slams into your skull, reverberating painfully around as you feel an age-old, nearly forgotten crack in your heart reopen. It takes your breath away, the weight in your chest feeling like a paperweight, settling down on the last few pages of a story full of loss and anguish. 

Natasha’s speaking to someone, her raspy voice filtering through your ears. It’s nothing like the cadence of melted butter you still sometimes hear in your dreams. It's different, better. You wonder when the lies will morph into a semblance of truth. 

You take a deep breath, letting those thoughts slide back to where they belong. In the back of your mind, locked away and left to be forgotten. It wouldn’t do you any good to dwell on the past, with its looming, crumbling chess pieces that dance around you in a game that you don’t quite understand the rules of. 

“Ah, fuck.” Comes Natasha’s voice, the words mumbled directly in your ear. 

You twist your head, shaking it free of cobwebs sticky with memory as you take in your wife. Her eyes are locked on something across the room, the faint furrow of her brows the only sign of displeasure etched on her face. Her lips are moving, mumbling something about an important blah blah man blah blah, rich and influential at her rival company blah blah…

Smiling slightly, you hide your amusement with practiced ease as you turn your gaze towards the man, no, a couple heading your way. Your eyes barely register the neatly parted blonde hair of a tall man, his eyes locked on Natasha with a calculating sort of look in them before your eyes slide over to the woman on his arm.

Fuck, indeed. 

Your heartbeat rushes through your ears, a dull ringing cascading through them as you feel your breath catch. Everything has gone numb, or cold, or tingly. You’re not really sure. Everything is too much and the room is too hot even as goosebumps rise on the surface of your exposed flesh. You suddenly see yourself in a third-person view, your mind projecting outside your body as you go rigid at the sight of her.

Wanda Maximoff. 

Green eyes, brighter and lighter than the ones you stared lovingly into at the altar. Her gaze flickers over to you, not fully meeting your eyes, a forced sort of dissonance playing out briefly on those perfect features before she focuses on Natasha.  

Another memory slams into you, rising unbidden from the depths of your mind before you can stop it. 

Soft laughter, echoing around the room before it's absorbed by the four walls surrounding you. Green eyes, smiling at you before returning their focus to the pen and paper in front of her. 

Wanda writes something down, your eyes tracing the elegant script that flowed easily from her fingertips. Something scratches at the back of your mind, a tendril of something fond, warm. It feels like coming home, future impressions of familiarity beginning to take root. 

“Let me see,” you’re saying, moving closer. Your hands reach for the book. No, it's a leather-bound journal. You’d picked them out earlier, after walking to the store with Wanda from your English literature class. 

“No, oh my god,” Wanda was saying, giggles erupting from her as she half-heartedly wrestled the journal away from you. Her hand lands on your knee, her cheeks a little too flushed. It reminds you of the cherry she’d eaten earlier, licking the whipped cream from her milkshake off before smiling and sucking the fruit into her mouth. 

Her hand stills, awkward and stiff for a moment. You don’t comment on it, shifting your body weight to be slightly closer to her. The warmth from her palm spreads through your body like a slow creek, new and small and promising bigger currents down the road. 

“Let me read yours out loud and I’ll let you read mine,” you offer, taking her journal gently and placing yours in her lap.

“It’s just poetry,” the words flow from your lips, but you know it’s more than that. It’s the very contents of your soul, laid bare for her to see, wrapped under layers of grammar and careful wording. It’s a confession, it’s a sin, it’s something twisting and beautiful and as graceless as a newborn foal. Her eyes meet yours, your thoughts reflected back at you as her fingers twitch slightly on your knee. 

Wanda’s hand takes your journal, those green eyes skimming the words as her lips move silently.

You don’t look away, you can’t look away. Her hair is falling over her shoulder, as delicate and soft as the words written before you. There’s a palpable tension in the air, low and thumping like a familiar heartbeat. 

Green eyes, flickering back to you. Something behind them that you can’t interpret. You feel like she can see your every thought, the very contents of your being laid out before her as she analyzes each individual piece. It’s frightening and it’s intoxicating, and you look away. 

You’re reading her words now, the sentences flowing and mashing together in your mind as you pluck the strings of her mind with your careful hands. It’s beautiful and well-written, layered with so many truths and lies that you can’t begin to interpret the true meaning of her sentences. 

Something tingles at the base of your skull, warm and light as it blossoms through your head. Understanding. Or, the semblance of it. 

You look up. Light green eyes stare back into yours. They’re captivating, and you wonder if they ever left. If she watched you the same way you did her, attempting to unravel her very being through carefully constructed lines and flowing script and words layered with meaning. 

Those green eyes have the power to shatter you. You pick up your pen. 

“So what is it that you do?” The man is speaking. 

Your mind crashes back into the present, another hairline fracture appearing on the surface of your heart. You can practically feel it, the torment running deeper than the illusion the thin crack offers. It’s bone-aching, and you suddenly feel exhausted. 

“I’m a copywriter,” Natasha answers, sounding casual. You can sense the clipped tone and undercurrent of frustration, and your hand gently traces circles against her wrist. “I graduated with a degree in English Literature.”

“Ah,” the man says, sounding every bit as pretentious as he looks. “My wife got a degree in that as well.”

Another crack, splintering into you. Your eyes flick down, catching the ring on Wanda’s finger. It’s shining and big, the diamonds glittering back at you, the mockery of it seeping into your soul. The meaning of it is every bit as surface level as what you assume Wanda’s feelings for this man are. You know better, she had told you just as much. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever love a man in the way I’m meant to.” 

You don’t have to ask what she means. You don’t respond, a gentle sigh escaping you as the weight of her head rests solidly on your shoulder. The clock on your nightstand blinks back at you, the numbers twinkling in the early morning. Pens and paper and journals are strewn around you, a poetry book facedown in your lap. Your voice had grown too tired from reading, but neither of you seemed to mind the comfortable silence stretching around the room.

Until now.

“I know,” you say. There are not many words you can speak.

It's simple. That’s a lie. It’s not, it’s complicated and it's painful and there’s nothing you can do to take that away from her. You wish you could. You would do anything to let Wanda’s soul have respite in your presence, to be unburdened from thoughts of sin and duty, to be able to finally breathe properly. 

Soft fingers find your hand, tangling with your fingers almost hesitantly. Your palm slides easily against hers, and you swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands fit like a jigsaw puzzle, feeling like the final piece as it clicks into place. Confusion and frustration sliding away as the picture finally makes sense. 

“Poetry feels like prayer.” Wanda’s voice is quiet, and you know what she means. It feels holy, even with the words only spoken in the sublunary space of your dorm room. Her head twists on your shoulder, and you feel your gaze drawn to her like the inevitable magnetic pull of the earth. Her green eyes peer up at you. “Will you pray with me?” 

Picking up the poetry book in your lap, you begin reading. Your thumb runs over the pages. Staring at the words in front of you, you wonder why they’re blurry. You realize later, after Wanda had fallen asleep from being lulled into comfort by your voice, that it had been unshed tears. 

You let them fall.

“Yes,” Wanda is saying, and her voice is exactly the same as you’d remembered. She’s speaking, saying something about the university she’d attended and how she got her degree. The only thing you can focus on is the familiar lilt of her words, the smooth cadence you’ve memorized and seared into your brain. 

It’s painful, but you can’t take your eyes off of her. Natasha’s hand moves slightly against your waist, and you blink. The man next to Wanda has his arms almost possessively around her shoulders, his hawkish eyes watching you. 

You look away. 

“Oh, you and my wife went to the same University,” Natasha says, trying to be helpful. You don’t appreciate it. Her words are genuine, but the statement falls short, a beat of awkward silence stretching into an eternity as you try to respond. What could you even say?

Yes. We did. I fell in love with the confident, full-of-life brunette who looked at me like I hung the moon, and I looked at her like she painted the stars just to give the moon some company. I loved her as easy as breathing, and now my lungs never feel full enough, my breaths labored and weighted with the words of love I breathed into her ear that I can’t take back, won’t take back. 

Refuse to take back. 

“We must have missed each other,” Wanda says, her eyes flashing in your direction, but not fully meeting yours. “It’s a big school.”

A polite smile plasters itself onto your face, too small and stiff to be sincere. Your heart clenches painfully, a small part of your mind begging Wanda to meet your eyes. God, it feels just like when you were at University. 

Her husband’s fingers tighten slightly around her shoulder, pulling her further into his side. You wonder if Wanda feels like she’s suffocating yet. You hope not, you want her to breathe. To fill her lungs with light and hope and passion and… not whatever this is.

Another memory, sludging through your mind like a heavy foot through quicksand. 

You don’t talk to Wanda much outside of class and the late-night poetry readings in your dorm. She blames it on her busy social life, being in a sorority is apparently no joke. You’ve learned to keep your head down when you see her in public, her eyes always lingering near you, but never fully meeting yours, too focused on the sorority sisters that always seem to surround her. Appearances are everything to her, you know that. 

But god, it hurts. 

It still doesn’t cut quite as deep as the weekend her parents came to visit. 

Wanda had grown up the daughter of a pastor, a well-spoken man with a quiet, hidden-in-the-shadows wife. You’d watched from afar, noticing the small glances her mother would send her way, and the nervous twitching of her fingers as she adjusted Wanda's collar, or brushed a piece of invisible lint from her daughter's skirt. 

Per usual, Wanda was nothing short of perfect. Her hair was perfectly curled, laying gently over her shoulders as the brunette strands glowed in the sunlight. She’d done her makeup just subtle enough to perfect her already dainty features, but not enough to rouse suspicion that she was promiscuous. 

You’d watched her do her makeup many times, her hands perfecting the art. You wondered how much of her father’s influence and mother’s worry controlled the easy flick of her brush as it spread a light blush across her cheeks. 

Tracing your gaze down her form, you glance back to the book in front of you. A poem glared up at you, the words swimming off the page as you remember the subtle curve of Wanda’s spine, her head bowed slightly as her father spoke into her ear. 

Wanda was full of life, shining brightly and standing out amongst the rest of the population at this university. Or perhaps that was simply your own observation, after all, your entire waking moments were consumed by thoughts of her. 

The point is, she wasn’t… docile. Or submissive, or meek like her posture suggests when her father lays a hand on her shoulder. You can’t tell if he’s gripping his fingers tightly or gently around her, but either way, Wanda doesn’t make a move to remove his hand. 

She’s nodding, her head turning towards him. You can see her smiling easily at him, saying something back. 

His hand returns to his side, and you hope that you imagine the slope of her mother’s shoulders relaxing. The way her fingers twitch towards her daughter, wanting to replace the feeling of his hand against her skin, but choosing to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear instead. Always deflecting her true intentions.

Wanda’s face turns towards her mother. You see the momentary look that passes between them, but you’re unable to interpret it from across the quad. The moment passes, and her mother returns her attention back to her husband. Always a faithful, obedient wife. 

When Wanda and her parents pass by the table you’re seated at, she doesn’t spare you a second glance. Her green eyes are focused on some unimportant thing in the distance, her father’s lips moving near her ear again. You silently plead with her to look your way, to take solace in the silent comfort you can provide. 

Her green eyes don’t meet yours. You feel a crack appear on your heart, and you swallow harshly as you stare blankly at the poetry in front of you. Shoving the crack down where you’ve displaced all the other ones, you begin to read. 

The poem is a romantic one. Full of yearning and hope and unbridled passion. The only thing you can think about is how incredibly tragic it seems. 

Natasha’s thumb is slowly moving, caressing your hip as she holds you loosely by her side. Not possessive, but not without care either. You’re grateful for the touch, and focus on it as Wanda’s husband continues to talk about… what is he talking about?

You don’t really care. 

The version of Wanda that you knew and the woman you see in front of you clash in your mind, splintering your thoughts. You’re also aware of your wife beside you, and guilt creeps into your heart. 

You chose Natasha. You’re happy with her, you stood across from her and declared your love and promised her that you would love her until the end of time. You intend to stand by that, to uphold your promise. Imagining a future without her seems impossible. 

But you’d also imagined a future with Wanda once. It didn’t seem right to just ignore that. And it was impossible to keep the memories at bay. Not when she was standing before you for the first time in ten fucking years, with her perfect hair and her natural looking makeup and her light green eyes and the scent of vanilla washing over you and and and-

Breathing in, feeling the comforting scent of vanilla enveloping you in the strong embrace of a familiar lover. Wanda’s hair just beneath your nose, the silky strands brushing against your cheek and chin as you place a gentle kiss on her head. 

Her arms are wrapped around you, her breaths even. You aren’t asleep, but you let her think that you are. It's easier for her to be herself when she thinks nobody is watching. Her fingers slowly dance along the exposed skin of your stomach, softly tracing nonsensical patterns against you as you feel your heart pound steadily. 

A poetry book rests at your side, forgotten in the favor of holding her in your arms. You understand what all the poets mean, with their suffering and their longing written painstakingly on pages of crinkled paper beneath their ink-stained hands, as you hold Wanda gently against you. This moment feels too precious, too raw to ever be put into words, to write down for the world to see. 

No, you’d much rather keep this moment pure and untouched, resting in your heart alongside the inevitability of Wanda Maximoff. 

You can feel her in your soul. Or rather, maybe it’s your soul that’s bleeding and filling the space between you two. You hope that it is mixing with Wanda’s, filling the painful parts of her that she pushes down and cushioning them with warmth. Is it too much to hope that she’ll carry a part of you with her forever? Is it selfish to take the willing parts of her soul that bleed into yours and keep them there until they’re so ingrained in the fiber of your being that you would lose yourself if she took it back?

Maybe that's the true definition of love. 

Natasha's hand grips you tightly, her fingers tense around your hip. Her eyes are locked on Wanda’s husband, his drawling voice grating your nerves. You risk a glance at Wanda, recognizing her blank look at the ground for what it is. Escape. 

She used to tell you about the places she’d go inside her mind when life got to be too much for her. It sounded peaceful. She could be whoever she wanted inside her own head, without the pressure of her father or the quiet concern of her mother and the encompassing guilt that she was never making the right choices. You hope she's there right now, and return your gaze towards her husband. 

“I mean,” Her husband's eyes are sharp, glinting dangerously at your wife. “It’s so nice that they allow so many… diverse individuals to work with your company.” 

His eyes travel down her body before flicking over to you briefly. 

“Is it hard to keep your lifestyle and work life separate?” he asks, and your blood boils. You see Wanda’s head lower further. “I imagine it's quite difficult to relate to your peers, with a secret like that.”

Natasha is seconds away from exploding, tearing him down with sharp words and securing her own termination in the same breath. 

You find your voice, the quiet strength of your words surprising you. “I’ve been out and proud since I was in high school. I’ve never been ashamed of who I am. And neither is my wife.”

Wanda’s eyes cut sharply over to you, that specific shade of light green filling your vision. 

“Why the fuck would you give this to me if you didn’t want me to interpret it that way?” You’re not yelling, you never would. Not at her. Never at Wanda. But you can feel the frustration leaking into each syllable, and you hate the way that Wanda’s shoulders seem to hunch in on themselves. 

“I never meant for you to…” Wanda can’t continue, her eyes locked on the poetry book you’re clutching between your fingers. 

“You never meant for me to fall in love with you?” 

A flinch, green eyes staring at the carpet and gentle fingers clenched uselessly over the back of a chair. The words bounce around your dorm room, settling in with a tentative weariness. 

“Why would you give me this poetry book about romance and passion and fighting for love if that’s not what you wanted me to think about you?” you set the book down on your desk, the pages flipping open. You can see the smudged ink of your annotations. That was a flaw of yours, always writing too fast as you try to keep up with the thoughts in your head. 

“That’s not what I mean I-” Wanda’s eyes are locked on the book and you watch her swallow harshly. Her voice is shaky, her head bowed. You hate it, and there’s nothing you can do to make it better. “I can’t love you.”

“You don’t love me?”

“That’s not what I said.” Wanda’s voice is quiet. 

Oh. 

“You don’t understand,” Wanda has unshed tears in her eyes. You want to wipe them away, your fingers twitching, unsure if you’re allowed to anymore. “My family means everything to me.”

Oh.

The weight of tragedy settles in, burying itself deep within your bones and wrapping around your heart and squeezing. All of the cracks you’d smothered appear at once, splintering and creating new fractures with each labored pump of poisonous blood coursing through your body. 

You finally understand what the poets mean. The metaphors and desperation, the weight of grief and longing and the way it sticks to your very soul like a parasite that you keep feeding and nurturing because the pain of forgetting is worse than the crushing travesty of remembering. 

Wanda is talking, and for the first time, you’re not paying attention to her words. She’s saying something about her parents and financial dependence and them cutting her off and all you can hear is that she’s stuck and scared and trying to protect herself and you can’t choose her path for her. 

It’s agony, it’s grief and it’s nothing like what you imagined as you innocently read the words scattered across the pages of your poetry book. It’s so much fucking worse. Wanda’s hand is on the doorknob of your dorm, her vanilla scent already fading from your walls as she looks at you with longing and grief and something devastating hidden and suppressed deep within her soul. You wonder if this will be the last time her green eyes ever look at you with genuine emotion shining through them. 

You wonder if you’ll ever escape the numbing chill of loneliness that settles beneath your skin like an old friend. 

Vision, you’d learned his name at some point during the conversation, seems at a loss for words for the first time since you’ve met him. His face is steadily reddening, the tips of his ears practically scarlet as you watch the hand on Wanda’s shoulder tighten.

“I’ve seen your name credited a lot, you must be very good at what you do.” Wanda’s voice is melodic, her words placating yet genuine. She’s mending the rift, her words an unspoken apology for her husband’s behavior as he stands sullen beside her. 

Natasha smiles and begins speaking.

It’s strange, to see the woman you’re in love with talking with Wanda. There was a time when you thought you’d never find someone who made you feel the way Wanda did. You were convinced that your love would live and die with her. 

Then, you met your wife. 

Natasha was everything you could have ever hoped for. She loved you openly and proudly from the moment she met you. Her commitment to you had never waned, her gestures true and meanings genuine. You’d never trusted somebody more, never felt as comfortable with another person. 

She stood by your side when others did not. She held you when you were sick, and stayed by your side when you were at your lowest. The day that you had married her was the best day of your life, and your vows were nothing short of pure truth. The green eyes that had looked at you from across the altar were vibrant and dark, your love for that shade of green far surpassing the one you’d loved all those years ago. 

So why did it still hurt to think about Wanda?

If you had to choose. Right now, Natasha or Wanda, you knew you’d choose your wife in every lifetime. But that didn’t explain the splintering cracks reappearing on your heart the longer you stayed in Wanda’s presence. 

Music rattles the floor, a plethora of swirling hues surrounding you. Your senses are dulled by the fiery liquor burning within your veins, your brain finally relaxing. 

“Dude, come on don’t just stand there like a weirdo,” Kate pulls you away from the wall, spilling your cup in the process. 

You both look down at it for a moment, before bursting into peals of laughter that leave you clutching her shoulder for support as she bends at the waist. Her dark hair falls neatly over her shoulders, her backward cap holding it in place. 

The music drowns out most of your laughter, but you’re aware of the eyes on both you and Kate as you wipe tears from your eyes. She’s pulling you closer to the DJ, dancing sloppily with you. You can’t bring yourself to care about the people around you. There was one goal tonight, get absolutely sloshed at the local college bars and then pass out on Kate’s couch to forget about the whole thing. 

“Who the fuck let the sloppy, drunk dykes in?”

Kate doesn’t hear the words, but you do. You turn to face the group near you, the liquor making you bold. It’s a bunch of sorority girls, with their skin-tight dresses and judging eyes watching you with caked-on mascara. Your heart drops when you see Wanda standing in the middle of them. 

Your blood runs cold, a surge of sadness and fury sweeping through you. It’s confusing, but most of all, it’s fucking infuriating. 

Behind you, Kate stumbles, her elbow knocking into your side. Your arms wrap around her, keeping her upright as she mumbles an apology in your ear. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Wanda whisper something to one of the girls, their eyes on you and filled with mirthful laughter. 

“You’re right, Wanda,” the girl says, loud enough for the whole group to hear. “These dyke sluts would probably jump on the nearest dick they could find, since nobody else wants to fuck them.”

The blood rushes to your ears, and Kate’s gasp reverberates around your skull. The bar seems quieter than before, and a multitude of eyes are on you and the blonde bitch in front of you is smirking like she just stole your favorite candy and Wanda is laughing and pointedly avoiding eye contact with you but her smile wavers slightly as her eyes grow sad for a split second before she remembers where she is and you’re so fucking mad and it all just seems so goddamn tragic and-

Your fist connects solidly with that stupid, smug smirk that the blonde girl proudly plasters on her face. There are gasps and Kate whooping loudly in your ear and arms wrapped around you and pulling you towards the door and alcohol making your head spin and fuck you’ve never felt more alive. 

Wanda’s eyes finally meet yours. They’re filled with shock, but just before she turns away, you see a sliver of gratitude and the hint of an apology glimmering in their depths. 

Needless to say, both you and Kate are banned from that bar. 

Your wife is laughing. The echoes of mean laughter from Wanda and her sorority sisters fade into the background noise of your brain as you refocus on the conversation. Natasha’s soft chuckles bring a smile to your face before you can stop it, your lips turning up as you look at her. 

She’s effortlessly pretty, her eyes crinkled slightly at the edges even as her gaze flickers warily over to Vision. Her arm is wrapped around your waist, solid yet unrestrictive. 

Wanda’s eyes linger around the fingers that lightly draw circles against your hip. She seems to shake herself, eyes quickly moving back towards safer territory as she focuses on Natasha’s face. You don’t miss the fleeting expression of longing that flits across her face, her appearance seeming soul-crushingly tired for a mere moment before it smooths over in a way that speaks to years of practice. 

You wonder if she’s remembering the same night that rises to the front of your mind. You try to combat it, to stay in the moment. Natasha's fingers squeeze your hips lovingly, and you descend into the memory with bone-deep guilt. 

The concrete is cold beneath you, the wind picking up slightly and threading its way through your hair. You shiver, feeling Wanda adjust her body closer to yours. You’re aware of her heat spreading through you. Her hand fits seamlessly in yours, and you wonder when loving Wanda became as easy and inevitable as breathing. 

“Do you think the poets compared their words to the stars?” Wanda asks.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, breathing in her vanilla scent. It’s hard to focus on her words when her body is pressed fully against yours, your left side burning with warmth and something else that you’re almost scared to identify. 

Wanda chuckles, the sound heating your cheeks further. 

“Well,” she pauses. That’s one of the things you love about her, how careful she is with her words. “Do you think they viewed their words, their poems, as unattainable yet beautiful and pure?”

You’re quiet. You can think of something that is also unattainable, pure and completely inevitable. It’s not poetry, and it’s not the glittering stars that take up your vision. She’s lying right beside you, her nose bright red from the wind and a future stretching out ahead of her that she is able to mold into something beautiful and something that is completely her own. If only she had the courage to do so. You hope she does. 

“Of course they did. They’re poets,” you respond, and Wanda hums. “Do you feel that way?”

Wanda doesn’t respond, and that’s enough of an answer for you. 

The silence stretches on, but it's comfortable. Wanda is shifting silently, more of her body pressing against you, the wind having died down a while ago, leaving no easy excuses for her leg pressed fully against yours. 

“You wanna know what I think?” Wanda’s voice is quiet, yet firm. 

Turning your head, you look at her. She looks back, her lips mere inches away from yours. You can feel the soft, warm breath escaping her lips and hitting your face as she speaks. 

“I think that you’re like the stars,” Wanda begins, her green eyes sparkling at you. They glance down imperceptibly, almost too quickly for you to catch. You notice, of course you do. “You're incomparable, chemical almost.” 

Wanda trails off, her eyes firmly focused on your lips. You understand, you always do. 

“I can’t tell if you’re a curse or a miracle,” you whisper, feeling Wanda lean in. The tension vibrates palpably between your lips and hers. “But I don��t really care.”

