#Patient!Harrow x reader

[jokeringcutio]

NEW CHAPTER OF HARROWING LOVE - Arthur Harrow x Reader | Moon Knight Fandom | Innocent Reader x Villain | Asylum Patient Harrow | Older man/Younger woman | Explicit Fic. Read all tags on AO3 [ Here ] Warning: This chapter contains explicit Non-con. If you don't like that, please skip this chapter. Consent between the Reader and Arthur Harrow slides from non-con to dub-con to consensual pretty quickly during the first few chapters. So if you're more into romance and fluff, you'll be good later on. Thank you. Summary of the new chapter: You're asked to help one of the nurses while visiting your Grandma in the hospital. She takes you somewhere unexpected. Excerpt:

“Will you help me willingly?” he then asked, voice smooth and gentle, his eyes finally upon you.

But the answer was already given when you tried to desperately pull away from the nurses’ grip. “Please,” you begged them while you struggled to get out of their hold. “You’re joking. This, I can’t,” there was no way to form a sentence. Surely, this wasn’t real.

[bucksangel]

Honeysuckle

pairing: alpha!steve x alpha!bucky, alpha!steve x artist!omega!reader x alpha!bucky (poly) - omegaverse!au pt. 3

word count: 4k

summary: “Honey,” Bucky sighs wistfully, falling into your embrace while Steve stands behind you with his arms around your waist and helping you not fall over under Bucky’s hulking frame. You don’t mind though, you’d happily die by being crushed under their weight if it meant you could touch them, and have them touch you. Caressing you, kissing you, adoring you the way only they can. And despite your earlier hesitation, you wouldn’t pass up the chance to brighten up your Alphas day for anything. And their grateful kisses and pleased rumbles let you know that you did just that.

or - your Alphas take such good care of you. their mere presence brightens up your day, so when your Alphas have a rough day you take it upon yourself to show them how good of an Omega you can be, that you can provide for them too.

warnings: 18+, mild suggestive thoughts, i apologize to ur dentists bc there’s so much fluff it might give you a toothache, omega is very shy and awkward but steve and bucky are fond and patient, fluff, kissing, tw for steve using 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, tiny bit of hurt/comfort, bucky needs some lovin’

a/n: this is dedicated to the loml @buckysbarne and @buckysprettybaby who also helped beta <3

milk and honey masterlist | main masterlist | tip jar

“Babe -“ Bucky sighs, his head hanging low and hands clenched into tight fists. “I’ll be okay.”

Steve huffs, walking up to his boyfriend and wrapping one arm around his Alphas waist, cupping his cheek with his other hand.

“It’s okay, she’ll understand,” Steve whispers softly, leaning forward and placing a delicate kiss on his mate’s forehead before pulling back and guiding Bucky to look up at him. He quickly dips his head to kiss Bucky’s lips.

“What if she doesn’t?” Bucky mumbles, shame and embarrassment flooding his body.

Why can’t he just be normal?

The day started horribly; Bucky woke up at around seven in the morning from a particularly harrowing nightmare. He hasn’t had one of those in a while, so it was very unwelcoming. This one, unlike other nightmares he’s had, was terrifying in a way he’d never felt.

He knows they’re gone, that Hydra and its agents have been obliterated, but that doesn’t mean Bucky doesn’t occasionally get anxious over the ‘what ifs’ of any potential harm Steve could go through should Hydra get him.

This ‘what if’ manifested in the form of you getting captured too. Even if he and Steve haven’t mated with you yet, they both know in their bones that you were crafted by any gods that exist to complete them. And the thought of you and Steve getting taken from him is far worse than anything Hydra could ever do to him.

Steve had to shake him awake, and he hadn’t been able to stop crying long enough to explain what had happened. After ten minutes of shaking and sobbing into his mate’s chest, he was finally able to articulate the horrifying images that now plague his mind, Steve had held him close, and he had kissed his cheeks and forehead and hairline, all while cooing words of affirmation and love.

The day only got worse from there. After the dream, it started with small things; he burned his hand while trying to make coffee - then spilled the coffee all over his favorite shirt. He ran out of his shampoo and had to use Steve’s - and, listen, Bucky is fully convinced that he survived Hydra because the universe wanted them together again, but Steve could definitely use some better shower products. The whole ‘two-in-one’ thing just doesn’t cut it for Bucky.

But then they had to meet up with their teammates for a briefing over a mission that Bucky is really not excited about, and found out the original one-day mission was going to be three days. Three whole days without you? Luckily Steve is coming with him, but then he thought about you being without both of them and started getting anxious. Now, even though you all haven’t been together for long, and they both know you can handle yourself, they detest the idea of leaving you for an extended period.

They’d managed to sneak in a few texts to you. Wishing you a good day at work, sending heart emojis when you send them a picture of a cute dog you saw while walking to the studio - Sam and Natasha spent a long time trying to get the men to understand modern language - and sending you pictures of them while they were too bored to listen to Tony talk.

But then they went to a coffee shop intending to grab their coffee and rush back to their apartment to get a few things so they could pick you up from work and take you to the new ice cream shop that opened up a few blocks from your studio. Dark clouds came rushing overhead while they were waiting for their drinks, and they decided to wait out the storm in a corner booth.