Soft lips collide with yours, a seismic shift that causes your head to spin for a moment. It’s perfect and pure and something bordering on holiness and you find yourself never wanting to leave this moment. Then, Wanda’s lips are moving against yours and the heat inside you is rising and her hands are everywhere and you can’t get enough of her and-

Her moans feel almost reverent, stretching out into the minimal space between you as she arches herself closer to you. Her skin is pressed against yours, warm and alive and feeling every last bit like an all-consuming force that you gladly pull closer. Your fingers slip inside her easily, the feeling of her bringing tears to your eyes. You want to live in this moment forever, with the taste of her on your lips and her thighs impossibly soft around you, her head thrown back as she chants your name like a prayer. 

You’ve never believed in God. But in this moment, you finally know what it truly means to worship. 

A man’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. 

“Well, as lovely as it’s been to meet you…” Vision trails off, and Natasha simply raises an eyebrow. 

“Thank you for the wonderful conversation,” Wanda’s smooth words cut in, another unspoken apology and excuse for her husband's behavior. “We should probably be leaving, it’s getting late.”

Green eyes glance at her husband, whether for permission or in reprimand, you can’t tell. Either way, it gets Vision to move, a firm head nod directed towards your wife before he’s striding towards the door, pulling Wanda with him. 

She’s leaving. Again. 

A final memory claws its way to the surface. You know this one. It's a memory that you’ve kept hidden in the deepest part of your brain, in a place full of sticky cobwebs and scarce lighting, meant to be forgotten. 

It’s inevitable.

Wanda is almost at the exit, her husband's hand possessive against the small of her back. It speaks of ownership, of pride. You despise it. It’s nothing like the soft, loving touch of your wife’s hand against your waist.

The turn of a head and soft brunette waves falling gently around delicate, hunched shoulders. Soft skin, glowing slightly in the dim, red lighting of an exit sign. Green eyes, piercing yours in the same manner that they had all those years ago. 

Your breath catches, lodging itself painfully in your throat. Or maybe it's just your chest, and what lies beneath the surface. A heart, with cracks all along the surface, squeezing painfully, the tension, the agony almost too much to bear. 

A single tear slides down your cheek. You hear Natasha murmuring something in your ear, a gentle hand wiping your face dry. 

There’s a mask sliding into place over those perfect features that you’d memorized a decade ago. Green eyes, light in shade, sliding past you as if you’re an insignificant, forgotten trophy on the highest shelf. And then she’s gone, out the door with only the faint scent of vanilla and a permanent memory etched into your mind. 

The cracks splinter, and without warning, shatter completely.

“Pick up, pick up… please just… fucking. Ah, just, goddamnit pick up the fucking phone Wanda.”

You’re drunk, the phone feeling awkward and heavy in your hands. The sound of a dial tone beeping ricochets through your mind, and you clumsily jerk the phone away from your ear.  Blearily, you take in the four previous calls you’ve made to Wanda. 

One more try can’t hurt. Right?

You firmly press your finger against her name, the sound of your phone dialing her number washing over you. The tiny numbers in the corner of your screen read somewhere between one or two in the morning, but you don’t care. All you need is for Wanda to pick up. 

A sound, different from before. You hear quiet breathing on the other side of the line. 

God, you’ve missed that sound. The feeling of her head resting against your shoulder or chest as slow measured breaths fill the four walls of your dorm room. The small puffs of air hitting your skin when she shifted, burying her face in your neck. 

You say as much, the words spilling out of you. You’re not sure if Wanda is listening, but you hope she is. 

“Fuck, I- I just miss you so much. It feels like I’m dying every time I see you, and I can’t take your eyes avoiding mine anymore. I mean,” you hiccup, the sound pathetic even to your own ears. It doesn’t matter. 

“Don’t you miss us?” you say, your voice quiet. The soft breaths on the other end of the line hitch, and you grasp at it. “I miss the flame of what we were, I don’t even really know what we were, but… I miss the small reign we had. Even if it was just in the space of my dorm room. I would go through the pain of you every day if it meant I could be close to you. I-”

You lose the words, the regret pouring through you as quickly as a flooding river. The words can’t escape fast enough. 

“Do you regret us? I know we were a secret, and I was okay with that. I would have done anything, kept anything private, secret even, just to keep you in my life. You know that Wanda.” You draw a shaky breath. You hope that you don’t imagine the same type of breath on the other end of the line. 

“Do you miss it?” You ask, hating the way your voice cracks gently. You hear Wanda’s sharp, soft inhale. “Do you regret the secret of us?”

Click.

---

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato

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[spotofimagines]

Hiiiii can you please write prompt 92 with jude bellingham?? Thank uuu 💕

92) "I have to go." "No, you have to stay here with me."

gif by @judebellswife

"I have to go." Jude drawled out, his deep voice distrupting the calm air.

"No, you have to stay here with me." You said, almost whispering against his neck, pulling him in just that little bit tighter.

Jude sighed and let his finger trail up and down the skin on your arm a few more times.

If he could stay right here, under the warm bedsheets with you tucked into his side, clothes long forgotten on the floor and your familiar scent in the room, then he'd be a happy man.

But he's only in town for the night. And there are places he needs to be. And he was already meant to leave 20 minutes ago.

Jude rested his free arm behind his head as he watched the lights of nearby buildings shine through the window where the curtains parted. The dark sky only fed his wistful thoughts of staying a little longer.

Maybe he could stay the night. Maybe, if he skipped breakfast, he could get his driver to pick him up from your building in the morning. Maybe, if the traffic was low, he could buy some food at the airport and not be a minute late. Maybe, if he admitted how much he wanted it, he could fall asleep by your side like he used to.

Your gentle breaths made your chest rise and fall against his while the low light coated your bodies in a honey-yellow glow. As Jude peered down at the leg wrapped around his own, and at his hand slotted comfortably around your waist, he pulled himself out of the plans forming in his head.

In truth, it wasn't like it used to be. The silly teenagers caught up in carefree dates and fun rendezvouses. The countless hours watching television and playing games and taking things further than they should, just to roll over and wake up as friends again. It's not like that at all now.

Jude lived in Spain. You didn't talk every day. He was rumoured to be dating a new girl every month. You dyed your hair. Both of you have grown up a lot.

His move to Madrid changed everything and he doesn't feel the same way about you.

Now, he feels he loves you more than he ever could last year.

The physical distance between you never brought down the fire of your relationship. The sparks that reignited every time you saw each other made him realise what the butterflies in his stomach had yet to announce. The exciting reunions after time apart proved how good you could be and made him long for you more.

But it wasn't plausible. Jude could see himself drowning in you, turning his life upside down to be with you, growing to hate Madrid because it's where you can't be, never once leaving the warmth your arms provided. It couldn't happen. Not now. Not when everything else was as good as it was.

Jude took a breath and lifted your arm off his body.

"No," he huffed quietly, "I have to go."

He could barely look at you as he sat up and pulled the sheets out of the way, fearing that any trace of disappointment on your face would pull him right back into the dream. He was careful in his movements but your side turned cold in his absence.

The drop in your heart went unspoken as you watched him slip his clothes back on. The heavy silence filled Jude with regret and he cursed himself inside. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head a little at the feeling of the mattress moving as you pushed yourself against the headboard.

Jude wished he could find the right words, certain that anything he could say at that moment would only cause more harm. So he sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning up his shirt without a word, refusing to turn to meet the eyes that bore a hole into his back.

[thecharacterchronicler]

Bloodline (Part 1) || Ominis Gaunt x Reader || Smut

Outline: Your family arranged for you to marry Marvolo Gaunt. Fortunately, your best friend Ominis steps up and makes sure to save you from such a fate.

Word count: 4’515

Warnings: English isn’t my first language so possible misspelled or misplaced words, arranged marriage, abusive families (mentioned), first time s*x, friends to lovers and explicit smut.

(( Part 2 - Please )) - (( Part 3 - Heirloom )) - (( Masterlist ))

The familiar flip-flap of owls entering the great hall through the windows resounded in Ominis’ ears, excited chatter rising from the students sitting at the tables as, one by one, they received their mail. The sound of paper falling on a wooden surface nearby piqued his curiosity, he didn’t receive letters often, nor did you or Sebastian but an envelope had unmistakably landed in front of one of you.

Your clothes rustled as you moved to take the paper in your hand, tearing apart the top of the envelope as your owl took flight again, its wings almost grazing Ominis’s hair on its way back to the owlery.

Despite the noise of other students all around, Ominis distinctly heard you take a sharp inhale of air, your silence as you read the letter addressed to you feeling somewhat tense.

“Is everything alright ?” He asked you, but you didn’t reply right away, too focused on whatever you were reading.

He waited a few more minutes, noticing the way your legs grew restless and your movements became agitated. You were sitting at the opposite side of the table from him and your foot bumped into his a few times as you nervously readjusted your posture.

He was too polite to insist and didn’t want to push you to share something you might want to keep for yourself, so even though he was dying to question you about the mysterious letter you had received and why its content seemed to upset you, he simply cleared his throat to remind you that he was waiting for an answer to his question.

“It’s a letter from my family.” You explained, with a slight tremble in your voice. “They say that they arranged a partnership for me, effective immediately after graduation.”

“A partnership ? You mean some kind of professional training ?” Sebastian asked, before biting into an apple.

“That would be an internship.” Ominis corrected him, shaking his head. “I think she meant something more intimate than that.”

“Like… A relationship ?” Sebastian inquired, still munching on his fruit.

“A marriage.” You stated, defeated.

“I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

“I am not.”

“It’s common for wealthy and powerful families such as hers to arrange weddings, especially if it’s a matter of keeping their bloodline alive and pure.” Ominis explained, a shiver running down his spine. That was something his family did too, they were obsessed with maintaining the quality of their bloodline, suitable matches were carefully chosen, sometimes within their own family members.

“It’s more of a business contract than a marriage.” You added, with a sigh. “And my parents are making it very clear that I don’t have any say in the matter.”

“Do you know who’s the lucky fiancé, though ?” Sebastian asked, seemingly taking such terrible news lightly. Way too lightly. It was a tragedy, really. You deserved better than to be forced into a loveless marriage under the pretense of keeping a bloodline going, securing the pride and superiority of the worst kind of wizards to exist. Maybe Sebastian couldn’t quite grasp the gravity of what you had been asked to do but Ominis knew all too well how you must feel, being robbed of your free will and freedom by a controlling and corrupted family.

“It’s Marvolo Gaunt.” You answered, bluntly, before getting up from your seat on the bench and leaving the great hall in a rush. Although Ominis couldn’t see, he felt the intensity of your gaze piercing right through him, until you were no longer in the room.

His chest tightened and his body tensed at the sound of his older brother’s name. Marvolo probably was the most cruel wizard he knew, aside from their father. Although they shared the same blood, the same family and the same education, Ominis wasn’t afraid to say that his brother was immensely deranged and should have been locked up in Azkaban a long time ago, like the rest of his family actually. The only reason rules didn’t apply to them and they were free to commit the most vile and cruel crimes without facing punishment was because they were Gaunts, descendants of the great Salazar Slytherin and held more power and wealth than any other family of wizards in the country.

And now you were going to be one of them.

He couldn’t imagine you, taking part in the cruel acts his family committed for fun. And if you didn’t, they would find a way to punish you for it, just like they had punished him in the past. The Gaunts were dangerous, and you needed to stay away from them, no matter what.

Ominis stood up, reaching for his wand to guide his steps through the corridors and halls of the castle. He needed to find you and he knew his wand would know exactly where to take him. He was racking his brain, trying to find a solution to save you from such a doomed fate as he followed mindlessly the path his wand indicated. Eventually, he found himself outside, in a narrow courtyard. Wind rustled through the leaves of a nearby tree and caressed his face, sending a cold shiver through his body. He couldn’t feel any rays of sunshine warming his skin, meaning it must be a rather cloudy afternoon. He could hear the sound of water moving in the fountain at the center of the courtyard, birds singing in the sky… And soft muffled sobs. His wand twitched, tugging him in your direction.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Ominis told you, once he was standing in front of you. He could hear the sobs shaking your body as clear as day but still felt compelled to bring his hand to your face, wiping the warm teardrops away from your cheeks with his thumb. “Marvolo really isn’t a suitable match for you.”

“It’s alright, I knew this day would come eventually. I was just hoping my parents wouldn’t force me into this as soon as I was done with school.” You replied, another teardrop falling from your lashes and rolling down your cheek..

“There must be something we can do about it.” Ominis said, instinctively brushing off the fresh tear from your face. “What if you were engaged to someone else ?”

You laughed although you didn’t find anything amusing about the situation.

“During my seven years here, no one ever courted me, no one attempted to ask me on a date, I have no other prospects. And you know as well as I do that my parents shouldn’t risk angering the Gaunts.”

Ominis furrowed his brows. You were right, if your parents broke their promise to marry you off to one of his siblings, they might not make it out alive. If his parents had arranged for you to be wed to Marvolo, it meant they considered your blood pure enough to perpetuate their dignified bloodline. It was a rare occurrence, usually no one was deemed worthy enough so chances were that they’d do everything in their power to ensure that you’d become a Gaunt now that they had approved of you.

If you broke the arrangement to be with someone else, a wizard of lower class and reputation, his father would take it as an offense and you’d have to pay for such a daring act. If you married Marvolo, then surely he would take advantage of you and of your obligation to satisfy your family and his, he’d be cruel and violent, he wouldn’t care about you and would never treat you with the respect you deserved… There was only one option left.

“Marry me.” Ominis stated, determined.

“What ? What are you saying ?” You spoke, dumbstruck by the sudden suggestion.

“My parents want you to ensure the purity of our bloodline, your parents want you to earn the status and power that come with my last name… So marry me instead.”

“Ominis, you don’t have to. I can’t ask you to do that for me, that’s…” You argued, shaking your head.

“It’s a matter of time before my parents arrange a wedding for me too. I think I’d much rather be married to someone I consider a friend than a stranger they would have picked for me. So really, you’d be the one doing me a favor.” Ominis continued, his heart beating faster as he spoke. He knew it was a good idea, it would save you from Marvolo, from his family and, despite being a Gaunt himself, he would do his best to treat you well. He would never hurt you, never mock you, never give you any reason to regret choosing him instead of his brother…

So please, say yes.

His mother adjusted his tie. She told him that the all black suit she had gotten tailored made for him suited him better than anything he ever wore. She said it brought his blue eyes out, and that everyone would be able to tell that he was one of the heirs of the Gaunt name. Ominis wasn’t sure what was meant to be a compliment and what was meant as a jab, but he simply nodded at everything she said.

By the time he walked down to the garden of the imposing manor, his mother’s arm looped in his, he felt dizzy with anxiety. His heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to burst out at any minute. His ribcage felt so tight around his lungs that he could barely breathe correctly, and the more time went by, the more sweaty his hands became.

He could hear the chatter of the numerous guests his parents had invited as they took place around the lectern that had been placed at the very center of the garden. The familiar smell of roses tickled his nose, meaning the white rose bushes must be in full bloom in this season. He could feel the sunshine on his face and the warm summer air on his skin. It was a beautiful day on the gloomy manor.

His mother let go of his arm, leaving him standing on his own in front of what he imagined was an impressive audience of grumpy wizards. He still couldn’t quite catch his breath and, the moment the ambient chatter died down, his throat instantly felt constricted and his body tensed up.

He heard the whispers among the crowd and the footsteps approaching in his direction. It was unmistakably the way of walking of a man, confident and determined while the lighter steps next to his were more hesitant. In the past seven years, Ominis had memorized the sound of your steps. He also could recognize your smell in a crowd and knew exactly how soft your skin felt under his fingers. He could tell if your hair was up or let down from the way you touched and played with it and he knew that the quiet, almost imperceptible breaths you let out meant that you felt nervous. He knew all of this and more yet, he had no idea what it felt like to kiss your lips or hold you in his arms and that felt awfully wrong, considering what you both were about to do.

The man that had accompanied you walked away, leaving you standing with Ominis in front of prying, curious eyes. You didn’t say anything to each other, too busy trying to not pass out from how anxious you both felt. The contract was written and placed on the pupil in front of you, its tricky clauses oozing with dark magic.

It wasn’t just any contract. It was a cursed one, meant to bind you together forever. The words til death do us part took a different meaning as you signed your name at the bottom of the page, knowing that if you ever tried to leave him, you’d most likely be instantly killed by some kind of dark spell that probably was forbidden to cast. The promises you made by signing this contract were definitive and the consequences if you failed to hold them were deadly. At the very least, you both could feel thankful that you weren’t making such vows to a complete stranger.

Ominis signed the parchment too, the ink dripping from the quill dark red like blood. The contract was sealed with applause and illegal magic, making you his wife. For the rest of your lives.

The dinner that followed the ceremony was dull and mostly boring, a display of Mister Gaunt’s power and a lecture on his narrow views about muggles and mudblood wizards, as the guests listened quietly to his speech, nodding in agreement every once in a while. Eventually, Ominis took his leave, pretending that he was exhausted from the events of the day. You excused yourself too, glad to find him waiting for you in the hallway.

He knew the manor he grew up in in details and could navigate it without the help of his wand. He guided you upstairs, through the dark corridor that led to his bedroom. He opened the door for you, letting you step inside first before following you in and shutting the door behind him. He had never had any guest in his bedroom before and that realization made him feel uneasy. He knew that the servants kept his room neat and tidy - just how he liked it - but he wasn’t sure of what you were going to think about the ancient desk he sat at to write his letters to Sebastian, or the books that lined the shelves of bookcases that reached the ceiling. And what about the four poster bed he slept in, he had always found it large and comfortable but suddenly he worried it might be too small to share with you.

“Once we move into our own home we’ll be able to sleep in separate rooms. But for now, I think it’s better if we share mine.” He said, hoping that you wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable here until then.

To convince his parents to let him marry you instead of his brother, he had pretended he was madly, irredeemably in love with you. At first, they didn’t like it, saying that love made men foolish and pushed them to their demise but, eventually, they came to the realization that him wanting you so badly would serve the purpose of continuing their bloodline. Many heirs could be born from such desires.

Now that you were here, in the intimacy of his bedroom, he couldn’t help but think about it. How amazing it would be to kiss you, touch you, make you his as everybody expected him to. But he wouldn’t do it. Mainly because he was a gentleman and had promised himself that he would never, ever, disrespect you. And also because he was determined to not give his parents the satisfaction of having any heirs from him. The Gaunt bloodline was poison, corrupted with dark practices and immorality. Sooner or later, one of them would cause unforgivable chaos in the world, so he was determined to prevent it from happening anyway he could.

“I’m sorry that you had to do this.” You told him, taking a closer look at the books on his nightstand. You sounded sincere, as if you felt guilty that he now had the privilege of calling you his wife. “You should have been able to marry someone you love.”

Ominis had never felt anything remotely close to what was described in the books he read for someone, nor did he experience the crushes Sebastian so often had on a random person every once in a while. The only woman that had somehow interested him was you. He cared about you. And maybe it was an acceptable foundation for a marriage.

“You should have been able to do that too.” You sat on his bed, your wedding dress crunching up above your legs. He approached, heart hammering in his chest. “But for what it’s worth, I consider myself lucky to call you my wife.”

You smiled and reached out to take his hand in yours. His palms were sweaty, as per usual when you were around, but you didn’t seem bothered by that, pulling him so that he’d sit on the bed next to you.

“Do you mind if I try something ?” You asked him, a bit hesitantly. He took a sharp inhale of air, his body straightening up with sudden tension. In appearance, he seemed quite uncomfortable to be sitting so close to you, and even more now that you had asked him such a question, but he nodded despite hating being unsure of what to expect.

You moved closer, slowly. Your scent tickled his nose, he knew it by heart, he had fell asleep more than once to the faint perfume you left on the common room’s couch pillows, usually prompting him to dream of you. He felt your soft, warm breath caress his skin, indicating that your face was inching impossibly close towards his. He held his breath as you pressed your delicate lips to his, giving him a chaste kiss to seal your union, far from prying eyes.

He kept his eyes closed when you moved away, conflicted emotions passing on his face. He wasn’t expecting to feel so many tingles in his stomach after such a light and short kiss, yet even now that you had moved away, he still felt millions of butterflies tingling under his skin. He left out the breath he had been holding, taking just enough air to say your name, softly.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to know what it felt like.” You apologized, and he knew from the sound of your voice that you must be blushing.

He had wondered what it would feel like to kiss you too, more than he’d like to admit. A friend shouldn’t be curious about such things, it felt wrong to him, like he was betraying you by having such intimate thoughts about you. He hated how conflicted he felt whenever he woke up with an erection because he had spent the night dreaming of you touching him, and he hated how his primal instinct sometimes took over and he’d end up brushing against your chest or your back under the pretense that he couldn’t see what he was doing. He shouldn’t feel so desperate for his friend to kiss him again, and surely he shouldn’t want to be given permission to explore the body of his friend in details… But perhaps, if such desires weren’t acceptable between friends, they could be considered reasonable ones to have for his wife…

“Don’t apologize, we’re married now after all.” He gulped, feeling the temperature of his body rising. “Kissing is one of the many things that will be expected from us.”

You moved, suddenly growing agitated next to him. He could hear the rustle of the fabric of your wedding dress, the sound of clasps being opened and knots getting untied. He didn’t dare to move, not even breathe, as he carefully listened for a clue as to what you were up to. Then, he felt your hands on his chest, slowly undoing the buttons of his vest, one by one.

“What are you doing ?” He asked, his breath catching in his throat when his hands, resting on his lap, brushed against your bare thighs.

“Another thing that is expected of us.” You simply replied, now dragging his vest down his shoulders, before repeating the same actions to remove his shirt. He heard your surprised, yet quiet, gasp and the way your breathing became labored at the sight of his chest. He felt your fingers tracing the lines of his abs, brushing against the blond hair under his navel and grazing the elastic of his pants.

He said your name in a whisper, wanting it to be a warning but coming out like a desperate plea. You shouldn’t be touching him like this, not because it was what your families required of you. You should only do it because you wanted to. So he knew he had to stop you before it went too far, before he wouldn’t be able to refuse, before his body was set ablaze by his repressed lust for yours otherwise, there would be no way of stopping him anymore. He would consume you. Worship you. Devour you. And his promise to never disrespect you would be just a distant memory already, because none of the things he wanted to do to you were respectable.

But you weren’t making it easy for him to keep his word. Your hand was still tracing the lines of his chest like he was some kind of sculpture you were admiring, taking in every detail like he would. And when you moved to sit on his lap, straddling him and trapping him between you and the bed, he tensed up and groaned.

He brought his hands to your hips, telling himself that he’d gently guide you off of him so that he’d be able to remain a gentleman and not take advantage of the admirable loyalty you had for your family with your determination to complete your marital duties right away, but when he felt nothing but your warm skin under his fingers, when you leaned forward to press your naked chest against his and plant another soft kiss on his lips, the remaining of his will power to resist you dissolved.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, we’re friends.” He said, because that was what he usually told himself whenever he thought about you while rubbing himself in the shower. Except he wasn’t the one gripping on his erection this time. You had easily opened up his pants and now the evidence of his desire for you was held tightly in your hand. Your thumb stroked the tip of his erection, spreading the clear drop of precum that had escaped from it over the sensitive pink skin.

“We’re not friends anymore, Ominis. We’re married.” You corrected him, your words destroying the only argument he had to convince himself to not behave like some kind of wild animal as he couldn’t seem to stop his hands from exploring your naked body. “I wasn’t allowed to organize my wedding, chose my dress or invite my friends… Don’t rob me from having a beautiful wedding night. Please.”

His erection twitched in your hand. You were asking so nicely, so politely, for something so intense and passionate, it made him even harder. He put his arm around your waist, securely holding you as he removed you from his lap and laid you down on his bed with a strength you never expected him to have.

“Are you sure this is what you want ?” He inquired, holding himself above you with his hands gripping the headboard, his pants and underwear down to his knees.

“Absolutely.” You confirmed, with a shudder of excitement.

“Very well.” His voice was low, revealing just how badly he wanted this too. He placed a hand on your knee and followed the path all the way up to your core. He could feel the wetness and warmth coming from your center, begging for his attention. He traced the slit between your legs a few times, making you gasp with anticipation. Then, he pushed a finger passed your entrance, your whimper resounding in his ears. He moved his hand in a back and forth motion, not really aiming to pleasure you this way but trying to memorize a path he couldn’t see.

He took his finger out, bringing his hand back to his impatient cock. He wiped your wetness over his tip, mixing it with the fresh drops of precum that coated his skin. Once most of his hard length was slick and sticky, he brought his tip exactly where his finger had been, rubbing it between your wet folds to gather even more moisture before finally pushing it inside you. He heard you gasp loudly and he did too, the tightness of your cunt taking him by surprise.

He easlily managed to slide even deeper, burying his entire length inside of you with a satisfied sigh. He could hear your panting breaths, your soft cries in reaction to his movements inside you and the way you moaned his name, encouraging him to rock his hips against yours a few times.

It was nothing like he had thought it would be. His hand had never made him feel as good as you did, your warmth, wetness and tightness around him were intoxicating. The most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.

He slowly pulled himself almost all the way out, only to shove himself back in with more force. He could feel his tip hitting deep inside you, pleasure building in his abdomen with each of his quick pushes.

The sounds you made were music to his ears, the way you reacted to each of his thrusts was delightful, better than what he had imagined in his most vivid fantasies. He never expected you to be so loud, perfectly showing him how good he was making you feel. He increased his speed and you moaned even louder, practically crying out his name.

He felt your legs closing around his waist, keeping him close while your nails dug into his back, the whole bed shaking in rythym with his movements. Was he too rough ? How could he not be ? It was impossible to be more gentle when the pleasure he felt with each thrust kept intensifying, he was going to lose his mind, chasing the feeling, building it up until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You cried out one more time and your body tensed up, tightening around him so viciously that he finally reached his climax, instantly filling you up with his release. You kept your legs around him, your body spasming with intense pleasure as he struggled to catch his breath for a moment, his thoughts slowly coming back into order.

He waited until your body stopped twitching to remove himself, feeling your shudder as he pulled his spent erection out of you. You still were softly panting, your chest rising and falling under his hand while the other still clasped tightly the headboard. He leaned over, easily finding your lips from which breathless gasps still escaped. He kissed you, gently, as a way to apologize for losing control of himself and felt relieved when you returned his kiss even more fervently.

He moved to his side, lying down next to you to give you enough space to catch your breath but you inched closer, nuzzling your naked body against his in a cuddle that felt even more intimate than what he had just did to you.

“Thank you.” You said softly, sounding truly happy. Ominis smiled, his fingers absently caressing your back, playing with strands of your now messy hair. “I’m glad to have you as my husband.”

Husband. The word turned in his head, reminding him that you now were officially a couple. Mrs Ominis Gaunt; his best friend, his wife, his lover… His.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

Next in this series;

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

"Don't You Know It's Bad Luck To See Your Bride Before The Wedding?"

Warning: I write reader as female 

Masterlist

One of the most interesting things about having a girlfriend from another world is learning about the culture and traditions that her world possesses. Normally, he would consider every part of the home of the love of his life nothing less than perfect, since it managed to create such an exceptional individual - the very same individual that he can proudly call his. This was, however, before you mentioned a certain tradition/superstition that you had where the soon-to-be husband and wife spend the night before their wedding apart and forbids said betrothed couple from seeing each other until they meet at the altar.

Here’s how our dear NRC boys would react when told this news:

Is cool with it. At least on the outside. They understand that it’s a silly little tradition from your home world so they let you spend the night with Adeuce (you bet that those two are your bridesmen/men of honour and the three of you and Grim are going to have the greatest bachelorette party of your life)/Papa Crewel 

But of all traditions, why this one? He seems perfectly calm when you say goodbye - you pretend you don’t notice how he holds you much longer and tighter than he usually does when he hugs you - and your text messages to each other are as normal as they can be, but no matter how hard he tries he just can’t shake off the cold feeling of loneliness your absence brings and how his body feels empty without yours to anchor it.

Once the festivities of his bachelor party are over, it takes five minutes of him trying and failing to keep himself occupied and distracted before his desire to at least hear your voice becomes unbearable and he grabs his phone to call you. He wordlessly slips off somewhere where none of his friends would find him and he gives you a ring. The two of you speak to each other until one of you falls asleep.

He would actually go through with it in its entirely and seeing you walking down the aisle in all your glory and beauty, emerging through the door like a celestial being, after hours of not seeing you had him completely awestruck, like a dying man seeing an oasis after spending hours crawling through the desert. It nearly almost made the wait worth it. 

Just never make him go through that again. Please.

Trey, Jamil, Silver, Jack, Sebek

Instantly shoots it down. 

Listen, Y/N, he loves you so much it hurts. He’ll move mountains for you, pluck the stars and moon out of the sky for you. He’d make the sun rise from the west if that’s what you desired. If there’s an option to carve out his heart and present it to you on a silver platter he would. Every breath he takes, every time his heart beats, and every hour of every day, he’s dedicated to making you the happiest person in the world - the ring on your finger is an attest to that.

But he won’t, absolutely will not nor ever, deprive himself of a single minute of your presence. He’s trying to make up for the years he’s spent without even knowing you and now that he has you in his life, do you think he goes a day without thanking every force in the multiverse that you found him and filled his life with light and colour and laughter. Do you truly believe that he would ever even attempt to get any amount of rest when you’re not in his arms? It’s absolutely unfathomable and he will stand for it. Now come over here and spend the next hour cuddling him for speaking such nonsense.

It does not matter how long your respective bachelor and bachelorette parties last, you two are spending the night together and that’s that. Full stop.

And don’t worry about the consequences. Whatever supposed ‘bad luck’ that befalls you as a result of his actions, he’ll shoulder it all. In sickness and in health until the end of time, after all.

Riddle, Vil, Jamil, Azul, Leona, Malleus, Idia

Haha, no ♡

Leona, Lilia, Jade, Floyd

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM???? 🥺😭

Ever since you brought it up, he’s been nothing but clingy. It’s hard to tell where you start and he ends from the way he’s hugging you so close it’s like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together. 

He wants to do it for you since you’re already sacrificing so much by being away from your home but-but that means that he has to spend a whole entire night without you! Don’t you know he can’t live without your goodnight kisses? And your good morning kisses? And your breakfast kisses and lunch kisses? And you’re just going to desert him like that? Abandon him and then deprive him of hours of kisses and cuddles that legally are his right to have? Starve him of his well-deserved affection and leave him when he needs you the most? Just tell him that you hate him, it would hurt less.

This boy is going to be facetiming you throughout his entire bachelor party - the rules of your world be damned. He’s going to be marrying you in less than 24 hours and he wants to spend every second of his excitement and pure elation with you. 

These boys are also the reason as to why you have to have people stationed outside your changing room like guards to make sure that the surprise of your wedding dress isn’t ruined because ‘they just had to see you’.

Needless to say, you are going to be spending the night together

But seriously he’s tried to follow you into the bathroom. Just tell him that it’s an old custom that no one abides by anymore before he breaks the door down.

Ace, Deuce, Cater (100% snapchats/live tweets his feelings of betrayal), Ruggie, Epel, Kalim, Azul, Floyd, Rook

You used your impeccable negotiation skills (puppy eyes) to reach a compromise. You’ll spend the night in Ortho’s room and the two of you will spend the entire night before your wedding playing video games using your matching couple headphones. Ortho will run interference until you leave the next day to get ready to make sure that you don’t end up seeing each other.

Or at least that was the plan until Idia woke up in the middle of the night to find his room devoid of the only lights in his life. Without even thinking, he leaves his bedroom and goes over to where you and his brother are and he gets into bed with you and cuddles you.

Listen normie, you’ve wormed your way into his heart so take some responsibility. If your world is right, then he’ll take the L. He’s used to doom and gloom so whatever bad luck happens can’t be worse than the life he had without you and it certainly isn’t worth even an hour without you by his side.

Idia

Are you kidding him, Herbivore?

First he has to go to some stupid bachelor party that his brother, Ruggie and Jack are throwing because no one would shut up about it when he could be sleeping with you and now you’re telling him that you want him to spend the night alone when he could be sleeping with you?

No. Absolutely not.

He doesn’t care if you think it’ll bring him bad luck or whatever. He’s not spending the night without you. In fact, he’s not even going to go to that blasted party. You and him can just spend the entire time napping in bed.

What? He has to go. Fine. They get one hour. Then, you're his. And if anything tries to get in the way of yours and his happiness, he’ll turn it to ash with his very claws.

Leona

Child of Man, he does not understand. You mean to tell him that in your world, a betrothed couple must spend the eve and morning of their nuptials apart lest a curse of bad luck shall befall them? He’s never heard of such a thing. Humans have such strange customs from where you’re from. You needn’t worry, however, as the future king and powerful mage, he is more than capable of handling whatever calamity that comes your way. A measly little curse is no match for a fae such as he. Therefore, there is no reason for you to deprive him of the warmth of your body for he shall always be there to soothe your fears. He has sworn to protect you and made an oath to you that no harm shall ever befall you.

For if anyone dares to prove him otherwise, he shall deal with them. 

Personally.

Malleus (it takes him a while to realise it’s not an actual curse since your world doesn’t even have magic to begin with but he still makes you wear enchanted jewellery on your person just in case - even though every piece of jewellery he had gifted you prior to that is chock full with protection charms and that’s not even counting the heaps of blessings he gave you) (It’s like that time you told him about the curse of ‘The Scottish Play’ all over again)

[shuaraes]

five minutes | c.sc

- he has never seen such a picturesque sight draped in morning light

oneshot | 1.3k | domestic!au | fluff

if choi seungcheol could choose one memory to keep after death, it would be the ones like this. the ones where he rises slightly early and gets to watch as you wake up to the world. for him it’s the little things: sunshine falling atop his sheets, your limbs intertwined, the pout in your voice begging him to come back to bed. though seungcheol knows for a fact, he would always hit snooze if it meant five more minutes with you.

~ pairing . choi seungcheol x gn!reader

~ content . non idol!au, early mornings with choi seungcheol, oddly sentimental moments lmaoo, fluffiest of domestic fluff, brief banter

~ tw/cw . one slightly suggestive allusion to hickeys but apart from that none at all!

~ song rec . come to me - seventeen

~ author’s note . here’s the surprise i was talking about! apologies for being so inactive, life just had to take priority for once. but i had some free time so i wrote this as a little writing exercise. also i just imagine seungcheol to be the best to wake up to lmaoo. sorry for once again proving i don’t know how to write anything that isn’t pure unfiltered yearning 😭 hope you guys enjoy anyways!

FOR ONCE, IT IS NOT THE DRONING SOUND OF AN ALARM THAT WAKES HIM

but instead the light of the morning - rousing him with its golden-honey rays. Slithers of sunlight burn against his droopy eyelids and he curses himself for forgetting to close his curtains in the evening. He wonders what the time is. With the advent of summer, guessing the time has been harder than a blinded game of Russian roulette. It could be anywhere between 5:30 (he could afford to sleep for a couple more hours) or 11:25 (he might as well not bother showing up to work).

Seungcheol rolls onto his back and cradles his skull with his palm. He drifts his eyes up towards the cream-coloured ceiling, feeling an inexplicable lightness in his chest as it rises with his every breath: ocean waves at high tide. Even though the future stresses of the working day loom at the forefront of his mind, they aren’t tormenting him like they usually do. He isn’t dreading the ring of the alarm. There’s something in his mind and soul that’s scarily at peace, a calmness he only thought he would feel in his dying hours. A sharp snore cuts his train of thought short. Feeling the warmth pressing taut against his side, he realises what the feather-weight feeling in his chest was for.

He flips over to look at you, out like a candlelight. Seungcheol swears he has never seen such a picturesque sight draped in morning light. No painting in a museum could ever come close to this sight of you. Your legs are curled into your torso and hands loosely gripping the sheets. Seungcheol’s eyes are drawn immediately towards your lips, your pillow-soft sighs drift onto the pillow where a tiny pool of salvia is. A thin sheen of sweat, illuminated by golden rays, wraps around your body like a second skin, causing you to glisten like the sun during dawnbreak.

In this moment, you are so peaceful, so calm, so vulnerable. You’re like a god to him, a statue chiselled painstakingly out of marble. Seungcheol has to hold himself back from caressing your puffy cheeks, terrified he’d wake you. You’ve been working long hours recently and today’s your only day of rest. Apart from that, something about watching you catch up on some well-deserved rest burns his heart white-hot with passion.

‘I must have been a saint in my last life to deserve this,’ Seungcheol thinks. As clearly and effortlessly as the chime of a bell of a small bookstore, you entered his life, taking him by surprise. You were like a whirlwind and Seungcheol was enraptured in the eye of your storm. Each day he was falling deeper and deeper, closer and closer to the point of no return. The way your smile and sense of humour makes him float above the clouds, almost as if is high on your presence. If he is, then you’re his favourite drug, that itch that you can never scratch enough, that song that no matter what he does cannot get out of his head.

He thinks about how much he loves you. How much he longs for you when you are not near - how much he wants to worship you until marks, the same colour as pink lemonade, pepper your chest. It almost brings him to tears: the intensity of his feelings in contrast to the softness of the morning light. You’re the most beautiful person to him - mind, body and soul.

Right now, Seungcheol feels content, not in the way you do when finishing a task or lying down with a stomach full of your favourite food. This is different. A contentedness he knows he may never be able to feel again, but the moment is so perfect that he doesn’t need to feel this way again. This morning is already more than enough.

RING-RING

Seungcheol rolls his eyes as the sound of his alarm vibrates deep through his ears. He checks the time. Fuck. He only has 35 minutes to get ready (he could have sworn he set it for earlier). He tries his best to move cautiously, trying not to wake you. But as he sees your body start to shift, he knows his attempts are in vain.

“Sorry sleepyhead,” Seungcheol coos his voice so sweet that it almost fully distracts you from the alarm's monotonous cries. You reply with a quiet 'morning' but you’re not sure if he hears: the sound being muffled by the sheets. He traces mindless patterns across your exposed skin. His fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You squirm slightly at the ticklish feeling, trying to curl away from his touch. Seungcheol can only laugh.

“What?” He knows he’s teasing, the grin on his face ever-wide.

“Shut up…” You turn your body to face him as he sits up, a yawn escaping from the depths of his chest. “How long have you been awake for?”

“A while.” He stretches over your body to hit snooze and you hear the light crackling of his bones as he moves.

“So you’ve just been watching me drool in my sleep this entire time, weirdo.” You say mimicking his previous teasing tone. Seungcheol rolls his eyes but still helps you rub off a small string of dried salvia sitting on the corner of your lip.

“Maybe, maybe not. Though, you are a wonderful sight to behold in the morning.”

“You’re mad.”

“Madly in love with you.” You snort at his words and playfully smack his bare chest as whiny ‘it’s true’s' fall from his pink coral lips. He smiles so wide, that you catch a glimpse of it through the blinding sunlight - a look at his sweet gummy smile. So wide that you can’t help but smile as well.

If Seungcheol were to describe his personality in one word, it would be a realist, maybe a cynic at times. But when it comes to you, he’s a dreamer. You’re the painter who colours over his grey corporate days, the person that keeps him going when his 9–5 starts to feel like a 24-hour shift and it’s your smile he thinks of at the neon red stoplight when he’s racing back home (he hopes you feel the same). He realises that he would do anything for you and it doesn’t anger him in the slightest.

“After you’re off from work, we should do something. Take advantage of the good weather and longer days.” You muse, still looking up at him. With the way tiredness pulls at your eyes you resemble a baby deer. Seungcheol doesn’t even let you finish your sentence before he’s humming in agreement.

“That would be lovely. Hmm, a walk around the city seems nice, there’s this pop-up museum that I think you’d like. We could also-“

RING-RING

You both groan at the cursed sound. Reluctantly, Seungcheol attempts to rub whatever remnants of sleep are left in his eyes (it doesn’t work, he feels more tired afterwards). With a chaste kiss on your forehead, he tries to free himself from the hold of the duvet and many blankets intertwined with his limbs. If he eats breakfast quickly, he may be able to get to work on time. However, as his legs hang over the side of the bed, Seungcheol feels a vice-like grip tighten around his wrist.

“Don’t go.” Your voice sounds so tired yet commanding, as if you were a witch, forcing him into a trance.

“But lovely, work-“

“If you can shower quickly, you can spare five more minutes with me.” You whine. To Seungcheol, there is no point trying to fight it, you’ve already won.

“I suppose I could."

The light giggle that escapes your mouth seals the deal as you drag him back down to drown in the sheets. He throws an arm around your middle and pulls you impossibly closer. Seungcheol knows his alarm is going to go off again in the next five minutes, but as you melt into his embrace like candle wax and press kisses along the base of his neck, he couldn’t care less about hitting snooze again.

For you, he could spare five more minutes.

For you, he would do anything.

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Demanding more

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Blurb: After Chrissy’s unfaithfulness to Eddie, Eddie realises that maybe he has been harbouring feelings for you for longer than he ever cared to notice. Is it too late for him to make it up to you?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Friend!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, slight angst (I know, I’m sorry!), mutual pining, cursing, alcohol consumption, trust issues, claustrophobia, some out of character anger from Eddie, reckless fire usage, pet names, kissing. Characters are 20+

-

divider by @sxmmerberries & @reveriesources

“I need to know that you’re okay.”

Silence. A deep void of idle and infinite dark.

“I need to know that you’re going to be okay, at least…”

A plead. Bruised knees. Quaking breath. Clasped hands shaking. No rest.

“What do you want me to say? Tell me word for word and I’ll say it.” Eddie’s voice is a hoarse croak and the small light that you harbour in your chest dampens further at the sound, “I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t understand why you keep coming back to see me.”

“Because I love you.”

“Because you’re my friend.” The blade wedged into the bone of your sternum plunges further and twists mercilessly; so agonisingly paralysing that you almost wince aloud at the pain.

Red, tear burnt eyes meet yours and you internally flinch at the sight. You’ve never seen Eddie this way. So broken… so defeated.

It’s as if nettles sting at your own eyes and you blink away any moisture that threatens to gather on your waterline, “We are friends, right?” You ask again. Breathless and uncertain.

Before the chaos of the fight at the party you couldn’t remember much, so it scared you to know that you had contact with Eddie and you couldn’t remember what you had said to him. Or what he had said to you…

“Correct.” He forces a smile, just for you.

The relief that washes over you dissolves the palpable tension that smothered the air and Eddie feels his own rigidness melt away at the realisation that you weren’t the one who hurt him. Yes, you were Chrissy’s friend, but you weren’t her. You weren’t Chrissy. And you didn’t deserve this cold shoulder that he was dishing out to everyone.

He could be himself around you.

“I’m gonna be okay. You don’t have to worry about me so much.” He offers you a tight lipped smile and you return one similar except that it was full of sincerity and warmth.

“I get that I can’t change what happened, but I can be here with you and hold your hand through the storm,” you sigh softly, adverting your gaze to a nearby decaying rose. It’s petals have turned a dark wine colour and its stem has moulded, “I know what it’s like to watch someone that you lov- admire, turn their attention to someone else. Someone that isn’t you.” Your mouth sours and you feel your lips pinch downward at the corners faintly, “It gets easier with time. I’m sure you’ll find someone who’ll love you until their dying breath.”

The cool breeze lifts your hair from your knitted sweater clad shoulders, allowing the strands to flow freely behind you. You embrace the feeling of the freshness upon your skin. There was something so comforting about it. Something so freeing: like being reborn. Rejuvenated. You allow your eyes to close momentarily as you replenish yourself, letting your spirit breathe.

You quickly clam up at the sight of Eddie’s hawk like gaze fixated on your face when your eyes reopen and your cheeks flush furiously; your body’s way of punishing you for being so open and vulnerable around him.

“You seem like you’re busy,” you gesture knowingly to the scrap pieces of paper laid in front of him that had a bunch of sloppily written lyrics scored across it, “I’ll leave you be.” You punctuate your words with a brisk rise to your feet and you flatten out your jeans mindlessly that had become wrinkled from being perched cross legged on the grass. Eddie’s eyes never leave you. Not for a second.

“I’ll see you around, then?” He asks, his voice is a croak.

“Of course. I’ll see you later, Eddie.” You sling your heavy book bag over your shoulder as you prepare yourself to walk away.

He stops you in your tracks, “Call me Ed’s.” It’s evident that Eddie didn’t intend for his words to sound as desperate as they did and you try your best to ignore the plea in his voice. Out of respect for him and his situation.

“Okay.” You breathe softly with a nod and a sweet but sombre smile, “Bye, Ed’s.”

Eddie’s eyes warm as they watch you walk away and he even chuckles lightly to himself at how you look bashfully back at him over your shoulder; only to quickly dart your vision in front of you at the realisation that he was also admiring you.

And in that exact moment, Eddie can see a light at the end of this endless dark tunnel. In the form of a friend. An honest, loving and cherished friend…

You.

‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,

And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.’

William Shakespeare

-

Part of you felt sickeningly grateful that this had happened. As much as you hated the fact that Eddie was wounded, it gave you a feeling of opportunity. To be there for him and for him to realise how great you can be. How perfect you are for him.

However, upon witnessing his stinging red and bloodshot eyes that could only have come from his penetrative sadness you realise that you couldn’t see this as an ‘opportunity’. You couldn’t throw yourself at his feet and hope for his love to finally be requited. Not with him being so deeply hurt. So vulnerable and delicate.

Not delicate like a flower. Delicate like a bomb.

These silly ideals only happened in the fairy tales. The prince saves the princess from the wicked villain and they run off together to live happily ever after. But this was real life…

And there was no one coming to save you.

So instead, you settle for just being his friend. The friend that he has always had. The friend, that is all you’ll ever be to Edward Munson.

There comes a tricky time in your life where you just have to accept that some things will never be. They weren’t written in the stars the way you had always dreamed. Your prayers weren’t answered and all of your attempts at happiness and perfection fail.

You have to accept it. And move on.

No matter the cost. No matter how agonising. You had to ignore the gaping hole in your chest that laid bleeding all over the earth beneath your feet. Your sky tainted red with blood and fury and your tears and skin were flames. You had to endure this Hell.

For him.

And you could do it. You had walked through fire before— you were numb to the blistering heat.

But what you couldn’t handle was the claustrophobia you were feeling at The Hideout whilst you watched Eddie rock his feelings out from his bones. From his quaking soul. The low lit hall was captured in a Hellish red glowing aura and reality begins to distort around you.

“I wrote a song for a girl that wasn’t really worth my time,” Sweat glistens on Eddie’s body, dripping down the curve of his neck and from his face. His drenched black unruly curls stick to his forehead and you watch a drunken and sinister smile possess his face as he pulls a few sheets of paper from the back pocket of his distressed jeans, “And what’d you do when people waste your time?” He is handed a petrol lighter by Gareth, “You burn that shit to the fucking ground!” He screams in a rage you have never heard come from his sweet pillowy lips as he flicks the flint and engulfs the pages in hot red crimson. A strum from his guitar screeches through the space, rattling your ears and causing your heart to palpitate heavily.

The crowd goes ballistic, like wild animals and you are suddenly in a mosh pit of adrenaline surged metal heads. All banging their heads and leaping around. People grab your shoulders to try to propel themselves upward and into the band’s line of vision all whilst unknowingly forcing you down toward the linoleum ground.

Black spots fill your vision and your knees threaten to give out beneath you as you struggle to suck air into your lungs. An avalanche of sweaty body’s drowning you until you are nearly crouched onto the floor and you accept your fate as your hands brace themselves— stuck to the tarnished pattern beneath your sneakers.

“Woah, woah, woah!! Guys, c’mon! Open up! Open the fuck up! Let’s be respectful!” Eddie leaps from the stage platform and the crowd parts like the Red Sea at his presence, “Not cool man, this isn’t what we do here.” Gareth continues to drum on a beat as Eddie’s silhouette looms over you like a dark angel sent from above. His palm outstretched toward your cowering frame and you take it hesitantly; caught off guard by his strength that springs you to your feet.

“Y’alright, sweetheart? You good?” Your chest heaves for air as Eddie leads you back through the crowd and to the front of the stage, his hand clutching yours like there’s no tomorrow, “Stay right here where I can see ya.” One of his chocolate brown eyes wink at you and you feel as if you could levitate.

“Where was I? Oh, yeah! Let’s fucking do this!!” And the song continues to shock and shake the room with every pulse and strum of an instrument. The crowd returning back to how they were moments ago.

Feral.

And Eddie meant what he said. He was looking at you the entire time. Making sure you were okay.

-

“So…” you twirl a strand of your hair around your index finger. It wasn’t intentionally flirtatious, it was something you found great comfort in when you were feeling particularly on edge and Eddie had the scary capability of always putting you there: teetering on possibility of falling from the cliff side, “You really wrote a song for Chrissy?”

The stalky man hums, “Yeah. It was garbage, though. It wasn’t real… in the end.” His gentle eyes harden, “The lesson here is that not everyone deserves a song written about them. I don’t know how all the bigger musicians do it all of the time. So faux. So deluding.” He sips at a can of beer he has held loosely between his fingers, “Thank you for coming tonight. It got a bit rowdy in there.”

A set of traffic lights above your head capsulate you and Eddie in a ghoulish green haze, sharpening your features and turning Eddie’s chocolate eyes to look more like deep and black bullet holes. No light was reflected in them. They gaped and swallowed every speck.

“You have such raw talent, Ed’s. It would silly of me to not come and see you play.” You offer him a toothy grin, “Besides, when you make it to be big and famous I can say ‘Hey, I know that guy!’ And everyone will swoon and ask me for stories about you.” Your comic words cause Eddie to laugh and shake his head.

“You won’t have to tell people that you know me, Hon. I’ll be there in the flesh to solidify your fairytales.” The way Eddie spoke enchanted you. It didn’t matter what he was saying— he had this magical enticing lull to his voice that sent you into a trance of total calmness. You were incredibly smitten by him.

The pizza place across the street engulfs your nostrils with the perfume of freshly baked bread and burnt cheese. The lights on the building flicker in your peripheral and you watch as people pumped full of toxins waddle and sway their way over to it from The Hideout. Drunk and in desperate need of some grease and salt.

“You saved me tonight, Y’know? If it weren’t for you I think I would’ve been crushed to death in there.” The chilly night air around you stills, “Truly. You are my knight in shining leather, Eddie Munson.” You pinch at the sleeve of his leather jacket with a giggle and Eddie crushes his beer can with a soft smile and tosses it into a nearby trash bin.

“You’re welcome, M’lady,” He bows down in front of you, almost curtsying, “It was a treacherous journey indeed and an act of cowardly courage but it ensured your safety. So, it was a risk worth pursuing.”

He was such a nerd and his dorkiness made you laugh a little too abruptly. But it was something you loved so much about him. His ability to stay creative and to stay in touch with his inner child. His vulnerability and his strength. You admired it. You were enamoured by him.

“How are you getting home tonight? Do you have a ride?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no. I was probably going to walk and take in the night air. It’s not too late.” You give a tiny shrug of your shoulders and Eddie eyes you knowingly, his head tilted to the side.

“I can drive you. If you want?” His ringed fingers plunge into the pockets of his coat and you chew your lip in thought.

Of course you wanted him to take you home. But it was best for you to remain two steps away from him. For the safety of your own heart.

“You’ve been drinking tonight… I don’t think it would be wise for us to climb into a piece of heavy machinery together.” Eddie’s eyes flicker from you to over his right shoulder as he peeks at his van that is parked across the street a few paces away. A small yellow ticket adorns his windshield and he curses under his breath at the sight of it.

Eddie’s head bounces in the form of a nod, “You’re right. Safer that way,” He palms the back of his neck in a wringing motion, “I’ll see you soon then? Maybe you can call me when you get home… to let me know you’re okay. Obviously.”

A side of Eddie you had never seen before was beginning to unveil itself to you and you were sceptical of if it were a good thing or bad thing. He was being overly cautious and protective of you and your whereabouts. He was showing you such care and consideration. Was he using you as a rebound? Or did he genuinely worry for you?

“Yeah. Maybe.” You bite back the acid ridden annoyance in your tone, trying your best not to jump to any conclusions about Eddie’s intentions with you. But with the way he was looking at you, how were you supposed to truly know?

“I’ll wait by the phone.” He smiles so sweetly it could cause your teeth to decay— but that paranoid part of you wouldn’t allow you to enjoy this moment. The bruised pieces of your heart were telling you to run far far away. And to never look back.

“Goodnight, Eddie.” Your voice was rushed and monotonous.

“Call me, Ed’s—“

Your back is turned swifter than the gust of wind whipping at your face and hair and Eddie watches you, helplessly, as you disappear into the thick of the night with a slightly dampened heart and a small frown on his face.

-

‘Love is friendship that has caught fire.’

Ann Landers

“Hello?” Eddie’s voice sounds through the phone receiver, groggy and hoarse. Your heart does somersaults in your chest and excitement finds itself burying between your thighs.

“Did you wait by the phone?” You reply, slightly embarrassed and meek. It was now 1:30am and the night was beginning to spill into the morning. You were becoming delirious with lack of sleep and it was bleeding through every word you spoke.

“It’s you,” He chirps much more perkily now, “Did you get home alright?” You can hear a shift of fabric on the other end of the line, like a duvet cover rustling and you can only assume that Eddie was repositioning himself in bed.

“Yeah, that’s why I called, actually. I wanted to let you know I was okay. I didn’t want you to worry…” You don’t quite understand why you said it, but you did. Over the past couple of weeks Eddie had hinted at caring for you. He had given you more attention than ever before and so naturally… you thought he really did care. And that he might actually be worried about you making it home in one piece.

“Thanks.” The line goes quiet for a quick beat and it gives your paranoia every just cause to bubble to the surface.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You finish your sentence with an unintentional gulp as your mouth longs for hydration.

“I was only dozing off a little, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you called, sweetheart.” There’s that nickname again. The one you have come to adore. You can hear his sleepy smile through the phone, “You are probably the only person who has ever called me this late,” His quiet laugh is fatigued and careful as to not alarm his uncle who is destined to be sleeping close by, “Did you enjoy the concert tonight?”

You hum, “I did.”

Eddie hums a tune back, like a bird singing you to sleep, “And what was your favourite song?”

You are quiet for a moment, reminiscent and concentrated.

“I would have to say the one about the rose. I hadn’t heard it before,” You grin to yourself, “Can you sing it for me?”

There is a shocked waver to Eddie’s deep voice, “What— like, right now?” You can sense his jitters through the telephone.

“Only the chorus…” Although he can’t see your face, you pout out your bottom lip pleadingly, “Please?”

There is another shift of movement on the other end of the line and Eddie clears his throat, full of hesitance, “Alright.” His voice is clipped, “Just remember that this debuted today so it is basically still a work in progress…”

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint his emotion, but you could tell that he was experiencing some sort of shyness and there was a slight withdrawal. He was no longer as confident as he was talking to you moments ago.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, I was only joking around—“

“No no, I want to. I’m glad you liked it… it means a lot to me, darling.”

Darling. That’s a new one.

Vibrations hit your ears as Eddie skilfully hums the tune to the song, manipulating his voice to lyrically match his beautifully dark words.

“And even if you were nothing but a wilted flower with a shrinking stem, I would still hold you close and preserve you in the worn pages of my blackened heart. The reason that I’m breathing, the love that keeps me reaping… oh.. oh oh,” He pauses for breath, “And you keep on bleeding, Oh… oh oh.”

As his words disperse into deafening silence on the phone you sit completely statue still. Almost too afraid to move. Petrified to disturb the moment. His songs were like poetry and it nearly brought you to a flood of tears.

“That was… wow…” You release a deep breath out through your nostrils, “You should consider recording an acoustic version, Ed’s, because that was… epic.”

“You think so?” He asks with shock laced in his tone and you swear you can see his brown puppy dog eyes looking right at you. But maybe they were just seared into your memory. He was embedded into your soul.

“One hundred percent.” Your fingers shakily toy with the hem of your cotton sleep shorts, the pads of your finger tips tracings the small pink love hearts that have been sewn into the light fabric and you feel a sudden surge of energy. Excitement. Adrenaline. Happiness.

“Thank you, sweetheart. You really are too kind to me.”

Before you can respond Eddie is yawning into the cavity of your ear and you can hear him struggling to keep the expression silent.

“It’s getting late,” Your eyes follow the coiled wire attached to your phone as they search for the clock on your night stand. It now read 1:55am, “I understand if you want to try and hit the hay. Early bird gets the worm, right?”

“We can chat a little longer, if you’d like?” He suggests casually, “I’m usually a night owl anyways, it’s the booze making me a little drowsy but it’s wearing off. Can feel it.”

You bite back a shit-eating smile.

“I’d like that. How about we stay on the line until 2:15am and then we can call it quits?” You come to sit up on your mattress in a cross legged position, your legs comfortably sitting in a basket as you move yourself closer to the phone receiver, “Deal?”

There’s a brief pause.

“Deal.”

-

The blood orange rays slicing through your bedroom curtains awoke you rudely and you rapidly blink away the sunlight, almost blinded by its intensity. The sound of bird wings flapping into fight filled the eerily quiet atmosphere of your room and a loud groan vibrates from your tired throat as you force yourself up into a stretch with your arms extended above your head.

You were optimistic about the day until you caught a glimpse through the glass and saw the rain dancing devilishly against the concrete. It’s was as though the water mocked you. With every hellish dance it thundered against the ground your feelings for Eddie only grew fonder. It grinned evilly in your face with every feeble attempt you made to forget him. A reminder that no matter what you did, he would always be there. He would always possess your soul. Your efforts would always ultimately fail.

By the time you burst into your morning lecture you are soaked to the bone from head to toe. Your hair sticks in drenched ringlets to your shivering goosebump covered skin and the fabric of your clothes cling for dear life to your limbs. No corner of your body was left unseen. Every curve prominent and protruding.

“You’re late.” Professor Hunter snarls distastefully beneath his breath, his Dublin accent bleeding through as you pass by his large dark oak stained desk to a free seat. He smelt of lingering coffee breath and musk; almost like he had smoked a cigarette moments before entering the room and washed it down with an americano. His black hair was pinstriped with grey, patterned like a skunks tail and his face was covered in messy prickly looking stubble. His blue eyes were heavily lidded as they searched your face in annoyance, longing for a poor excuse for your short coming with his square glasses braced on the bridge of his slender nose.

“I’m only 3 minutes late—“

“Still. You showed up late to my lecture.”

“I’m sorry, I—“ He cuts you off, again.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

You bite your tongue, swallowing your backbone alongside every word you wished to say. As you sunk further into the green plush pillow of the velvet seat beneath you and your clothes slowly dried to be somewhat bearable you felt a heat growing on the back of your head and your mind filled with the inkling that someone was looking at you.

Mustering the strength to look back over your shoulder your breath catches in your throat at the two chestnut eyes that are staring right back at you. Eddie is shameless with his gaze and you fumble beneath it. Your cheeks heat to boiling point and your legs twitch toward the auditorium door; prepared to run, if needed.

Eddie’s lips twitch at the corners and you can tell within that very moment that he is biting back a laugh. It triggers something within you, a spontaneous and contagious response that causes your own shoulders to tremble as you try and contain a chuckle. Normally, you would take a scolding from a lecturer seriously but something about the whole situation humoured you in an abnormal way. You were giggling at something totally mediocre and you blamed Munson.

“What’s so funny, doll?” Your urge to erupt into a fit of laughter like a volcanic explosion subsides and dies quickly as your eyes settle on the male next to you.

Shaggy ringlets fall effortlessly to frame his perfectly blush cheeks and intense blue eyes narrow in on your features, making you retract and become comically still. His eyes were fire in water, filled to the brim with raging anger bubbling below their surface— like a tormented ocean battling against jagged rocks.

Billy Hargrove.

Billy fucking Hargrove had parked his denim clad ass right next to you.

You had heard the things about him. The craze surrounding his reputation. You knew what it was like to have his knuckles fracture your jaw— all because someone had told you about it in explicit detail.

You would never forgive Chrissy for explaining to you in intricate analysis what his dick felt like and what it looked like after their hook up before she sunk her claws into Eddie. She always felt the need to boast about those things to you— to make you feel inferior. And it worked a large majority of the time.

Billy smelt soil-rich with a hint of apple blossom and you found yourself fixated on the dark thickness of his eyebrows. So sharp and clean, like a knife, “Fine, don’t tell me.” He rolls his eyes at you and begins to tap the end of his pencil against the arm of his chair, “Better hope you weren’t laughing at me, though, sweetie.”

“No, I wasn’t laughing at you. I would never— why would I?” You wheeze nervously, your arms crossed over your chest as your finger nails dig into the plush flesh of your bicep.

Billy shrugs his massive meaty shoulders, his crystal like hues focusing on the hints of rain that still lingered in your hair and on your clothes, “You must be freezing, sat there in damp clothes. You want this? I’m not gonna wear it.” You stare doe eyed at the denim jacket he holds clutched tightly in his grasp, his fist outstretched toward you.

You eye him cautiously for a moment, waiting to see if he will withdraw his offer and laugh in your face but he doesn’t. In fact, he smiles at you and now you are left to question every piece of information you thought you knew about Billy.

Shakily, your own fingers wrap around the rough fabric as you take the jacket from him. A burgundy settles on your cheeks and you whisper a meek, “Thank you.” Which Billy only nods in response at.

You know it was just an innocent gesture and that there is no way Billy Hargrove would be remotely interested in you like that but still you couldn’t stop the ridiculous dark colour from painting your cheeks maroon as you slid your arms through the sleeves of his coat. A hushed sigh of relief washes over your body as warmth envelops you kindly.

And as Eddie watched from a few rows behind you, like a stranger looking through someone’s window. He knew. In that very moment, Eddie knew. Every whisper that his heart made that he quickly shut down because he was afraid and foolish. Every beaming smile that nearly split his face in half the moment he saw you from across the room. His sweaty palms and his over protective nature around you. It all finally made sense. Puzzle pieces clicking together effortlessly, almost mocking him with their clarity. He had overlooked them for so long. These signs that all pointed in the same direction; to you.

It angered him. His stupidity, immaturity and ignorance raged him in a way he had never felt before. His fury came like an impossible build up of steam which burnt his insides on its way out. And he deserved it. Every scolding piece of black tar that stuck itself to his flesh.

Anger, sadness, pain— so intertwined that perhaps their names ought to be tweaked to reflect the origins of those emotions. To show their raw authenticity and truth.

Eddie had lied to himself. He had led himself a stray. He had pulled the wool over his own two eyes and completely missed the angel that had been in front of him this entire time. Even when he was in a relationship with Chrissy, he felt that something had shifted that day at the movie theatre. Something unchangeable and unshakeable. He just wasn’t sure what it was.

This was the epiphany. His world stood still and everyone else seemed to fade from his vision into total nothingness as he admired you from afar.

But was he too late to tell you? Did you still feel anything for him? Because from where he was standing, it seemed as if you were ready to move on to someone new. Someone better than he is.

The saddest part was that he just wanted to see you happy. To see you smiling genuinely. For your eyes to light up and scrunch at the corners. For you to be as loved as much as you love others. As much as you loved him.

He had to tell you. Even if it would break his heart to hear you say that you didn’t want him anymore. Even if it felt like he was on the brink of death, walking barefoot along the sharp blade of a lengthy sword. He would bleed for you. He would paint himself scarlet in exchange for your love.

-

Thunder clapped the sky and lightning lit the murky clouds momentarily with lavender purple as it zapped through the air. Water was still pelting heavily onto the concrete and you dreaded the idea of having to walk 20 minutes to get back home. Classes had flown by and now you were waiting by the large glass exit, staring aimlessly out at how ferocious Mother Nature could truly be. That’s when a shadowy reflection appeared next to you.

“In need of a chariot ride, M’ lady?” As you turn to look over your shoulder you are met with Eddie’s signature Cheshire Cat smile and your heart does leaps and bounds in your chest, “This time around I am totally 100% sober, so the journey should be a pleasant one. No one’s lives are at risk...” Your mind flicks back to the night of his gig and how uncontrollable your powerful feelings multiplied for him. You were reminded of the sour fact that Eddie would never feel this way about you— he wouldn’t feel as tortured as you did with his close proximity. It was agony. Having him so close and yet so far. Your fingertips just out of reach.

Eddie was gazing at you like you were miles away but in reality you're only a few feet in front of him. His stare is hard, intense, but also melting and blank. As if he were on another planet and you somehow were the one who transported him there.

“I would really appreciate that, Ed’s. But only if you’re sure? My house is pretty out of the way…” You were currently living at home with your parents but you had been searching online for apartments closer to the campus grounds, considering you’ll be attending classes for the next three years of your life. Some of which looked as though they were pulled from your wildest dreams. Warm and whimsical. You just had to save up enough for the deposit and luckily you had started work at a close by diner as a waitress. The hourly rate was shitty but the tips were great; especially from the regulars who liked you.

“I would never leave you to walk home in that storm, love. Besides, it’s been a few days since I’ve seen you so I thought we can hang out for a little bit,” You watch as Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down nervously, “I’ll let you pick the music?”

An offer he knew that you couldn’t refuse.

“Even Kate Bush?” You always had a cassette tape of hers in your backpack with your walk-man.

A dramatic pause embraces Eddie.

“Yes. Even Kate Bush.” He offers you a tight lipped smile.

And just like that, you were sold.

It was a torrential race to get to the car without getting totally soaked but once you were both inside you burst into a fit of giggles, laboured breaths filling the small space as you watched the water stream down the front windscreen endlessly, “Wow, it really is chucking it down!” You try to smooth out your rain streaked hair and you tuck it behind your ears, shivering at the mere sight of the trees swaying back and forth with the strong wind. The sound of Eddie clipping in his seat belt draws your attention over to him and you ultimately find yourself unable to look anywhere else. You were a crow to Eddie’s shimmer. A moth to his flame. You were a girl who was freezing a moment ago and now it’s as if sunshine has met your skin and you no longer felt a thing.

“Remember your seatbelt.” Boldly, Eddie decides to reach over your frame and click you securely into the plush passenger seat, his fingers running under the belt across your lap as he pulled the strap tightly over your body. Corseting your into place. His touch lingers near you for a moment and you could have sworn you saw Eddie’s eyes flash with something foreign. Something distant and hidden. But whatever it was, he kept it tucked away.

He killed it.

“Are you warm enough? I can crank this bad boy up a notch if you want.” He plays with the AC thermostat, the tip of his tongue darted out to rest on his bottom lip in total concentration as warm air eventually starts blasting toward you and instantly your tense muscles relax.

“That’s lovely, thank you.” It was already beginning to get dark outside and there was something oddly comforting about listening to the rain pour down onto the metal roof of Eddie’s van as you both sat in total silence with one another. In the low light, just basking in the peace of one another’s presence, “I could stay like this forever.” Your thumbs fumble with each other.

“Yeah,” Your eyes meet his, “Me too, sweetheart.” It was strange to think that one singular persons existence could bring you so much fulfilment and happiness. As you looked at Eddie now, your soul smiled along side your mouth. Everything leading up to this simple moment felt right. Prophesied. Etched into ancient stone. Your love for Eddie would die with you. And even from the grave, you would push up roses that would bloom to spell his name.

“Eddie…” You had been here before. Confessing. Pleading. Rationalising. Chasing. You were sure he would listen this time— you were almost certain that he would actually talk to you about your feelings for him. Maybe his opinions of you had changed. Maybe… maybe he felt the same way.

“Yeah?” Masterfully, Eddie hid the hopeful jitter in his voice. And unfortunately, it was just enough for you to back step fully and keep your thoughts to yourself

“You… you remember where I live, right? I can totally give you directions if not. No biggie.” The three words you longed to say burrowed themselves back down into your chest, your heart spluttering and coughing as they forced their way back inside; where they’d remain for the foreseeable future.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s chest also tightened with disappointment and devastation. But he had faith, and he knew that the right moment would come. Even if he had to initiate it.

“Of course I do— sort of… maybe? Okay, you may need to direct me a tiny bit.” His index finger and thumb pinch together momentarily to signify the minuscule amount of direction he may need from you and you smile knowingly at him. Content.

“Shall we see to it?” You gesture toward the road.

“We shall.” Eddie grins cockily as he shifts his rust bucket into gear and speeds off into the road, chuckling at the quick intake of breath he hears come from you as you gasp at a nearby car beeping at Eddie’s abrupt merge into traffic, “Relax, I’m a great driver. Promise. I could do this with my eyes closed—“

“Don’t you dare!” You squeal and Eddie’s nose crinkles as he laughs full heartedly beside you.

“Sweetheart, relax!! I would never endanger you like that…” He winks slyly at you and you shake your head with the hugest smile adoring your face. Adrenaline floods your veins from your near panic attack moments ago and you run your fingertips through your damp and tangled hair; slightly stressed.

That’s when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the winged side mirror and your heart plummets quickly to the pit of your stomach. Your mascara had streaked down your face and your hair was a bird nest upon your head from the wind and rain. Your clothes looked tattered and ruined and you couldn’t believe you hadn’t sorted yourself out sooner. Eddie was right next to you and you looked like a hot bag of dogshit.

“You could’ve told me I had mascara under my eyes,” You try to joke it off with a feeble laugh, wiping your fingers furiously across the delicate skin of your under eyes in an attempt to make yourself look half presentable but you knew that this wasn’t an easy fix, “God, I look a mess.” You gnaw on your bottom lip to contain your sudden urge to cry.

“What? No you don’t, not at all!” Eddie’s thick eyebrows knit together on his forehead, “I thought that was the look you were going for, honest! You were rocking it!” Eddie’s attempt to lighten the mood fails and a newfound panic washes over him, “You are beautiful all the same, hon. Cross my heart.” Eddie’s ears are met with a ringing silence as your eyes fixate on the road ahead and he swears in that moment he can hear your heart shatter.

You recognised the street and you knew that your house was now close by. Just a little further. Any minute now you would be able to feel despair openly and free of judgement; all you had to do was make it home and get far away from the curly haired man next to you.

“Sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice is so soft, like silk being brushed across your skin as he pulls the van into your driveway. It makes you want to vomit.

“I’ll catch you later, Ed’s.” Your words shake as they leave your throat and you dive from the passenger seat at an alarming speed but Eddie is just as quick to follow after you. Hot on your heels with his engine left grumbling in the distance behind him.

“Wait— please stop!” His ringed fingers hook hastily and strongly around your wrist, stilling your movements as he whips you around to meet his towering frame.

You jerk your arm away from his grasp gently but he remains planted, “Please let me go inside, Eddie,” Your tears mix with the tears falling from the clouds above you and Eddie swallows thickly, trying to remain as calm as he possibly could but his raging heart and the frog in his throat was heavily preventing that, “Please—“

“You need to hear this.” Your dripping lips part in total awe as you watch Eddie become restless in front of you— his inner turmoil mirroring the storm beating down onto the pair of you, “I… fuck.. I..” He grapples with himself and you watch him search frantically for the right words. Eddie wanted this to be perfect. But that’s the thing— he wasn’t perfect. And he would never be perfect.

“Fuck it. Fuck it!!” His inky eyes ignite and suddenly he is so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating from his skin, “I’m in love with you. I’m so desperately in love with you.”

“There is no perfect lover. We are all flawed, but knowing those flaws and still loving with all of your heart creates perfect love. I will never look further than you. If my heart is a flower waiting to bloom, your love is the only breath of sunshine it needs.” Both of your hands end up rested in Eddie’s palms as his thumbs stroke over each of your knuckles, “I have been foolish. Completely moronic— because I hadn’t noticed this before. I hadn’t acknowledged my own feelings for you. And you don’t have to say anything… but you should know, love.”

You have gone into complete shock. Your limbs feel as though they are weighed down by chunky chains and your throat doesn’t allow you to speak. But your eyes… your eyes are blown to the size of teacup saucers. Gaping open wide.

“I’ve tried to bury it, to push you out, but even the ground beneath me trembles with your name! I love you… I’ve loved you for a long time, I think, and I understand if you no longer feel the same about me. I have left you waiting— I have starved you of love and I only wish you happiness. I want you to be so fucking happy, baby.”

Baby. He called you baby. And now you are floating above your body like a ghost trapped between heaven and earth.

“Are… are you sure?” You’re crying now and your vision blurs with the salty water. Your mascara stings your eyes and you have to battle the urge to collapse to your knees in front of him. This is all you have ever wanted for the longest time. You have counted down the milliseconds leading up to this. And now it’s here… and you don’t know if Eddie is being sincere or not.

"You don’t get it, do you? Every time I walk away, the ground pulls me back toward you like I’m tethered to this place, to you!" Eddie let’s go of your hands and you feel like your only form of support has left you defenceless. His heavy black leather boots slap against the concrete as he paces in front of you, “‘Am I sure?’ Of course I am! Of course I’m sure, sweetheart. I am drawn to you in a way that can only be described as witch craft. I am under a spell that I never want to awake from. You are the only person I ever want to talk to— the only person I want to be around. You are all that matters to me. I want to know what you do in the mornings and what perfume you like to wear. I ache to know your every thought and what makes you laugh— and what makes you cry.” Eddie is breathless as his body swoops back toward yours and his palms find your face as he cups your cheeks steadily, his eyes dart all over your face, trying to figure out which part of you he want to set his eyes on the most but it's impossible.

“My heart belongs to you. It always has; I was just too blind to see it. And if you never want to see me again I will respect that. But you had to know.” Eddie breaks down into a sob, the thought alone of losing you causes his heart to crumble into dust inside of his chest, “You had to know that I love you.”

Both of your eyelids fall closed and Eddie rests his soaked forehead against yours. His breathing is erratic and your fingertips cling to the denim his overcoat. Grasping on for dear life, “I love you, Eddie. Oh Eddie, My Eddie— you have no idea how long I have prayed for this moment. To hear those words. Those three fucking words.” You let out a noise that can only be described as half a cry and half a laugh and Eddie joins you, “I love you more than words can explain.”

Eddie recoils his face away from yours and for a moment you are frightened as you watch his expression harden into something more serious, “Sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

And as the words emit past his lips, your worry dissolves into total ecstasy.

“Please— kiss me and never stop.”

You had never imagined this is how your first kiss with Eddie would play out. In your drive way and in the pouring rain. It was beyond perfect. Something that you could watch on a movie screen. The old romance you loved to read about—but this time, it was yours.

Yours and Eddie’s.

You never wanted this fever dream to end; and thankfully, it never had to.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @purplewitchcauldron @manitskatrina @georgeweasleyslostearhq

[toxicanonymity]

blow.

one shot PWP in night walks AU

2k, joel miller x f!reader. joel master list

SUMMARY: PWP. You do a line off his dick and he wants to bang, but you give him an amazing BJ instead. Then a little later, he does put it in you. A/N: This takes place between Harder (where the coke bender starts) and The Morning After, so you’re already nice and high. There was also an ask on this a while back. WARNINGS: I8+, drugs (coke), grinding, breeding kink, mildly dubcon via mutual drug use (established sexual partners), blow job (ball sucking, kinda cock worshippy), jacking off, mild somnophilia, brief p in v, creampie 🤍

Joel’s already fucked you, and he’s fucked you harder, and you’ve come hard as hell.  You’ve moved from the sofa to his bed and you’re both naked. The plan is to take a nap, then do it again. The darkness of his bedroom is welcome. It's minimalist, clean. Nothing on the walls. How weird that this will be your first time in his bed, or in any bed with him, for all the times you've hooked up. His bed is simple, but comfortable. So comfortable.  You settle into it on your back, and he lays an arm over you, face down on his stomach.  The arm is not ideal; you’re sweaty, and his body heat doesn’t help, but you can’t bring yourself to move.  You’ve just begun to drift off when he’s getting back on top of you. 

“C’mere, baby.”

He reaches between your legs and feels the remnants of his cum that’s trickled out between your thighs. “I’mma fill ya right back up.” 

He’s hard again, wedging his body between your legs, his ankles twisted up in sheets.  You’re kissing sloppily, groping each other’s bodies. You’re dying to have him inside you again.  By now he must suspect you’re on birth control, but the higher he is, the more he seems to think he can breed you. Or at least he wants to pretend. With his cock laid against your dripping heat, you're throbbing.

“Yeah,” he says and slides his arousal up and down against your clit. His eyes are wild, like he’s on another planet. “Gonna cum right in here,” he rests his hand on your lower belly then aggressively grabs your side as he grinds into you.   

“Hold on, pumpkin.” Joel reaches for his nightstand, and he sure as hell isn’t reaching for a condom. He turns on a lamp and it’s too bright.  “Shit,” he mutters as he puts it on the dimmest setting. He grabs the coke baggy and it’s almost empty.  “Let’s finish it.”

You ask, “Are you sure you want more?” It seemed minutes ago he was saying he got too high. Selfishly, you’d rather he fuck you first.  

“Not for me,” he mumbles. Then he opens the bag and groans as he lies back on two propped up pillows.  “Not much anyway.” You turn on your side to watch him.  You’re starting to come back down, but everything’s still vibrating.

He’s so sexy. You admire his profile, his dark eyes, his jawline, his scruff, his gorgeous head of dark hair. His muscular arms and chest. The light padding of his stomach, rising and falling. His happy trail, and then his gorgeous cock, near full mast.  And that’s where your eyes settle.  You can’t stop looking at the silhouette of his arousal in the dim, warm light. It’s fucking gorgeous, and it’s all for you. 

It better be all for you.  You never appreciated it before. Looking at it now, it’s so commanding.  No wonder he’s obsessed with it. Frankly, you are too.  It’s smooth, thick, and gets so stiff. It's curved upward just enough to hit that spot just right.  It’s perfect, and he fucks you so good with it. You’re salivating. Really, saliva is pooling at the corners of your mouth. 

Joel says, “here—“ he gets ready to dump the baggie on his fist, but he looks at you and stops talking when he sees the way you’re practically drooling over his dick.  You’re in a trance, mouth slightly open, saliva pooling at the corners, your breasts slowly heaving. 

“Mmmm. . . yeah, that’s for you, baby.” He wraps a hand around his cock. He holds the baggie up to his shaft and wiggles it as though to ask if you’d do a line off his dick, and you nod. He holds his cock flat and ungracefully dumps the rest of the white powder into a short, messy line. “Bad girl shit,” he murmurs and leans his head back against the wall, watching you through half lidded eyes.

You straddle his legs and your wet cunt grazes his knee as you get into position.  He moans softly when he feels it. You lower your head to his cock and look it right in the weeping eye. With the coke still on his shaft, you can’t help but reach your tongue out and take the precum. He gasps then mutters, “oh shit.” 

You look up and make brief eye contact. Then you bring your nose to his shaft and sniff off the white powder.  Some of it sticks to him. You tilt your head back and sniff a few times, feeling the bitter sting of the nasal drainage.

-------

“Attagirl. Now time for round 2.”  But you can’t pry yourself away.  You take the base of his cock in your hand and he encourages you, “Yeah, ride it, baby. . .Fuck, you’re hot.”

But with your mouth so close to his cock, with his musk filling your powder-caked nostrils, all you want to do is consume it. His hands try to urge you into his lap. “Lemme fill ya up, baby,” he lightly nudges your arms, but you hold firm and hover your mouth over his cock.  Most guys would be all about it, but he's got bigger things on his mind at the moment. Completely preoccupied with pumping you full of his cum.

“I gotta put my cum in ya,” he whispers. “Nice ‘n deep," his cock twitches. "Fuck it so it stays.” You take his tip into your mouth and he groans, then he mutters, “Ain’t gonna let me,.are ya?” 

Maybe later, but not until you’ve sucked this cock dry and swallowed every last drop.  Not until you’ve given him the best oral he’s ever had. If he ever thinks about another girl’s head in his lap or god forbid has one, you want him thinking about this.  

You suck the whole tip into your mouth, then bob your head on his cock, taking a little more of him into your mouth each time. The coke residue is bitter but quickly diluted by your ample saliva. His cock feels like heaven on your tongue. Warm and firm. The skin is smooth. You relax your jaw and suck from the back of your throat as you try to make his length disappear into your mouth, and you do. 

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he breathes as the silky tip slides down your throat. “Mmmm.” You curl your lips firmly around your teeth to protect his delicate skin.  Your head bobs, and you suck with all your might. You cradle his balls in one hand and hold the base firm with the other.  You lick him hard as you suck, massaging his shaft with your tongue. “Ohh, fuck,” he sighs.  You let saliva drip out of your mouth. You slobber all over his cock. “So fuckin hot.”   As you cradle his balls, you dip your middle finger against the harder skin behind them and he sucks air in through his teeth. “God damn.”  You’re throbbing and wet. You shift so you’re on top of one leg, and you can’t help but start to grind yourself on it. 

You let his length fall out of your mouth and down your chin, a string of spit falling to your chest. You lick up and down the shaft and around the tip, taking your time getting it nice and slobbery while making eye contact. Then you whisper “I fucking love this cock.”

"Ohh yeah " he moans. His eyes are already half closed.  Your hips move, seeking pressure on your sensitive place. 

“All yours, baby,” he whispers. “All this cock."  You lift the wet shaft out of your way and slowly stroke it while you turn your mouth’s attention to his balls. 

“Fucking love it,” you repeat directly to his cock this time, the breath of your words hitting the base of his shaft.  Then you lick from his shaft down the seam of his scrotum and back up before gently sucking one of his balls into your mouth. He gasps, then moans.   “Mmmm,” you hum as you gently suck his ball and stroke his shaft. You’re still moving on his leg, and tension is gathering in your deepest place. 

“Ohhh,” he moans.  You twirl your tongue around the ball and suck gently again before moving to the other one where you do the same. “Mmm,” these are the only sounds he can muster. No words, nothing intelligible. “Bay—ohhhh.”  You swirl your tongue around his balls and he’s breathing heavily, “mmmgh.” 

You try your best to get both balls in, stuffing your mouth full of them and he gasps, his breathing intensifying. You suck and gently tongue them, then you let them out, and you feel them twitch.  You get his dick wet with your slobber again, then return to his balls.  He watches you in a daze.  You’re getting closer and closer to the edge yourself. 

“God, I love this cock,” you repeat earnestly as you grind on him, and he grunts, “Mmm.” Your tongue sharpens and trails just below his balls, not quite to his anus, but close, and you tongue him as hard as you can while you stroke him with the new slobber and cradle his balls with the other hand.  You tongue him there and his balls tighten and you whisper, “Yeah, lemme swallow.”   He groans, wanting to put it in your cunt. 

“Won’t waste a drop” you say and suck his tip into your mouth.  You suck and make eye contact, and the next time your lower mound presses into his leg, you cum. You moan onto his cock, slowly moving on him as you throb against his leg, fuck.  At that point, he erupts in your mouth, and you feel his shaft pulse against your hand as he does.  He groans and you suck gently as his warm spend coats the roof of your mouth and the back of your throat. It takes him a minute to regain his speaking abilities. “God damn, pumpkin,” he sighs.  The look on his face tells you mission accomplished.

--------   

Having given it your all, you’re tired, too tired to think about getting that cock inside you.  You fall asleep in minutes.  In an hour or two, the bed is shaking rhythmically, Joel is breathing heavily and moaning.  His hot, sticky skin is pressed against your side, and his fist is grazing your hip as he strokes himself.  Then he begins to get on top of you.  

“Mmm,” you sigh as you stir awake. He uses his knees to spread your legs open. 

“You ready for it, baby?”

You blink awake and feel the tip of his cock at your clit.  He teases it rapidfire, slaping your clit with the tip. You’re so cock drunk, you just nod.  

“Hell yeah.”  He slides his hands under your thighs, preparing for an immediate mating press,  and lines himself up at your entrance.  “Mmm, yeah.” He shoves inside and his mouth falls open as he bottoms out with a sigh.  You moan as his girth spreads your insides. He grunts each time he thrusts, and then he presses your thighs back with his body. With your legs in the air, he thrusts into you a few more times. Then he plunges to the hilt with a grunt that becomes a long groan as he begins to pulse warmly against your cervix, his cock throbbing against your walls. He looks down at your body folded under him as he finishes coming. 

“God you’re fuckin’ hot,” he pants. He stays above you for a minute, then pulls out and lets your legs down.  

Maybe he never needs to know for sure that you’re on birth control. You’ll just be extra careful with your pills, and he’s welcome to keep trying. 

——

If you like this Joel, there's a lot more of him in night walks AU. You can pick and choose and skip around. Here's the whole bender this one shot is a part of:

Night Walks 5: Harder

✨BLOW (2k) - THIS FIC.

Night Walks 6: Morning After

⚠️ PLEASE FOLLOW TOXICFICS and subscribe to notifications in lieu of tag list since tags aren't working for many people ⚠️

Night Walks 7: Soaked

[ddejavvu]

hello!! i hope you’re doing well ❤️ i just read your hotch fic where he sneaks his wife and jack into the hotel room and i was wondering if you’d write something similar where jack is with jess or something and someone from the team catches hotch and reader going into his room except they can’t tell it’s reader and think hotch is cheating and they love the reader and can’t stand the idea of letting them get cheated on so maybe they confront him or call reader while reader is with hotch to tell her or something funny, whatever you find fitting. thank you if you get to this ❤️

i actually fucking adored this idea thank you <333

--

Emily's always taken Hotch for an honorable man. He's chivalrous, opening doors for the ladies on the team and walking them to their cars to be sure that they're safe in parking lots. It's instilled in his very being to be kind to women, so when she sees him trying to cover up a head of blue-dyed hair as he fumbles with the lock on his hotel room, she's perplexed.

That's not you. You don't have blue hair. But Hotch's arm is around her waist, and she's leaning into his side. His hand is more than generous over her skin, even slipping into the hemline of her shorts, and Emily's blood boils.

Aaron's got a grin on his face that she can just barely see without being seen herself, and he sounds all-too-happy to be leading another woman into his hotel room after hours when he chuckles at her advances. She rushes for the bed and Emily has to duck back into her room so as not to be seen when the woman rights herself on the bed, and there's something sickly brewing in her gut as she shuts her door again. She no longer has an appetite to raid the vending machine like she'd planned, so she heads back to her twin bed, hand digging into her pajama pants to retrieve her phone.

Spencer' who's occupying the second bed in the room, looks up inquisitively from his book, "I thought you were going to the vending machine, what happened?"

"Hotch just let some girl into his room. I mean- like, he brought her in, he had his hands all over her and she ran to the bed."

Reid's brows rise towards his scruffy hairline, pink lips downturned, "It wasn't Y/N?"

"She had blue hair," Prentiss shakes her head, "I'm gonna tell her."

"I want to help," Spencer rises from his bed, quickly crossing the room to her own, "I don't want to make her sad, but we can't keep it from her."

Emily nods, but Spencer keeps talking, "I... I can't believe Hotch would do something like that."

"Neither can I." Emily admits, clicking on your text thread. It's heavily decorated with hearts both in the messages and your contact name, and she hopes yours doesn't break when you find out what your husband's been doing behind your back.

Y/N, she types, I don't know how to tell you this, and I wish someone else would, because I don't want to be the one to break your sweet heart. But I just saw Aaron bring some blue-haired girl into his room, and if I'm being honest with you, I think they're having sex. I'm SO sorry honey, I wish I could do something, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't tell you. Please call me and tell me what's going on with you, I don't want you to be alone all night, and PLEASE don't slip away if you and Aaron don't work things out. For the record I'm rooting for you to dump his sorry ass, but I know you'll need time to work things out. All I ask is that you don't shut us out, honey, please don't let him change the way you feel about us.

P.S Reid is here too and we're both here if you want to talk. We can face-time and we'll be there for you as best we can, baby.

And also you can sleep at my place.

Or Spence's. He says he can sleep on the couch if you want his bed.

I'm so sorry, Y/N, we love you.

Emily can't have pressed send on the last text ten seconds ago before there's a series of urgent knocks on the door. Her guard is up immediately, and she almost considers ignoring it because she's sure it's Hotch coming to tell her off for exposing him. She figures you must have called him, upset, and he's here to ask her to lie for him.

The knocks don't stop, though, and Reid's the one that marches for the door, face set in a glare that's unusually menacing for him. He's deduced the same series of events, but when he swings the door open with as much sass as he can muster, his posture stiffens with shock.

Aaron is on the other side of the door, but you're standing in front of him, hair bright blue, face sheepish.

"Hi Em," You smile at her, then at Reid, "Spence. I was going to join you all for breakfast tomorrow and unveil it, but- um, I think now's a good time to tell you that I dyed my hair blue."

"Oh." Emily hums, mouth hung slightly open, "So it's- it was you."

"it was me," You nod, "But thank you for telling me. I'm glad I can count on you. Both of you," Your eyes flit to Spencer, who's equally astonished as he inspects your new hair dye.

"Oh, that means-" Emily's face wrinkles suddenly, looking at your waist that Aaron's got a hold of as he stands behind you, "Gross, you two were gonna- in the hotel!"

Spencer groans, rushing away from the door and retreating back to his bed where his novel lies.

"It's after hours!" You insist, "It's not like we were doing it in the precinct on government time. We're adults, Emily."

"We're adults too, y'know. With work in the morning. We can't be kept up all hours of the night by your racket! Just go get it over with," She grimaces, "And- hey! Try to get into your room this time before reaching your hand down her pants, perv!"

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi! I absolutely love your headcannons!! Would it be possible for me to request sick Astarion? Or Astarion with a sick Tav? :)

Hi! Thank you for your request! I think I can do both!

Masterlist

Headcanons

Caring for their sick partner

Astarion takes care of you

He isn't a nurturing type.

He doesn't really care about himself let alone someone else!

Besides, it's not like he used to hang out with mortals a lot.

During your post-game adventures, you end in the far north in the middle of winter.

Astarion doesn't feel cold, but he notices you feel uncomfortable near him - his body is cold, and he steals the heat you need so much.

It causes tension between you two - one of the first challenges for you as a couple.

During a fight, you fall through the ice and almost die in the dark cold waters.

Astarion saves you but the damage is done.

You are severely sick.

Astarion freaks out.

You are dying in his arms.

He has to save you. He won't lose you.

Astarion manages to dress you in dry and warm clothes. He leaves you by the fire for a bit to hunt - you need food, and Astarion needs blood to warm you.

Then, when you stabilize, he carries you to the closest village and gives you all the money you've earned in your travels for a room in the inn.

He spoon-feeds you and wraps you in the warmest blankets.

Sometimes you pout, refusing to take one more bitter medicine, but he can't take this nonsense - you are going to get better. Period.

When you wake up, still in fever, Astarion is always near. Either wrapping you with his blood-warm body or with his ear on your chest as if he was afraid your heart was going to stop at any given moment.

As the spring comes, you finally get better. Astarion gives you a bath, and you realize how itchy and sweaty your body is.

Then he lashes at you, of course.

You were reckless, you were risking yourself. How could you?

But you know he speaks out of fear, and you comfort him, promising to never put yourself in danger without a need.

You take care of Astarion

If you weren't a nurturing type, you wouldn't end up with Astarion.

The man needs help and care, something he never had.

You comfort him after the nightmares and kiss away his tears.

He doesn't need to be cared for physically - once the tadpole is removed, he regenerates, and it's impossible to wound him.

But he is a mental wreck who can have a meltdown over a trigger word or a cruel flashback after an innocent action.

But he is far from invincible.

He is being reckless and ends up surrounded by monster hunters.

They chain him in silver and leave him helpless on the ground to see the sun.

You manage to come to the rescue - and murder all three of them.

But as you fight, the sun rises, and it burns Astarion.

It's almost too late for him when you set him free and drag him to the shadows.

The regeneration is slowed down - the burns are as bad as if he survived a fire.

You give him blood. All you can do without killing yourself.

The assault causes one of the worst setbacks in his healing process.

Astarion is almost catatonic - curling in the darkest corner of the room in the fetal position.

You can only guess what prison his tortured mind is locked in.

You talk to him. Hug him. Takes care of his hair. Caress his back.

Days become weeks, weeks become months - and one evening Astarion is finally back.

He wraps his hand around you and nuzzles your collarbone.

By the end of the night, Astarion is his true self again, ready for everything freedom has to offer.

"I was there, in the tomb," he confesses. "I was locked there, in the dark, and all my life looked like a feverish dream."

"I am here, love," you say. "I will always be here for you."

You pretend you don't see his tears as you say it.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids @ednaaa-04 @dajeong

[pricegouge]

hi hello just wanted to tell you that the wellies story with gaz and price is such a delight, everything about it is *chef's kiss*

I think Price would keep the hat, though, and wear it to the bar where Reader is having her date/make up date. Because then she HAS to storm up to Price and demand it back??? HOURS of handcrafting, Gaz unhelpfully being like "the color suits him :)" Price not-so-subtly delighted at ALL of this (also he does kind of like the hat. Maybe he can convince you to make him one in a different color?)

Gaz asks you to point out your date (someone who immediately clocks as ick. Like a stock broker finance bro type?) and Gaz immediately vetoes that. That guy isn't your date anymore. He and Price are! Now, about this camera they owe you....

Price in a knit fuchsia cap got me fuckin' good. Sorry this took so long! Even more sorry I'm posting unedited, but if I look at this any longer I'll blow up so here we go

(follow up to this)

The worst part is, once you see him in it, shining like a neon sign from clear across the bar, you understand completely why they'd had to unceremoniously rip it off your head that day. Even here, surrounded as he is by the general visual noise of the city and patrons who are by no means dressed to blend in, the man sticks out like a sore thumb. (Made no better for the fact that he still stands head and shoulders above all those around him, of course, but that's beside the point.) You can only imagine how garishly you'd stood out among the stretch of that green meadow, how much you'd jeopardized not only their mission but their very lives by simply being there.

Of course, that knowledge does nothing to soothe the anger that rises within you when you see the men responsible for ruining your last (better) dating prospect waltz in on your current one as if their only new objective is to ruin your night again while wearing the handmade hat you're now realizing they'd stolen from you. (You'd thought you'd misplaced it on the bus last week. One moment it was there, the next gone. Now you wonder how you could have missed either of them sitting aboard public transportation, or how long they'd been following you to now conveniently show up in at least two of the same places you were.)

You stare daggers at the two of them. John ignores you, pink cap bobbing through the crowd as he makes his way to the bar. Kyle posts up at a booth and smirks at you openly, unabashedly. He's impossibly more attractive outside of the grease paint and twig mass. You ignore the delightful flip your belly does when he clocks the way you take in the breadth of him, how he tests the seams of his button down, and his smirk turns to the kind of smile that should require a legal registry.

"What are you looking at?"

You startle a bit when a big head floats into your field of vision, Jeremiah's frown completely obscuring the much better view you'd just been staring down. He swivels to look behind himself, head rotating like an automatic, unmanned security camera. Observing, but not seeing anything. 

As far as prospects had gone, Jeremiah had been one of the least favorite matches you'd made on your little dating app; but after the failure from a few weeks past you'd been getting desperate, and his nice hair combined with his clever sales pitch tongue had eventually wooed you after enough messaging. Unfortunately, thirty seconds after meeting him in person you'd realized your initial instinct had indeed been right when he'd tried negging your outfit in the same breath he'd used to greet you at the door. He hadn't even chosen a good place to meet. With the way he dressed and spoke, you'd almost been looking forward to the novelty of some swanky bar uptown, but the pub he'd given you the name of was barely better than a hole in the wall. A dying fern stood in the corner, its only source of sustenance the light up dart board on its right, and the empty mugs surrounding it, the tacky puddle in its water pan suggesting it was a popular place to pour one's dregs out into. The sticky table felt like a fly trap, suggesting either years of buildup which had grown resistant to bleach, or a general incompetence on management's part as to how proper cleaning worked. You've no idea why you'd even stayed. Perhaps just a desire to stay out of the house. Part of you knows it's actually a desire to get laid so strong you're willing to overlook his shortcomings so long as you can clamp a hand over his mouth later and ride him until you're satisfied, but you don't want to look too closely at that part of you.

"Apologies. There's a man over there I recognize."

"Oh? Should I be worried?" His expression is genial enough when he asks, but his eyes keep something slightly colder at bay. Annoyance, perhaps. Not jealousy, you don't think. Not yet, at least. Probably hasn't actually clocked Kyle yet.

You should soothe him, you know. Coo reassurances, stutter through excuses and make up lies about just knowing them from your uni days or something. But then you remember Kyle's clever tongue, his blatant flirting. You remember John's heavy hands on you and the way they'd joked about keeping you all night. You're annoyed with them, more so when you remember how they'd left you high and dry after handing you off to the wolves back at base to tear into and question. But they're here now, have been for days, potentially, you're reminded when John ducks his head back into the booth, the subtle streaks of tinsel in the yarn you'd used glowing under the pendant light. He's got three drinks with him, sends you a casual wink when he spots you staring.

"Yes."

Jeremiah sputters. "Sorry?"

"Yes. You should be worried," you clarify casually. "Excuse me."

The boys aren't subtle about watching you as you approach, though Gaz leans into his captain's space to whisper something in his ear which makes his mustache twitch distractedly. It takes you a minute to pick your way over to them. You don't have much of a game plan beyond demanding your hat back, and hopefully garnering some insight as to why they're following you, but that doesn't explain the thrill you feel when their eyes trail you, or the way your mouth runs dry when you realize you're going to have to talk to them this time, no convenient excuse of situational silence keeping you from putting your foot in your mouth. You tell yourself you're at least not likely to drift off under one of them this time, and then suppress a heavy swallow when you realize you don't actually want that to be true. It's why your voice isn't quite as strong as you'd hoped when you approach their table, skipping formalities and demanding to know what they're doing here.

It's like they can smell your apprehension, John content to just keep smirking at you while Kyle responds with the kind of cocky voice you would hate on anyone else, but just serves to remind you how much the tone is earned when he uses it. "Can't a captain treat his favorite sergeant to a drink after work anymore?"

It's the phrasing that catches your attention, momentarily distracting you from reaching out and ripping your hat off John's head. It's too familiar to Jeremiah's own proposition for the evening, too jarring when used in relation to military work. "You've been following me," you state bluntly, wondering if it's possible they've even bugged your phones.

"Only a lot," Kyle agrees cheekily.

"Why?"

"Had to make sure you weren't going 'round telling everyone what you'd seen, petal," John grumbles, voice just as deep and dark as you remember. It's hard to hear him over the din of the pub. You tell yourself that's why you lean into him a bit when he speaks, though you turn it into a snatching motion easily enough.

"That why you stole my hat?" 

John deflects you casually, turning your hand away somehow both deftly and gently. His grip changes once he has you under control, turning instead to guide you into the booth next to him. His arm finds the seat back behind you, but you stubbornly remain leaning forward, refusing to ease into him this time.

"Cap didn't steal it," Gaz corrects, eyes lingering on the captain's hand where he still grips your wrist. "I did."

It's hard to accept the fact that Kyle could ever escape your notice, but you suppose he's earned his position in life for a reason. "Right." You round on John, "So did you lose a bet?"

The captain chuckles. His thumb smoothes along the heel of your hand and then is gone, tipping the amber whiskey of his drink absently. "Won one, actually. Gaz here wanted to be the one to wear it."

"Would've looked better with my complexion," the other man reasons, batting his pretty eyes at you exaggeratedly. Far behind him, you spot your date sputtering indignantly to a waitress, the poor girl's face clearly disinterested. So much for your shoe-in. You refuse to acknowledge why that doesn't bother you as much as it would have even just five minutes ago.

"Yeah, well, if I only got to wear the things I wear better, I'd be walking around naked," John gripes goodnaturedly. "Isn't that right, flower?"

Kyle saves you from sputtering out an answer by sighing wistfully. "If only."

John smirks indulgently at him and you blink away, feeling like an outsider when you see the older man's hand disappear under the table, movement suggesting he's rubbing Kyle's leg. You try not to remember how it felt to have those heavy hands on you. "Can I get my hat back, please?"

"Well, at least you remembered your manners this time," John grumbles. You'd try snatching it off his head again just for the commentary, if you weren't becoming increasingly certain it would land you sprawled across his lap.

"Where you rushing off to anyway?" Kyle adds. He slides the third drink in front of John your way. "Drink with us."

You eye the fruity, fluorescent monstrosity before you skeptically. They don't seem the type to meet barely legal ladies out for a drink in a tiny place like this, but you can't imagine they'd had anyone else in mind when John had ordered whatever this was. "You expecting someone younger?"

John's low laugh makes his mustache twitch. "Heard once that a good rule of thumb if you don't know someone's drink order, is to try and match their outfit." He ducks his chin, looking you over from under his brow. In theory, it should seem more judgemental than appraising, but you still feel like he's assessing your outfit by removing it first.

Self consciously, you run your hand over the flowery blue dress you have on, distracting yourself from thinking too hard about what it meant that he'd bought you a drink. You suppose the color is a bit electric, but the way it fits more than makes up for its flashiness. Or at least, you'd thought it did. Now, seeing it paired with some stomach turning blue curaçao concoction, you feel much less certain about that. "You heard wrong. Besides, I can't stay. I'm on a date," you sniff. You probably shouldn't drink anything handed to you by men you knew were stalking you anyway.

Kyle shrugs agreeably, swapping your drink for his simple rum and coke as he asks who you're out with. You eye it warily, but spot the smudge of Kyle's own lips on the edge so you figure it's safe enough to drink, though you make a point of wiping it off, sneering at Kyle when he laughs at you. 

"Stock broker Jeremiah," you recite, trying to keep the jeer from your tone. You motion back behind yourself. "Over there." 

"Stock broker?" John repeats, voice so thick the words fall from his lips like smoke. You think you spot a smirk hidden in his chops. 

"That your type, luv?"

"Not particularly," you admit. "But he'll have to do, seeing as the last one didn't take too kindly to being stood up."

Kyle tuts, tone too amused to be sympathetic. "Didn't believe you'd been laid up?"

"Should've had him call us, flower. We could've vouched for you," John suggests. Somehow, you know introducing these two to any prospective partners would be a terrible idea.

Still, it sounds amusing.

You shrug, wishing you had a beer bottle to peer the label off of. "Jeremiah makes good money," you offer, the only thing you can really remember from Jeremiah's profile. John hums, lower than the din of the room. Kyle's face is too blank, the same strict discipline he used with his cheek glued to his rifle. Briefly, you're back under John, the din of the surrounding crowd swallowed up by your twin heartbeats. Your eyes flick between the two, take in the tight control of their expressions. It would probably fool most, but you've spent your fair share of time studying the minutiae of faces, the way muscles twitch under stimuli no matter how properly trained the model. Even dead tissue will contract when properly motivated. "He's just bought me a new camera, in fact."

Gaz scoffs. John's eyes narrow. The two exchange sidelong glances and you sip your drink. You'd believed John when he'd said he'd replace your camera, but after being split up at base he'd never located you again and no one had been very forthcoming with information as to how you could contact your new friends to collect. A week after the incident, a cheap, basic camera and a base model macro lens had appeared on your step, the packaging cold and impersonal, shipped direct from the warehouse. No new boots ever came. The camera hadn't been anywhere near as nice as the one you'd lost, but it wasn't like there was a calling card you could air your grievances to so you'd cut your losses and just thanked whoever was listening that you'd even made it out of that valley alive. Now, however, watching the men who'd promised to take care of everything have their pride bruised by some asshole in a button up too expensive to deign resting his silken elbows on the dirty table of the bar he'd decided you were fit for, the weeks of frustration almost seemed worth it. And so what if it wasn't true anyway?

"Excuse me." 

Your date's sudden appearance nearly makes you jump out of your skin, the prospect of introducing him to these men suddenly far less appealing when John rumbles, "Don't think I will."

Jeremiah sneers at him before turning to you. "I'm heading out. Don't think this -," he motions between the two of you, lets his finger swirl around the table to include the boys when the motion peters out, "- is for me. Have a good one, yeah?"

"Oh, um, okay. Sor-."

John stops you. "Don't apologize to him, petal. It's him there owes you one."

"And why would I need to apologize?" 

"Existing?" Kyle suggests.

"Wasting her time?" John tacks on. 

"Insulting my dress," you decide.

Kyle's tsk noise draws your attention. When you look, he's got those exaggeratedly huge eyes darting between you and your date. "When it fits you like that?" he clarifies, making you blush.

"Right wanker," John agrees. His voice is still playful, but the look he's leveling Jeremiah with is anything but. 

"It's - it's -. It's blue!" your date sputters, waving at you as if your offense should be obvious.

John leans close, mustache tickling your ear. "Sounds like a man who can't appreciate a good pair of obnoxiously yellow wellies."

"You threw my wellies in the creek," you counter, too amused to muster much anger.

"Bought you new ones," Kyle offers and you narrow your eyes at him because, following you or not, there's no way they could know -.

"What size?"

Kyle just grins. "On the first date?"

"On our first date," Jeremiah reminds you.

You ignore them both, rounding on John. "And you ripped off my hat!" To illustrate your point, you attempt to snatch it back again, but the captain ducks it just as easily as he did the first time.

"I'll give it back when you make me a new one."

"Wait, I stole it fair and square," Kyle counters. John doesn't dodge him as easily, the silver streaks of his dark, mussed hair catching the light just like your yarn did. He doesn't even bother trying to snatch it back, watching with fond eyes as Kyle replaces his hat with your own. He'd been right, he does wear it better.

"If I make you one too, will you give it back?"

"Fat chance," the sergeant scoffs, and with an expert toss, he saucers his own hat onto your head, grinning like a fool when you let John tug it more firmly on. 

A scoff behind you draws their attention. John glares over your shoulder again, but Kyle just waves, cheeky enough to elicit another humorless laugh. Byt the time you turn around, your date's already on his way. You're not particularly upset by it, figuring even if… whatever this is… doesn't pan out to anything, at least you'll have spent the evening in better company than originally planned.

The boys are both staring at you when you look back. You don't bother acting disappointed, though you know there's a version of this evening that sees you spitting mad, being soothed and gentled like a finicky horse with big hands and hushed tones. As appealing as it sounds, you'd rather spend your time actually talking, making up for your first meeting with them when you couldn't do much beyond gripe about your position, or whine about being bored. So instead you shrug, and the boy's smirks turn leery, and you suppress a shiver when Kyle leans across the table toward you, voice low when he asks what kind of camera 'the suit' bought you.

You panic in your response a bit, all higher end models you've had your eyes on for weeks fleeing your brain. Instead you tell them about the cheap thing you'd received in the mail and John scoffs.

"Got you something much better," he promises, pulling his phone from one of his many pockets and flicking through it. When he turns it toward you, an email confirmation tells him his package has been delivered, the details of the order showing the next model up from the very one he'd thrown in the brook. The description of the lens is cut off at the bottom, but you've no doubt you'll be happy enough when you see the pricing details. "You'll forgive the delay, of course. Man's gotta do some research, after all."

You'd even forgive the wellies continuing to go unreplaced, though in your excitement you forget to express that. "Of course. Of course! Thank you so much, John!" You're still gushing gratitudes when you slip out of the booth, turning to excuse yourself so quickly you even forget to snatch your hat back.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To go get -?" You stall, taking in their confused - even slightly miffed - expressions. "Look, if that package sits on my stoop too long, my neighbors will -."

Kyle laughs, crooks his finger at you. It's embarrassing how quickly you oblige, slipping right back into your seat just because his eyes are too warm and inviting to disappoint. 

John's voice is much closer than you remember it being before you'd stood, the low rumble in his chest a physical thing you feel against your shoulder when he leans close. "No need to worry, petal. It's back at mine. Safe as houses."

"Didn't have your address," Kyle winks. 

It's weird, the way you can laugh at jokes about being followed. You decide not to think about it too much. "Sounds more like an elaborate plot to get me back at yours."

"Well, we're unused to not getting our mark," John confesses, "had to have another shot at it."

Kyle's cheeky when he responds, his boyish grin enough to have you settling against John before you even know what you're about. "For the record, I never did take a shot the first time."

[lynbichiots]

Bloodlust

pairing: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader

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

wc: 14.7 k

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

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

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

You hated those memories.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t looking at you.

He couldn’t even see you.

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

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

If that man had been him, he would never do something like that. He wouldn’t lower himself to laugh and play with the same people who had made it their mission to destroy him in school.

Not with them.

He wouldn’t do it.

The disappointment hit you like a cold stone sinking deep into your stomach, twisting your organs painfully. Still hearing their laughter behind you, you closed your eyes, curling further into yourself, unable to bear the joy of others.

You hated those laughs that shattered the heavy air while they played with the bow and arrows Sasha had brought for fun. It all seemed so absurd, so alien, and so damn fake.

Clenching your fists in anger, you retreated again into your cobweb-filled mind, that mind that was nothing more than a place where only the emptiness he left existed.

Thinking of the past, a slight itch spread across the bridge of your nose as you remembered his face, and those five years you had lived without knowing anything about him.

How is he now?

How much has he changed?

There were so many questions that wouldn’t leave you alone, and the guilt killed you day by day. Especially when your feelings were contradictory, and you didn’t regret anything you had done to him at all.

You wanted to believe he had become stronger, tougher.

You always considered him weak, even pathetic, for how easily he gave in to all of you. But deep down, you always knew he had the power to defend himself.

He could have destroyed all of you if he had wanted to.

But he never did.

Never to you.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and your arms tightened around your legs, your nails digging into your skin as the memory of his lips on yours emerged vividly and unbearably.

The brush of his tongue, the way he made you feel…

It was killing you.

You missed him in a way that devoured you from the inside, like a need you could never satisfy. But you knew with chilling certainty that if he still remembered anything about you, those memories wouldn’t be like yours.

To him, you only meant one thing: destruction.

Surely, the only thing he wanted now was to kill you.

And as a bitter smile tugged at your lips, you couldn’t help but think that you wouldn’t oppose him, no matter what his desire toward you was.

No, not at all.

And then, the sadness mixed with guilt comes back to you.

The memories return, like a dark tide swirling in your mind, impossible to contain, and you see it all with chilling clarity. The laughs, the cruel whispers you threw along with your friends in the school hallways, the looks he gave you, full of fear, humiliation, and disappointment.

That fear had fed you, you knew it, you wouldn’t make yourself the victim.

Something in you enjoyed watching him crumble under the weight of your words and your gaze. It was a power that intoxicated you. You knew how to crush him, how to make him feel like nothing, and you didn’t hesitate to do it again and again.

The jokes, the notes full of insults, the times you and your friends pushed him or left him alone in the middle of the classroom, exposed to mockery.

He never said anything, never tried to defend himself. He just lowered his head, as if he deserved everything they did to him, and part of you knows that maybe he deserved it a little.

But in those moments, when his green eyes met yours, there was something that always unsettled you. A glint of masochism and resistance, as if he knew that behind all your cruelty, there was something more.

Something you couldn’t admit even to yourself.

And then, when you confronted those feelings, everything went to hell for both of you the moment he decided to run away and leave you to your fate after all you shared together.

He got his revenge in the worst possible way. He got under your skin, embedded himself with ease, only to strip you of all his presence once you became dependent on him.

And now, years later, that memory was unbearable. The weight of what you had done and who you had been with him was a shadow you couldn’t shake, even though he got his revenge by abandoning you.

And you hated yourself for being so foolish when it came to him.

Because despite everything, you missed him.

You missed the very person you had destroyed, and that contradiction ate away at you.

The worst part of it all was that you knew with absolute certainty that if you ever saw him again, if you ever faced him once more, everything you had done would crush you, and you didn’t think you could bear it.

A tear fell down your cheek, and you hugged your legs tighter, your nails now leaving marks on the bare skin of your thighs.

“I deserve it,” you thought.

“I deserve all the pain that could come.”

“I deserve for him to hate me.”

A gust of wind stirred the lake and kicked up dust from the dock, as if nature itself wanted to erase the last traces of daylight, giving way to the dark night that seemed eager to embrace you in its cold arms.

Resting your chin on your knees, your thoughts grew darker and more surreal as you watched the sky turn blue. Your heart started pounding as you imagined what might happen if he appeared now, right in front of you.

You imagined the hatred in his eyes, hatred that you yourself had planted.

And the image of him approaching slowly, with the desire for revenge shining in his gaze, didn’t scare you. On the contrary, a strange sense of excitement washed over you.

If he kills you, you’d accept it, that was the truth.

It was the only thing you felt you could do for him.

One last gift, one last offering of peace.

“Why are you smiling?” Jean’s voice broke the silence you were lost in, pulling you out of your dark reverie. His tone was light and loving, but you could barely respond, too annoyed at how Eren had disappeared from your imagination.

Your smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“For nothing…” you murmured bitterly, without even turning to look at him. The emptiness crept back in, deeper this time.

Jean clicked his tongue in frustration, and you froze as you felt his presence settle beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he dropped onto the cold dock. Now, without any armor to ignore your boyfriend, you unwrapped your arms from around your knees and placed your palms on the dock behind you, letting a calm smile spread across your face when you finally deigned to look at Jean.

“Are you sure it’s nothing?” Jean smiles at you, bringing one of his calloused hands to your face, letting his thumb brush over your lips. His honey-colored irises shrink as his dark pupils begin to dilate, staring at your lips.

“Mmm,” you hum compliantly, letting his thumb slip into your mouth to rub against your tongue. Holding back from rolling your eyes, you let out a fake moan, pretending that his act was turning you on, and without hesitation, you straddle him and start kissing him.

A curse escapes his honey-flavored lips as you begin to roll your hips over his pelvis. His hands travel to your buttocks, kneading them, pulling only a flicker of pleasure from you.

And you know why that was your reaction.

Your closed eyes allowed you to slip into the moment, but with someone and something else on your mind.

Jean began kissing you more desperately, pressing his body against yours without an ounce of shame. Everything about him showed how much he desired you and how deeply he had loved you for the past five years.

In some way, you wanted to return that affection.

But you knew something in you had already changed.

The past always distracted you from the now, always too close, too present.

And then, as his teeth caught your lower lip and bit it hard, the question you had been avoiding all this time slipped into your mind like a fast-acting poison with no antidote.

“What if I find him?”

Could you face him?

Could you bear what you’d see in his eyes?

Or would you freeze, wishing he would finish what you had started so many years ago?

“I want to be inside you so badly, baby,” you opened your eyes slightly, seeing Jean’s face lost in pleasure. Smiling, you simply quickened your movements on his hips and bit his lip in response.

“We can’t do this here,” you pout against his cheek, leaning into his ear to whisper, even as your hips continued to grind against his, “But tonight, I won’t resist.”

With that, you swallowed the last moan that escaped from Jean’s lips onto yours, and before long, he found his release while you praised him, telling him how much you loved and wanted him.

Every word you whispered into his ear was true.

But, unfortunately for Jean,

They weren’t meant for him.

Breathing in the fresh air, you both smiled at each other and pulled away. Jean cleaned himself up, giving you one last kiss, and ordered you to leave the dock after him so as not to raise any suspicions.

With your fists clenched, you smiled and nodded, watching him leave.

A few minutes later, you sighed again, but this time the air felt heavier, colder, as if you were inhaling the same fear you had planted in him years ago.

“I miss him,” you repeated to yourself once more, like a broken record you couldn’t stop playing.

Stretching your arms, you yawned deeply as you slowly stood up from the dock, as if the weight of your own thoughts held you down. The wind still blew, playing with the loose strands of your hair as you turned to leave, your head bowed, trying to shake off the mental abyss you had routinely sunk into. Tired, you took one last deep breath, quickly shifting your mood, ready to join the infectious laughter of your friends, if only to drown out the echo of memories that haunted you.

But then, just as you took your first step, something stopped you.

Your eyes locked with his.

Two intense, dark pools that pierced every corner of your soul, fixed on you.

Time seemed to freeze in that instant, and a shiver ran down your spine. You felt your muscles tense, and the skin on your arms prickled under the weight of his gaze.

Those eyes… there was something in them, something that felt terrifyingly familiar.

For a second, the world disappears, and the only thing that exists is that pair of brown eyes looking at you with an intensity that suffocates you. The hate, or maybe the resentment, is palpable in his expression, and for a moment, you’re convinced that he knows everything.

That he remembers you.

That he is…

But before you can process the thought, his expression abruptly changes. The hardness vanishes and is replaced by a carefree smile that throws you off. That smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but his gesture is convincing.

He raises a hand and gestures for you to join the group, as if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn’t been on the verge of uncovering something long buried.

“Aren’t you coming?” he shouts in his usual casual tone.

Your feet remain rooted to the ground for another second, but your mind is spinning wildly.

Kruger.

That’s his name.

“Kruger.”

Not Eren.

Your shoulders drop.

Kruger is a name that should mean nothing, but instead, it becomes harder and harder to ignore with each passing moment.

There’s something about him, something in the way he looks at you.

But you let it go, returning the same smile to Kruger, forcing yourself to move. Your steps creak on the old dock as you tell yourself you’re overreacting, that it can’t be him.

Eren disappeared years ago. There’s no way it could be him.

But that doubt… that persistent shadow in the back of your mind gnaws at you, even as you reach his side and you both smile awkwardly while moving towards the group, who are still laughing uncontrollably.

Feeling your heart lodged in your throat, you join the group, trying to pull yourself together as you distance yourself from his side. The air feels denser now, harder to breathe.

In a blink, ignoring the sensation of his brown eyes on you, you join your friends, smiling and going along with their antics. You even laugh with them, but your gaze keeps drifting back to Kruger, as if your body refuses to accept the coincidence of it all.

And him… he seems to be enjoying your confusion, as if he knows something you have yet to figure out.

Night falls slowly, wrapping the camp in a warm darkness, interrupted only by the flickering glow of the campfire that Sasha and Connie managed to start with Kruger’s help. The fire crackles and throws orange sparks, lighting up the faces of everyone around it.

Lighthearted, carefree laughter fills the air.

Mikasa sits close to Armin, who smiles with his usual calm demeanor. Historia and Ymir sit further away, but they seem to be enjoying the moment too, intertwining their fingers under the dancing shadows, thinking no one sees them.

Rubbing your arms together, you stop analyzing everyone around you and sit beside Jean. As soon as he senses your presence, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you both scoot closer to the warmth of the flames. For a moment, everything seems normal.

You try to join in the jokes and laugh with the others, but your gaze keeps landing on Kruger, on his gestures, the way he moves within the group, charming them effortlessly.

It’s natural, too natural.

As if he’d always been with you.

You squint in his direction on the other side of the flickering flames, and quickly look away when his brown eyes lock onto yours, still with that calm smile on his face.

“Let’s play something,” Historia squeals, catching everyone’s attention. “I’m so bored.”

“You’re always bored,” Ymir rolls her eyes, instantly regretting it when Historia pulls her hand away from hers.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Connie’s drunk voice echoes through the woods, breaking the tension that had built up around the circle.

“Truth or dare?” you mock, letting Jean wrap his arm around your waist and plant a possessive kiss on your neck. “What are we, five?”

Everyone laughs at Connie, who flips you off and calls you a name.

“C’mon, babe,” Jean murmurs against your neck, and you glance at him sideways. “It might be fun.”

With that said, everyone quickly sides with Jean, begging you to play. Their voices overwhelm you to the point where you give in, clicking your tongue and shooting a final glance at Kruger, who smirks at you.

The game of “truth or dare” starts with shy laughs and silly jokes, but as the alcohol spreads through everyone’s bloodstream, it becomes more daring, more provocative.

At first, Sasha chooses a dare and has to eat raw meat, which triggers laughter and grimaces from the group once she goes through with it.

Armin opts for truth and confesses his biggest fear, a response everyone receives with warmth.

Connie, as always, picks a dare and ends up making a fool of himself.

Kruger participates too, smiling but observant. Every time he looks at you, you feel like there’s something hidden beneath his carefree facade. You’re uneasy but try to hide it, playing the part they expect from you.

Then, it’s his turn.

The circle falls silent as he pauses longer than necessary, and you suddenly feel on edge. The night seems darker, as if the fire can barely break through the tension and light the surroundings.

Kruger looks at each of you with calculated calm, his brown eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place. And then, with a barely perceptible smile, he glances at you and drops the weight of his question, breaking the easy rhythm of the game.

“Truth or dare?” His eyes never leave yours as he asks, making you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

“Truth,” you blurt out quickly, your voice trembling.

Everything falls apart.

“Have you ever hurt someone?”

The silence that follows his words is deafening.

The laughter dies instantly, as if an invisible hand had snuffed out the fire in their throats. No one dares to move. The echo of the question rings in your mind, hitting you with the force of a fist.

You feel the weight of all the stares in the circle, but all you can focus on is the way Kruger’s eyes watch you.

Cold.

Serious.

Angry.

You freeze. Your heart pounds, each beat reverberating in your ears, drowning out the crackling of the wood. Jean beside you tenses, and you quickly notice that everyone is uncomfortable. Sasha and Connie avoid looking at each other. Armin lowers his head. Mikasa narrows her eyes but says nothing.

And there’s Kruger, watching you.

The smile has vanished from his face, leaving only a seriousness that pierces through you. The air between the two of you becomes thick, almost suffocating.

A lump forms in your throat, and your hands clench nervously on your knees. You want to speak, to say something, but the words stick in your mouth like a heavy stone. Your eyes widen as you continue to stare at him, his face eerily reminiscent of Eren’s for some inexplicable reason.

But then you look into his eyes and snap out of it, realizing how paranoid you’ve become.

“Does he know?” That question hits you again.

“What’s wrong?” Kruger presses, his voice low and calm, but there’s something in it that makes you feel cornered. “Nothing to say?”

Your friends exchange nervous glances, but the silence remains. The question lingers in the air, heavy with meaning.

You know it.

Everyone knows it.

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” you finally say, breaking the silence with a tense but firm voice, feeling judged under his gaze.

Kruger nods slowly, never taking his eyes off you. The knot in your throat tightens, and you realize your breathing has become shallow. You feel exposed, as if he can see beyond your memories, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

The question still hangs there, among all of you, like a sharp blade ready to tear through the false calm.

And the only thought you can’t shake is that he knows.

Kruger knows.

The tension that had filled the circle shatters abruptly with Connie’s explosive laughter. His laugh is loud, brazen, and it feels almost out of place in the heavy silence that had reigned. Everyone turns their heads towards him, surprised by his reaction, but he just shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he just heard.

“You hurt someone?” he says in your direction, still laughing, then glances at Kruger, who hasn’t stopped staring at you. “That’s ridiculous! Come on, Kruger, what are you talking about? Way to kill the vibe, man.”

His statement rings out with a disconcerting lightness. Connie’s grin is wide, carefree, as if everything that just happened was nothing more than an exaggerated joke. But that laugh, that carefree attitude, doesn’t relieve the weight pressing on your chest.

If anything, it makes it worse.

Your stomach churns. Connie’s words hit you like a hammer.

“Did you hurt someone?”

The phrase echoes in your mind, crashing into your memories with force. You know it’s true, and you know that, at some point, they were all part of it.

You, more than anyone.

You glance at your friends, hoping someone will say something, that someone will contradict him. But everyone looks uncomfortable. Jean lets out a nervous chuckle beside you, unsure of what to do. Sasha forces a smile, but it’s clear she doesn’t want to touch the subject. Armin avoids your eyes, and Mikasa just stays silent, as usual.

Kruger remains silent. He hasn’t stopped watching you since he asked the question. His expression, as unshaken as before, seems to evaluate every reaction from the group, but especially yours. His brown eyes don’t blink, and though his face remains neutral, you can feel the tension behind his gaze.

The air around the campfire feels heavier, denser. Though laughter tries to fill the space, the fire no longer feels warm to you—it feels oppressive.

“What a question, man,” Connie scratches his neck with a nervous laugh and seeks Kruger’s gaze as he speaks again. “She’s not that kind of person, Kruger. No one here is.”

Jean nods beside you, a tense smile on his lips.

“Yeah, Kruger, she’s not like that,” he adds, but his voice sounds hollow, as if even he doesn’t believe what he just said.

You look back at Kruger. He says nothing, but his eyes are locked on you, waiting.

“He knows something,” you think.

“He knows more than he’s saying.”

The pressure in your chest grows. Your friends’ laughter sounds distant, unreal. You try to take a deep breath, but the air doesn’t fill your lungs properly. The memory of those days in high school comes rushing back, vivid as if it had just happened. The teasing, the looks, the shoves. Everything you and your friends did now seems to swirl around you, like ghosts that never left.

And then Kruger finally speaks. His voice is soft, but each word cuts like a knife.

“Never?” he asks, his gaze fixed on you as his smile slowly fades, tilting his head slightly to the left. “Are you sure?”

The question isn’t for Connie, nor for the group in general.

It’s for you.

He knows it.

And so do you.

Kruger’s words hang in the air like a knife suspended just above you. You feel the weight of his gaze, that intensity that doesn’t fade, that doesn’t let you breathe. You try to form a response, but your throat is dry, and the words won’t come. You can barely swallow, and your nervousness is obvious.

Jean, noticing this, immediately steps in to defend you, as he always does. He straightens beside you, pulling his arm away from your waist to confront Kruger with a hardened, defiant expression.

“What the hell is your problem, Kruger?” Jean says tensely, his eyes blazing at the man who refuses to stop staring at you. “Don’t insinuate things that aren’t true. No one here is a bully. So stop stirring up crap.”

The confrontation shakes the circle. For a moment, everyone is silent, and the only sounds are the crackling of the firewood and the distant murmur of the breeze through the trees. Kruger maintains the same unshaken expression, his eyes still fixed on you, but then his mouth curves into a smile—one that doesn’t reach his eyes as they turn slowly towards Jean.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, in a tone so calm and neutral it almost unsettles you. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone. It was just a question.” He gestures with his hands as if retreating from the conversation, but there’s no real apology in his voice. It echoes around the fire as he turns his back and heads towards his cabin, leaving you all alone.

The atmosphere feels thick, almost suffocating. No one laughs this time. Everyone exchanges uneasy glances, and little by little, the group begins to dissolve.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Sasha says, breaking the tension with a light but clearly nervous tone as she stands up and stretches her arms toward the sky.

One by one, everyone starts getting up, mumbling something about resting and heading to their cabins. Connie, Ymir, Historia, Armin, and Mikasa say their goodnights with brief nods, and soon only Jean and you remain by the dying fire.

But even as the others leave, you can still feel Kruger’s eyes on you. That invisible weight doesn’t lift, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. His gaze seems to burn you from a distance—persistent, watchful. You don’t dare look back, though you know he’s still there, watching you from his cabin.

Beside you, Jean lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his messy hair, still irritated by the confrontation.

“We shouldn’t have let him come to the camp,” Jean mutters bitterly. “That guy’s weird.”

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere.

Kruger.

The name won’t leave you alone. There’s something about him, in the way he looks at you, challenges you, reminds you of what you’d rather forget. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about Eren, about the years that have passed, about what you did to him.

And now, that question keeps echoing in your mind: Is it him?

Jean stands up, offering you his hand to help you rise.

“Come on, we should head to bed too,” he says softly, his eyes filled with concern as he notices your silence. “Are you okay?”

You take his hand, but your movements are mechanical. The camp is darker now, the embers of the fire barely lighting the area around it, but you still feel the burn of that gaze on your back.

You start walking with Jean beside you toward your cabin, but before disappearing completely, you stop for a brief moment and glance back at Kruger’s cabin, where his eyes meet yours once again, catching you off guard.

And then, the smile he gives you is faint but loaded with something deeper, something dangerous that makes you think this night won’t be like the others.

As Kruger retreats into his cabin, Jean gently urges you to keep walking, and you do, but your mind remains trapped in those eyes, in that smile, in the growing certainty that the past has come back to claim what you left behind.

Eren… Kruger.

Could it be him?

With one last look at his cabin, you sigh and walk toward your own.

But you knew.

Something terrible was going to happen to you tonight.

•

The cabin is cloaked in shadow, lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the cracks in the small windows around it. Jean wastes no time, leaning toward you, his warm breath on your skin, and before you can think of the consequences, his lips meet yours in a soft kiss.

You moan for a second before Jean slides his tongue into your mouth and silences you. But as you start to let go, unease courses through your body with a cold sensation you can’t ignore, and you open your eyes, scanning your surroundings as you feel like someone’s watching you.

The urgency of the situation grows in your mind, and you pull slightly away from Jean, seeking his gaze once you hear a frustrated groan escape his lips. He opens his eyes, and when your eyes meet, you speak, your expression serious.

“Jean…” you begin, but your voice breaks, filled with the tension you feel. “I think it’s best if you go back to your cabin.”

He frowns, confused, his hand still softly caressing your arm.

“Why?” he asks, a mix of concern and frustration in his tone as his eyes scan your face.

“I just… need a moment,” you respond, unable to articulate the truth. Fear coils in your chest, and your heart pounds, knowing it’s best for him to leave before you end up throwing up or something.

Finally, after a few seconds that feel like an eternity, Jean nods, his expression resigned. He steps away from you, his figure disappearing into the darkness of the path leading to his cabin without a final glance in your direction, leaving you alone with the anxiety building up inside you.

Once Jean is safely inside his cabin, you turn on your heels and close the door behind you, exhaling heavily as you slide down to the floor.

With a few last, unsteady breaths, you decide that sleep is the best remedy after the tense and distressing moments you’ve endured throughout the day. Your brain is mush, and you’re a mess, your thoughts consumed by Kruger and the many similarities he shares with your first love.

Then, you smack your head lightly, scolding yourself for thinking such absurd things. Your tired eyelids begin to fall, and you sink beneath your blankets, desperately trying to fall asleep as you close your eyes.

Hours pass, and your hope fades.

The night feels heavy, as if the very air is charged with a suffocating tension that won’t let you rest. The memories of Kruger and the feeling of being watched won’t allow you any peace, and after tossing and turning in bed for a while, you decide you need to clear your head.

So, with no other option, you pull the blankets off your body and, without a conscious thought, head toward the dock, where you know the calmness of the water might offer you some respite.

The sound of your bare feet against the wood of the dock echoes in the stillness of the night, blending with the chirping of crickets and the nocturnal animals that sing cheerfully around you, keeping you company.

Slowly, you begin to take off your green shorts and white t-shirt, leaving only your matching green underwear. Glancing over your shoulder one last time, you focus ahead and dive into the cold water, letting yourself be enveloped by the refreshing sensation as you swim aimlessly, though even underwater, you can still feel eyes watching you.

You try desperately to shake it off. But the calm you sought becomes a distant echo, your mind racing, and your awareness nagging you that someone’s watching.

Finally, with some sense of survival returning, you decide to leave the water, feeling the cool night air brush against your wet skin as your feet touch the dock again. Bending down to where your clothes lay, you quickly dress, a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach as a distant scream makes you go on full alert and start running back to your cabin.

Your rapid footsteps echo through the forest as your sneakers crunch against the dry leaves and small branches. You rush back to the camp, hoping the night air has dissipated some of the anxiety bubbling inside you, but when you arrive, the horror unfolds before you.

The camp is eerily silent, a silence that hasn’t gripped the place since everyone arrived.

There are no lights, no laughter.

It seems as though no souls are within your reach.

Feeling paranoid, you instinctively head toward Armin’s cabin, noticing that the usual orange glow that spills out every night is absent. Approaching the cabin, your heart sinks at the loneliness of it, and with trembling hands, you open the door, whispering his name.

But there’s no response, and your heart plummets into your stomach, filled with fear.

No longer caring about keeping your composure, you rush to his bed, but you find no one there. That’s when your survival instincts kick in, eight alarms blaring inside your head.

With your legs turned to jelly, you stumble out of his cabin, tripping on the steps at the entrance, and check each and every one of your friends’ cabins, finding the same result. Desperate and with tears in your eyes, you head toward Kruger’s cabin, but once again, you find nothing.

Now, standing in the center of all the cabins, you call out for your friends, your voice dripping with panic, but you are met only with silence. Unsure of what else to do, your mind seizes on a solution, and you quicken your pace toward the only remaining part of the camp, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

When you arrive at the main cabin, your worst fears are realized, and a blood-curdling scream escapes your mouth as you lay eyes on the bodies of your friends strewn across the floor, their faces frozen in lifeless expressions of terror.

Sasha, Connie, Armin, Mikasa, Historia, Ymir… They are all there, covered in blood, stripped of life.

Their dead eyes focus on you, and soon the urge to vomit overwhelms you as you clasp a hand over your mouth and your stomach churns. Shutting your eyes and turning away, you flee the scene, desperately trying to find Jean.

Hope sparks once more in your heart as you run toward the forest, calling out his name, falling a few times and scraping your knees, but even then, you refuse to stop searching for your boyfriend.

Until suddenly, you stop and collapse in place, the hope inside you dying.

Paralyzed where you stand, you fight against the urge to faint as you watch your boyfriend’s life being taken from him. Jean coughs up blood as he’s stabbed, his brown eyes meeting yours one last time. You freeze, locking eyes with him, your legs tingling as he, with all his strength, shouts at you.

“Run!”

Then, his eyes close, and you know that no soul remains in his body. You try to run, but your body won’t obey, too terrified and too paralyzed to make a single wrong move. But it isn’t just fear that holds you in place—it’s the figure standing at the center of the horror.

Kruger, with his cold, calculated gaze, turns toward you, and your heart stops completely.

In an instant, the world becomes a blur. You’re aware of every beat of your heart, every quick and shallow breath. But when he fully turns his face to the moonlight, what you see freezes your blood.

Those green eyes that have haunted you, that you could never forget, are now stalking you from a distance, flipping your world upside down in a heartbeat. The same intensity, the same agony you had felt in the memories of your past are here before you tonight.

The boy you once bullied, the one you had a secret romance with, the one you had buried in a dark corner of your mind.

He’s standing right in front of you, looking at you with hatred as drops of blood drip from his face and hands, which are holding a knife covered in dark liquid from the bodies of all your friends.

Kruger.

Eren.

Kruger is Eren.

Eren is here.

Eren has come back for you.

Swallowing hard, you feel trapped in a nightmare, the horror crashing over you like a tsunami. Confusion, guilt, and a deep fear tangle in your chest, speeding up your battered heart as it pounds in the presence of the man before you.

How had he gotten here?

“Hi, meine liebe,” Eren whispers, his German accent soft but laced with venom that makes you tremble as he uses the nickname he gave you so long ago. “I’ve missed you.”

You can’t move. Your mind screams at you to run, to get out of there, but terror paralyzes every muscle in your body, and his green eyes, still shining like precious stones amidst the darkness, hypnotize you, keeping you exactly where you stand.

“Eren…” you manage to whisper, his name a lament on your lips. And in that moment, the reality of what you did, of what he’s been through, crashes into you.

The image of his pain, his pleas, the times you laughed at his expense, all come flooding back like a haunting echo twisted in his dark gaze.

He takes a step forward, and the darkness in his eyes deepens. Trembling where you stand, you feel small, fragile, almost at the mercy of his torment. Eren is no longer the boy you once knew; the man before you has been shaped by hatred and vengeance.

“What’s the matter, my love?” he asks, his tone now a threatening whisper, growing with every step he takes, inching closer and closer to you. “Didn’t you miss me?”

In that moment, when a fake pout forms on his lips, you realize that he truly came back to claim what belongs to him and to remove whatever had been standing in his way for the past five years.

Eren is here to make you remember everything you were, all the bitterness you had both sown in each other.

And the nightmare has only just begun.

With nerves racing through your veins, a laugh escapes your mouth, causing Eren’s sharp jaw to pulse with rage.

You let out a laugh just like the ones that always made Eren’s blood boil.

You had no idea what awaited you, couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had planned for you.

This summer, this night.

For the first time…

He would be the hunter, and you the prey.

•

Knowing what was coming once he started to take faster steps toward you.

The horror intensified in your chest as you spun on your heels, launching yourself without thinking into the depths of the forest as you ran. The shadows of the trees stretched and narrowed around you, following you, and the darkness became your only ally.

The trees loomed over you like silent guardians, but there wasn’t enough shelter in them to hide you from Eren. As you ran, the image of his dark, threatening figure flashed over and over in your mind.

A desperate whimper escapes you as you hear the crunch of leaves under his feet, never stopping as he chased you, the sound of the knife sliding between his fingers haunting you like a siren’s call, tempting you to turn and fall into his arms.

Your heart pounds hard, each beat a reminder of what’s at stake.

You have to escape.

Branches scratch your skin as you venture deeper into the forest, every step pulling you into the darkness, and adrenaline courses through your veins. The air becomes thick and humid, and the mist creeps up to your feet, as if the forest itself is conspiring to trap you with the man laughing behind you.

Doubting between the trees, you veer left, searching for a path, a hiding spot. But the fear doesn’t stop; in every corner, in every shadow, you feel him closing in. His cold, mocking laughter echoes in your ears, and your eyes start to well up with tears.

Eren knows you’re afraid.

And he loves it.

“Why?!” you scream, your voice echoing in the silence of the forest, hoping that somehow, he’ll hear your plea as he draws closer and closer to you. “Why are you doing this?”

Your words fall heavy between you, and Eren’s laughter cuts off. There’s no response from him, only the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your head, mingling with your slowing footsteps.

As you glance back, a wave of panic overwhelms you. The forest feels alive, but not in your favor. You know you’re trapped. The space feels smaller, as if the shadows are closing in around you, corralling you on a silver platter for him.

And when your pursuit reaches its end as you hit a rocky wall that greets you, mocking you without words, you realize you’re cornered.

You know you’re screwed.

Then, a sound behind you makes you freeze, and everything is over.

Your mouth falls open, gasping for air, and your body trembles with fear as you hear the crunch of leaves behind you. Swallowing hard before your mouth runs dry, you slowly turn, and there…

You see him.

You slowly back away, your legs trembling, as Eren smiles at you gently, his face tilting slightly, and his green eyes gleam with an unsettling intensity in the dim light as he comes closer and closer to you.

His face is marked by rage, every muscle in his face tense with the fury he feels toward you, but even with that mask of hatred, you can see what his eyes hide—a deeper sadness swirling within them, a sadness you don’t fully understand but one that makes you want to cradle his face and shower him with the affection he had been deprived of for five years.

But the knife gleaming in his hands is a cruel reminder that Eren’s feelings don’t match yours.

He hated you, unlike you.

You try to speak when he’s finally in front of you, his body heat enveloping your fear-chilled body, and his green eyes beckon you home. For a second, you’re tempted to touch him, and you let your hand slowly reach for his face, but when he realizes your intentions, he raises his hand, free of the knife, and wraps his blood-stained fingers around your throat, squeezing painfully against your pulse, leaving you breathless as he pushes your body roughly against the wall behind you, forcing the air from your lungs without permission.

Instinctively, you grab for his hand, desperately trying to loosen or remove his grip on you, but you only waste your time as he cruelly mocks your pathetic attempts and, in return, presses his body even harder against yours, squeezing your throat with that same intensity until it cracks.

“What’s wrong? You’re not enjoying this?” His cold breath brushes over your nose, which is left without air, his question coming out in a raspy tone as he lifts the knife in your direction, the steel gleaming in the faint moonlight filtering through the leaves above you. “Strange. You always had fun with me like this, love.”

Your body freezes for a moment, and you quickly glance at him in pain as a wave of memories crashes into your mind, guilt welling up inside.

You can’t escape what you did.

“Eren…” you manage to murmur, your throat tight and your pulse pounding under his hand, but the sound of his name is a mix of fear and sorrow.

His hand on your neck loosens just a little at the sound of his name leaving your lips in that tone that used to get anything you wanted from him. Your eyes remain half-closed from the weight of his hand on your windpipe, and your palms move from his wrist to his face, finally allowing you to stroke his cheek with a smile on your lips.

Then, in a blink, the magic is gone as hatred resurfaces in those emeralds of his, and his hand tightens once more, depriving you of air.

“Don’t say my name.” He steps closer, his breath falling over your lips as he finishes his sentence. “A bitch like you doesn’t deserve to say my name.”

“Eren…” An irritated growl escapes his chest as he hears you, clicking his tongue in disapproval as his grip tightens around your neck, his eyes locked onto yours.

He gives you a satisfied smile without breaking eye contact as he slips his muscular thigh between your legs. He raises his eyebrows mockingly as he watches your eyes widen in surprise, and you gasp when he lifts it to the point that his knee presses against your clitoris, forcing you to let out a pathetic moan.

With desperation and a tingling between your legs, you bring one hand to the slippery stones behind you, desperately trying to cling to them, while your other hand clings to the wrist of the arm pressing against your throat, and in desperation, you dig your nails hard into his tanned skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks that match the dried blood on them.

“Look at you,” he growls, his teeth grazing your ear, and the hand with the knife in it grabs your hips, forcing them to grind against his thigh. “Isn’t this fun for you?” His laughter vibrates against your skin. “Because it is for me, love.”

Frightened, you open your eyes and try to meet his gaze. Your teeth clench, trying to keep any more traitorous moans from escaping your mouth, but when you finally focus on his eyes, you’re caught off guard by his blank expression—the same look of a wounded man, though his determination doesn’t waver.

When Eren notices your pity-filled gaze, the hatred returns, and his grip on you turns murderous.

“I waited so long for this moment. These five years of watching you from the shadows were hell for me. Every time I saw you with that idiot Jean, all I wanted to do was kill him, rip his guts out in front of you, and fuck you over them,” his voice barely a whisper, loaded with a contained fury that sends chills down your spine.

His hand, still holding the knife, leaves your hips and travels up your body until it reaches your breasts, where he starts to roughly grope them, the handle of the knife jabbing uncomfortably against them. His mouth moves to your cheeks, and his tongue darts out, beginning to lick the tears falling from them without end. “Today, it’s finally my time to play with you.”

You look at him in panic as he raises the knife above you, and at that moment, the reality of what you’ve caused crashes down on both of you like a giant stone.

It’s not just a game.

It’s not just a threat, and his wounded gaze confirms it.

You feel the need to justify yourself and apologize, but the words get stuck in your throat. How can you apologize for a past that cannot be erased?

The answer was simple—you couldn’t.

And then, in an act of desperation, as the knife gleams closer to you, you lift your own knee and hit his pelvis, making him groan in pain as he steps back. In that moment, with his hands off your body and his presence away from yours, you gasp for air and turn on your heels, running away from him once more.

“Damn bitch!” Eren shouted behind you, and the sound of his heavy, determined steps echoed in your mind, causing you to stumble.

But you don’t stop. You keep running, plunging further into the darkness. Your lungs burn from the air they’re now filled with after being deprived for minutes. You hesitate to take a break, but the memory of Eren’s sharp knife is a shadow looming over you, driving you to flee even faster.

Fear becomes your only companion as you rush through the dark, and with each thud of your heart, a question keeps repeating: What will you do when he finally catches up?

Your pace starts to slow as exhaustion begins to overtake you. You reduce your speed when you hear nothing behind you, and stopping for a second, you place your hands on your knees, catching your breath.

And then, the air escapes you again when, suddenly, Eren grabs you.

“Where do you think you’re going, herzchen?” His hands grip your hair with merciless strength, and a strangled cry leaves your lips as he pulls you back, slamming your back against his chest.

The pressure of his body against yours is suffocating, and the world around you blurs into a chaos of emotions and sensations.

Your heart pounds, echoing in your ears like a drum as the reality of his proximity overwhelms you. The contact is both cold and hot, a contradiction on your skin that makes you tremble. Panic seizes you, and the fight to free yourself becomes a desperate dance between attraction and terror.

“Let me go!” you scream, your hands flailing behind you, landing random blows as his grip on your hair immobilizes you.

In a stroke of luck, your hand connects with his cheek, the slap resounding in the quiet, and you smile in victory. But as quickly as that smile appeared, it vanishes the moment you feel Eren’s fist slam into your stomach with brutal force, knocking the little air you’d fought so hard to gather out of you.

“What’s wrong?” Eren laughs in your ear, and his fist strikes your stomach again, making you cry out in pain. “Not smiling anymore?”

You babble, trying not to vomit from the force of his punches, and before you can fight back, Eren throws both of you to the ground. His weight crashes suffocatingly onto yours, and you scream in agony as his knees dig into yours with the clear intent to break your legs.

“Ahhh, stop!” you cry, tears choking your voice, but Eren only rolls his eyes at you from above, pressing his knees harder into your legs to silence you.

Then, he leans down toward where you lie on the ground and strokes your hair before violently yanking it, forcing you to arch your back painfully to look at him. When you do, his smile only grows at the sight of your tears gleaming in the moonlight.

“How does it feel to be humiliated like this?” Eren leans in closer, his voice dark and filled with a bitterness that cuts through the air. His hot breath brushes against your neck, and a shiver runs down your spine as you feel the tip of his knife graze your collarbones. “Doesn’t this amuse you?”

“Eren, please…” you manage to say, though your voice shakes from the pain radiating through your knees, numbing every limb in your body. The plea escapes you like an echo of memories you’ve tried to bury.

But it doesn’t matter.

The pain of his past mingles with the fear of the present, and it drowns both of you in a never-ending abyss.

He doesn’t respond. His emerald eyes watch you, and you feel your legs buckle under the weight of the situation and his knees. His knife moves from your collarbones to your face, and you sob as its sharp edge lightly grazes your cheeks.

“You always laughed at me,” he continues, his eyes locked on you, revealing a deep sadness hidden behind all his rage. “You always toyed with me. You led me on again and again, only to kill that stupid hope you planted in my sheets the next day, when you and your fucking friends made my life hell.”

Eren holds you still, his body against yours a prison of overwhelming emotions. Sadness, anger, betrayal—it all mixes in the air between you. You look at him and see your past. The image of the wounded boy, the one who suffered in silence, now stands before you, claiming his place in the story you’ve forgotten.

The internal struggle grows.

You realize he’s not just a monster, not just a pursuer. He is the product of your cruelty, of decisions you made without thought. The memory of his green eyes, that look that haunts you, now becomes a mirror showing you the truth you’ve evaded.

“Eren, I…” you begin, but the knot in your throat prevents you from continuing when his knife swiftly slices into your cheek, drawing blood instantly.

“What? Do you regret it?” he interrupts, his voice dripping with irony. The anger in his tone is palpable, and you feel the pressure in your chest rise. “I’m sorry, but you can’t. You don’t have the right.”

You have no answers except screams filled with pain and desperate pleas for him to leave you alone, to forget his torture. You feel lost between who you were and who you are now. The guilt chokes you, but Eren seems to take pleasure in your torment. His body is pressed against yours, and the line between pain and desire blurs slowly between you two.

The knife gleams in his hand, and terror reignites inside you, flooding you with adrenaline. In that moment, a spark of determination surges within you, and you act.

With a burst of strength, you twist your body, throwing Eren off balance, and you try to escape his grip. Your arms tingle as, with a swift motion, you manage to connect your elbow to his face, causing blood to gush from his nose as the hit lands. Your eyes meet his, and in that split second, you understand that the confrontation looming ahead is inevitable.

Eren doesn’t look at you as blood begins to drip from his nose, droplets falling onto your face unexpectedly. With anger boiling in his veins, Eren drops his knife and flips you over, grabbing both of your hands with one of his, pinning them above your head with force.

With his body now pressed against your pelvis and your gazes locked together, you freeze as a smile grows on his blood-covered face from the blow you landed. Helpless to stop him, you feel his free hand caress your face tenderly, and foolishly, you lean into his touch. But before you can process it, his palm turns into a fist, slamming into your cheek, whipping your head to the side and leaving you dizzy.

The metallic taste of blood explodes in your mouth as you try to recover from the hit. Then, his hand returns to your face, and you close your eyes, bracing for another blow. But instead, you feel his fingers gripping your jaw.

His eyes are expectant, and his sadistic smile grows even wider as he forces his thumb into your mouth, prying it open as you tense up to resist. Nevertheless, Eren forces your mouth open, and with one last smirk, he presses his lips to yours and spits directly into your mouth.

Your eyes shoot open in disgust, your body writhing as his blood mixes with yours on your tongue. The taste is vile, and you whimper as Eren bites down angrily on your lower lip, tearing the skin for his amusement.

“What do I taste like, love?” His breath brushes against your mouth, and your chest heaves with rage.

You don’t answer his question, your face twisted in pure annoyance. Without thinking, you gather your saliva and spit forcefully in his direction. His smile vanishes instantly, and the darkness swirling in his eyes serves as your final warning before he slaps you again, harder than before, if that were even possible.

“Go to hell!” you pant, exhausted, locking your gaze with his, feeling his grip on your hands tighten as he sees the tears glistening in your eyes.

“You don’t have to do this…” you whisper, tasting the metallic tang of your own blood in your mouth, your voice steady but trembling. And in an instant, your words transform into a desperate scream. “You don’t have to be like this!”

Eren seems surprised by your response, and for a brief moment, his gaze softens. It’s a crack in his darkness, a glimpse of the person you once knew. But that spark quickly dies, replaced by the hatred that has been his only companion for so long.

Fear grips you again, and in one swift motion, you drive your knee into his pelvis once more. He curses under his breath, fed up with your defiance, and flips you over, tying your hands together behind your back. Grabbing your hair, he drags you toward a tree. You cry out as the branches scrape your knees, but Eren ignores your pleas and shoves you against the tree while you’re still on the ground.

The impact of the fresh wood against your shoulder blades makes you groan. Your vision blurs as you look around, and your throat burns with each exhale.

Crouching in front of you, Eren begins to admire you, his trembling hands running over your exposed thighs. With one final glance, he yanks your shorts off, taking your panties with them, leaving you exposed to his ravenous gaze and the cool air hitting your bare skin.

“So fucking perfect, herzchen,” his voice trembles, coming out as a needy sigh as he spreads your legs for him.

“You’re sick, you— ahhh…”

Your words choke in your throat as the handle of his knife presses against your clit while he positions himself in front of you. Your legs stay open around him as he forces your right thigh to stretch wider for his pleasure. The only sound escaping your lips is a needy moan, cut short when you throw your head back as the handle begins to move slowly in circles against you, your eyes squeezing shut, unable to meet Eren’s mocking gaze.

“Look at me, love,” Eren speaks sweetly, the handle of his knife slowly pushing inside you. The wet sound between your legs makes your face burn with shame, and you gasp, unable to hold back your moans.

“I told you to look at me,” his voice grows darker as the knife plunges deeper into you.

“I-I… I can’t—”

His laugh emerges, tense and irritated, but his eyes don’t leave you. His gaze travels to your bouncing chest with every thrust of his knife into your heat, and he gives you one last chance to open your eyes.

When you don’t, Eren pulls the knife out and, in a swift motion, tears your white shirt in half, exposing your breasts to his view. Your eyes fly open in terror, contorting your face in fear, and your mouth gulps for air, your bound hands clenching as he cruelly pinches one of your nipples.

His eyes return to yours, and he smiles, pleased to have your attention back on him. “There she is.”

The mockery in his voice makes you grit your teeth, your eyes filled with a desire to kill him, but that desire evaporates when Eren plunges the handle of his knife back into your needy heat, thrusting it harder than before as he rolls your erect nipple between his fingers.

“Is this what it takes to shut you up?” he laughs, and you cry from the pain in your bound hands mixed with the pleasure of his knife inside you.

“What’s the matter?” The knife pulls out and begins to circle your clit again. The lubrication from your arousal only intensifies the sensation, and you give in, unable to stop yourself from moaning as his lips brush against yours, barely a touch. “Too good to think about what a whore you are?” The knife plunges back inside, curving toward your pleasure point. His laughter spills over your mouth, which can’t stop moaning. “Pathetic.”

Unable to endure it any longer, you look up at him, eyes pleading, and the words that fall from your lips are filled with a yearning you can’t control.

“Can’t I have redemption?” You close your eyes for a second as the knife disappears from your heat, sighing before smiling in Eren’s direction.

Still crouched before you, Eren pulls back, his expression a whirlwind of emotions: anger, confusion, and lust. The tension between you is palpable, like a taut string ready to snap at any moment. Soon, he smiles, playing along, leaning in closer to you.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he yanks it back, forcing your face nearer to his. His lips now graze yours, and his breath, cool like morning air, stings your nose.

“Redemption?” he murmurs, and your smile fades as his knife begins to trail down the valley of your breasts.

His eyes flicker quickly from your chest to your face, smiling when he sees the worry etched in your expression. “Do you really think you deserve redemption?”

The knife slices your skin, and your stomach churns.

With an almost instinctual impulse, you open your eyes and lean closer to him, giving him your full attention. You offer one final smile before sticking out your tongue to lick his salty lips.

“Come on, Eren,” you whisper against his mouth, feeling his grip on your hair tighten. Your body trembles with the fear of failure as you swallow hard to steady your voice. “We both know the things we’ve done were never worthy of redemption.

A drop of blood spills from your breasts as Eren’s hand trembles.

How foolish.

“You…” His body shakes, unsure how to react to your words.

His past feelings betray him, and in an act of bravery and desperation,

You kiss him.

“You stupid bitch,” he tries to pull away, but you bite his lip hard, preventing that from happening.

Two seconds pass.

The air grows colder.

He relents.

A final insult escapes his lips before he pulls your body into his arms, holding you tightly. His lips press against yours with urgency, returning the bite with equal intensity.

You both gasp into each other’s mouths, the kiss laden with memories, forgotten passions, and the complicity you once shared.

But the unexpected happens.

In an instant, you feel the cold steel against your skin. The knife plunges into your neck like a sharp pain that quickly transforms into a familiar warmth; blood begins to flow, and you feel your body tremble, but this time,

You don’t pull away.

Despite the pain and confusion, you keep clinging to his lips. Your neck burns from the stretch and the wound forming from the silver blade that digs in deeper with each passing second.

Tears fall, and you sob, driving Eren wild.

With his body shaking, Eren drops the knife to the ground, the metallic sound echoing in the darkness like a reflection of his internal struggle. Then, his lips move against yours, intensifying the kiss, as if this time he’s searching for something more than just revenge.

Love and hate intertwine; his hands move around you, seeking a connection that seemed lost. The knife may have wounded your body, but the kiss becomes a silent pact, a reconciliation between the pain you’ve shared and the desire that never extinguished.

You both sink into that confusion, time halting as the outside world fades away, leaving only the two of you, trapped in a moment of passion and betrayal.

Blood continues to flow from you, a reminder that what you once had cannot return. Yet, in the depths of his eyes, you see a glimmer of something more, a search for redemption that could transcend the pain and suffering you both have caused.

“Eren…” you moan his name, feeling your strength begin to fade, but you won’t let fear consume you.

He stops, his lips pulling away from yours, and for a moment, hate and love find themselves in a precarious balance. The storm in his eyes reflects the chaos in your heart, but in that moment, you feel like two lost souls finally understanding each other.

“Stop…” you manage to whisper between gasps, but his hands only grip your body tighter, smothering your words. There’s a flash of fury in his eyes, and you sense he’s about to unleash a storm within himself.

And before you can gauge his movements,

He gives you one last look before pulling away from your lips, leaving you confused with swollen lips. A scream escapes your already wounded throat as he slips two of his fingers inside your warmth, laughing as he resumes kissing you.

“Stop?” he mocks, biting your lip. “How many times did I beg you to stop, and you didn’t?”

“I-I’m sorry, I, nghhh.”

The words die in your mouth with a pathetic moan as you feel his teeth scrape your nipple while he quickens his movements inside you, arching in a way that makes your toes curl.

As the tension between you intensifies, Eren’s hands begin to explore your body with desperate urgency. Your wetness spreads across your body, and the desire that was once intertwined with hate now turns into a palpable need as he smiles and kisses you again.

With hatred still surging between you and the struggle wanting to escape your bodies, he releases your hands and grabs your legs in one swift motion, dragging you to the floor, positioning himself over you in an instant.

Your aching hands become stones in a death grip as you let them drop onto Eren’s face, but to him, your blows are barely a caress that he effortlessly stops as he lets his saliva impact your face with force.

Your struggle doesn’t cease, and you twist your body in desperation, unable to do much against his sturdy frame on top of you.

“Stop fighting,” he says, and with a swift movement, Eren tears at your torn shirt, the fabric sliding down your skin and tossed aside, leaving your body exposed to the night breeze. “You’re just making a fool of yourself.”

You feel the cold course through your body, but the warmth of his presence envelops you, raising the temperature between you until you can’t hold back anymore. You stop fighting, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to kiss him again, this time whispering with a smile on your lips, “I’m sorry, Ren. I was so mean to you in the past.” You gasp as you feel his length rubbing against your exposed sex. “Do you forgive me now?”

Eren just laughs, grinding his erection against your needy sex, and you both moan into each other’s mouths as his nails scratch your hips.

Your hands glide along his chest, tugging at his black sweatshirt while his eyes watch you with an almost wild intensity. Each piece of clothing that falls to the ground feels like another step toward a connection you both have longed for but also feared.

When you’re left in the intimacy of the night, skin against skin feels electrifying, as if every inch of your being is claiming the other. Eren lowers his gaze, his eyes now filled with desire, and he takes you by the waist, pulling you toward him with a force that makes you feel alive as he rubs the tip of his length against your clit.

Your hands strike his chest again, but with a dry movement, Eren slaps you hard before pulling your jaw toward him, forcing you to look at him.

“Let go of me, you idiot!” you gasp as his sex hits your warmth a few times, due to Eren’s rough movements.

“Do you want that?” His hands press down on yours, pinning them to the ground on either side of your face as he holds you captive beneath him.

“Hmmm? Tell me,” his hips move, and his sex grazes your clit with stimulating friction. “Do you want me to let you go, herzchen?”

“Ahhh, I-I…” Your warmth throbs with need, and in a natural impulse, your hips seek more stimulation.

Eren’s laughter tickles your neck as he lets his lips fall heavy with wet kisses around it. “I don’t think you want me to stop.”

“Especially knowing that…” His teeth clamp down on your pulse and bite there. “All the nights you spent in Jean’s sheets…” His tongue begins to lick the wounded spot, trailing over your neck to the mark his knife left on you. “The only thing you thought about,” his lips suck, “the only thing that made you finish…”

You scream, and your legs wrap around his hips as he thrusts deep into your warmth, confirming his statement. “It was always me.”

A moan of yours echoes throughout the forest as his heat expands within you without warning, and you cling to him, allowing your nails to drag across his bare back, which ripples with muscle as his arms fall to either side of your face, enclosing you within them once he lets go.

“Eren…” you gasp, feeling how his hips move slowly, making you bounce beneath him with each strong but steady thrust that steals the air from your lungs.

Your mind turns to mush, and your body relaxes as he only bothers to mock you, thrusting harder when you’re about to hit him or say something in his direction.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice heavy with a mix of possessiveness and longing.

“I hate you,” you gasp against his lips, pressing against his warmth as he laughs.

His lips pull away from yours, and he begins to leave kisses along your neck down to your breasts, where his teeth latch onto your nipples, quickening his thrusts again and again, leaving you speechless.

Without thinking, your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him toward you as you reconnect your lips in a more desperate kiss, where both of you share moans and gasps.

“Do you?” His breath falls on you as his movements speed up. “Why do you hate me, herzchen?”

“Because… ahhh,” you bite your lower lip as his thumb starts to massage your clit, his eyes focused on you, searching for an answer. “Y-You left me.”

“Owww,” Eren moves one of his hands to your hair, tenderly combing through it. His thumb trails down to your bruised lips, and he plants a mocking kiss on them. “Did you miss me that much?”

“Y-Yes. Don’t leave this time,” you plead, your voice trembling as the fear of losing him mingles with the desire to have him close.

Eren responds by burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as if he’s trying to absorb you into his essence. It fills you with an almost primal need, one that seems to transcend words and the past that haunts them.

Both of you are trapped in a dance of repressed desires and forgotten resentments, and in the midst of that struggle, you finally find yourselves in a place of vulnerability, ready to explore what it truly means to be each other’s.

“You’re crazy,” Eren murmurs, his eyes burning with a mix of rage and desire. The intensity of his gaze envelops you, and his hips quicken their movements with more force as you cling to him desperately.

Despite his declaration, you can’t help but smile, a defiant grin that reveals both the pain and the connection you share. Without thinking, you lean into him and kiss him again, drawing him closer with a desperation that surprises you and makes your body tremble.

The kiss is wild, filled with a raw energy that defies the logic of his words. You feel his lips moving against yours, and a scream escapes your mouth as he bites your lip, a pleasurable pain that only intensifies the fire burning between you.

The line between love and hate blurs in this moment, and before you can think about the consequences, you find yourself trapped in his embrace, Eren’s hands exploring your body with a voracious passion.

“You’re a mess,” he says between gasps, his hands gripping your waist tightly, as if he fears you might escape. His voice is rough, but the desire emanating from him is undeniable.

“And you’re the only one who can handle it,” you reply, locking your gaze with his, feeling the adrenaline course through your body, bringing you to a boiling point.

In one swift motion, Eren flips you over and pushes you against the ground, his body pressing against yours from behind, and you feel the heat of his skin against yours. There’s a fire in his eyes that you can barely decipher, but you know it’s there, burning intensely.

Then he starts to thrust into your body from behind, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the forest. His hand lands on your ass countless times, delivering painful slaps that leave your skin bruised. Before you can think of anything else,

You feel the tip of his knife digging into your backside. With a startled look, you turn over your shoulder to see Eren’s face, marveling as he runs the knife along your skin.

“What are you going to…?” you gasp as he silences you with a hard thrust.

“You’re mine,” Eren repeats, and you freeze as you feel him take your hands and restrain them behind your back, rendering you helpless. “And I always like to mark what is mine.”

Before you can process his words, his thrusts slow down as his knife begins to pierce your skin slowly. You scream from the pain, but Eren simply calms you with praise, telling you how well you’re doing for him.

The knife stops at some point, and his heavy hand lands on the wounded spot, making you cry. When he releases your hands, you turn around and hit him, only to be met with laughter as he pulls you in and places you straddling his hips, thrusting into you once again without giving you time to respond to his bestial movements.

Both of you are filled with an animalistic need, and the hatred becomes a force that binds you together in an act of unrestrained passion. Every touch is fierce, every kiss a reminder of your shared history, and as your bodies meet in a rhythm of intense emotions, the past seems to fade away.

Eren takes control, his movements relentless, as if he wants to mark every corner of your being with his presence. The struggle between hate and desire becomes palpable, and every brush of his skin against yours is infused with explosive energy.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he asks, his hot breath against your skin as he continues to explore every inch of you.

“Not exactly…” you reply, but you can’t help it; desire surpasses resentment, and in that moment, all you want is to lose yourself in him.

The line between pleasure and pain echoes your relationship, and in response to your defiance, you start to sync your movements with his as you ride him fervently.

Eren meets your challenge with renewed ferocity, his movements becoming more intense, overpowering yours, and you feel the hate he once felt for you transform into something deeper, more complex. As the world fades away around you, it’s just the two of you, trapped in a moment that is both a climax of repressed emotions and a confrontation with the ghosts that have haunted you.

“Liar,” Eren says, still moving, as he brings his thumb to your warmth and starts to gently stroke your clit, quickening both your climaxes. “I hate it when you lie to me. What if I leave something inside you to remind you of me when I’m gone?”

“Hmpp,” you stammer, bewildered, sighing with relief as Eren positions both of you on the ground, resuming his more ferocious movements. “What about—”

And only there, amidst the haze, does your mind suddenly alert you to the realization that Eren was raw fucking you, with no intention of releasing himself anywhere but inside you.

Alarmed, you try to push him away, but it’s in vain. His hand grips your wrists and pulls them above your head while he places one of your legs over his shoulder, quickening the pace and cutting your protests into incoherent moans mixed with his.

“Eren, please!” you plead against his lips in the midst of the kiss, feeling your body burn from the stretching. “You’re going to regret it if you do.”

“Regret? Me?” You melt as he looks at you, sighing when his lips kiss your wet neck. “I don’t think so, love.”

With his uncoordinated movements, you feel one last thrust silence your pleas before Eren empties himself inside you without warning, filling you to the brim and making your warmth pulse in your own climax.

Moaning incoherently, your body trembles and relaxes as his thrusts cease. His cock softens and slips slowly out of you with curses leaving his lips.

You think you have a moment of rest until his voice pulls you from your trance, and your eyes lock with his.

“Hmmm,” his smile widens as his fingers move toward your warmth, which expels remnants of his semen, flowing out of you in spurts. “Let’s not waste anything.”

“W-Wait…” beside you, Eren holds you in his arms, his legs hooking around yours and pulling them apart. His chest presses against your back, and his free hand brushes the damp strands of hair from your face.

“Wait for what, herzchen?” your head falls onto his shoulder, and you cling to his arm that wraps around your chest, twisting your nipples, while his other hand slides in and out of your sensitive heat.

“I-I’m sensitive,” you whimper, clawing at his arm.

“Ahhh, right” Eren places a wet kiss on your cheek and begins to rub your clit with his palm. “You just came too, didn’t you?”

“Nghhh, yes.”

“Mmm,” Eren adds a third finger, and you roll your eyes. “But you’re such a good girl, love. I know you can give me one more.”

“I can’t, Eren,” your hand moves up to his hair, gripping him as you feel your legs close, but he stops you by spreading your legs even wider, making your task impossible.

“Yes, yes you can, love.”

His warmth builds on your buttocks, and you moan mindlessly as his fingers begin to curl inside your sex, which still expels traces of him. His fingers thrust in and out forcefully, as if he wants his semen to be embedded in you, and his palm slaps against your clit countless times while he penetrates your heat.

“Ahhh, Eren. Wait!” You tug hard on his hair when the pain from overstimulation turns into pleasure, and you feel the urge to urinate wash over you.

His arm tightens further around your stomach, and his hand pulls harder on your nipple. His fingers in your heat speed up their movements, and his laughter resonates throughout your body.

“Let it out. You’re begging me to make you come, love,” his fingers pull out quickly to give your heat a few light slaps, and your whole body tingles.

“N-No, I’m going to pee,” you hyperventilate as the pleasure expands within you. “Please wait, I’m going to wet myself!”

Eren’s laughter is cruel and low, as if he knows something you don’t, and ignoring you, he rubs his cock against your back once more. “That son of a bitch didn’t even give you a real orgasm, did he?”

Your throat burns with desperate grunts, and your tongue hangs out of your mouth, heavy and drooling. Your heat expands around his entire length again, and when you can’t take it anymore, you let your eyelids drop as you turn your face to connect your lips with Eren’s in a wet, desperate kiss.

His thick brows furrow with pleasure as his hips collide against you again and again. His hand moves to your clit and begins to rub it, creating another orgasm.

“Come with me, herzchen” your breasts rise and fall against his arm, and your legs bounce relentlessly against his. “Make a mess on me.”

“Ahhh, shit, Eren…” a cry interrupts your words when a particularly strong thrust makes you gasp, reopening the wound on your buttocks.

One of Eren’s hands leaves your breasts to move to your neck, pressing hard while his fingers continue working on your clit. His palm stimulates the connection of your bodies. His smile grows wider within the kiss, and with a few final thrusts, he commands you:

“Come now.”

With a guttural moan from both of you, you both reach an irreversible climax, making your minds race a thousand miles an hour, your brains turning to mush inside your heads.

Eren pulls out of you, and you feel more moisture than you’re used to on your legs. Blinking a few times, you lower your gaze only to see Eren’s white semen mixing with a translucent liquid still flowing from you, expelled by Eren’s hand as it gives a few last thrusts to your warmth.

“See?,” you sigh as he speaks. His hand moves away from your heat and, with both of your fluids on it, he brings it to your face, letting the liquid smear across your skin in a humiliating way. “A fucking mess.”

His fingers press into your mouth, and the bitter, salty taste of both of you bursts on your palate. “How do we taste together?”

You don’t respond; you can’t.

All you do is close your eyes, savoring the flavor of both of you while letting your tongue swirl around his fingers, which elicits a satisfied grunt from his chest.

“Good…” you smile, letting your lips crash against his in a possessive kiss. “I missed you so much.”

His smile spreads across your lips as he whispers over them. “Really?”

“Yes…” turning and breaking free from his grip, you straddle him once more. Your hands caress his face as you admire those eyes you had missed so much. “I love you, Eren.”

Eren smiles and shakes his head side to side. One of his hands caresses your face while the other squeezes your buttocks, marked with his initials, burning alive on your skin.

With a final sigh, he lets his lips fall on yours, and your arms wrap around him, pulling him closer.

Your bodies intertwine, allowing your souls to finally unify, leaving all your past behind and ignoring your present stained with blood.

And with smiles on both of your faces.

As you look into each other’s eyes.

He utters the last words that seal both your fates.

“Me too, herzchen.”