But people were staring, giving them - mainly Bucky - nervous glances, and a few people at the table next to them ate quicker than someone usually would and then placed a wad of cash on the table before rushing out.

Suddenly the idea of getting ice cream doesn’t sound so appealing.

Steve noticed because he’s so attuned to his mate that he knows Bucky is dejected, Bucky is hurt, he’s tired. Tired of people still judging him. Tired of being accused of things that he had no control over. They didn’t stay long, deciding that getting soaked while racing home was better than being in a place that’s now making Bucky feel unsafe.

Bucky’s been fighting with himself ever since they got home and changed out of their wet clothes. He wants to spend time with you more than anything, and you’ve been excited about this date ever since they told you, and Bucky will be damned if he doesn’t give you anything you want. But he really doesn’t think he can handle being in public right now.

His body is hurting with how bad he’s trying to force the negativity out of his mind enough so he can enjoy being with you, but it’s hard. And Steve telling him that you’ll understand that he can’t go out breaks him. His fists clench tighter.

Bucky wants to be normal for you. He wants to go out with his mates and not get worried about getting less-than-friendly looks at the three of you.

“I’m going to call her,” Steve says calmly, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and pulling him in tight while Bucky’s body starts to shake with how badly he wants to cry. “I’ll call her and I’ll tell her that you’re not feeling well, but we’ll go to her studio tomorrow for lunch. Okay?”

Bucky takes a deep, shaky breath before nodding, trying his hardest to not blame himself when he imagines the look on your face as Steve tells you they have to cancel. Steve kisses his mate's forehead and then untangles himself so he can get his phone.

It doesn’t take long for you to answer, and Bucky can hear your chipper “Hi Stevie!” and suddenly he wants to cry harder. He also hears Steve telling you that Bucky isn’t feeling well and that they’ll come visit you tomorrow. You go quiet for a moment before asking Steve to pass the phone to your other Alpha. And when Bucky mumbles, “Hey, honey,” he knows you can hear that he’s holding back tears.

“Hi, Alpha,” Your sweet voice immediately fills him with warmth, images of your smile filling his head. “You’re not feeling well?”

“No,” Bucky clears his throat, trying to force himself to not feel bad about it. “I’m really sorry, honey. I promise we’ll make it up to you.”

You pause, and suddenly Bucky is worried that you’re mad. But before his mind can spiral into more negative thoughts, your voice - soft and shy - asks if he’s home. And when he tells you that he is, you simply say “good,” and then hang up.

Well, fuck. Bucky tries to convince himself that you’re not upset, but Steve can see that it’s not working well. And at his boyfriend's suggestion of a nap, he trudges upstairs, lying down in bed and wishing upon every star in the universe that you’ll forgive him.

____________

When you heard that Bucky wasn’t feeling well you immediately thought of the worst. Is he sick? Well, that doesn’t make sense, he’s a super soldier after all. Is he hurt? That’s a possibility, their jobs are tough.

Does he… not want to see you? As soon as that thought crosses your mind, you dismiss it. Bucky and Steve have shown over and over that they like you and want to be with you. The word ‘love’ flashes through your mind but you dismiss that as well. It’s too soon, right?

No matter what’s actually going on, you know you need to make him feel better. As soon as you hung up the phone you gathered everything you needed to make apple pies. But then you faltered, what if he doesn’t like apple pie? Well, you have things to make brownies, and you know both Alphas love them. So you took out everything needed to make brownies with the intention of bringing them over when they were done.

But then a thought popped up. Would they even want you in their house? There were a few times when you told them they could come inside your apartment while you finished getting ready for a date night, but they politely declined. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now you’re worried you might be crossing a line.

You’ve just put the mixture in the oven when you decide that you’ll just drop them off and then leave. You don’t want to make them uncomfortable, especially since Bucky isn’t feeling well. While the brownies cook, you run to your bedroom to change into somewhat presentable clothes. You don’t bother getting all dressed up since you’re not going anywhere but your Alphas’ place, and even then you won’t be staying long.

By the time the dessert is done and put into a container, you’ve talked yourself in and out of going several times. Finally, after several minutes of having a mild freak-out, you gather the courage to gather your things and get in your car.

The entire drive has you a little on edge, though you know you have to do it. Not necessarily out of obligation, but because you want to make your Alpha’s happy. They’re always doing little things for you; buying you new plush blankets, getting you food on their way to visit your studio, Steve had even given you a sweater that both he and Bucky regularly wear - fully knowing and hoping you’ll use it for your nest.

Those men make you happier than anyone else ever could, you relish in their praise, your whole body lit up in flames whenever they get all sweet on you - which is all the time, neither man can resist kissing you, hugging you, telling you how you’re the sweetest Omega to ever exist.

They make you happy, and you will do everything you can to make them happy too. You want to be the perfect Omega for them, to show them that you can provide for them too, and that thought is what fuels you to park outside of their house and gather everything.

Your confidence wanes when you get to the front door, anxious again that the Alphas would be upset that you came over. You don’t even get a chance to think about leaving because the door opens wide, and Steve stands there with a smile.

“Honey,” He says, giving you that same longing gaze he always gives you. His eyes travel down to the container you’re holding, his smile growing wider while you cast your eyes down to the floor nervously. “What is that?”

A part of you wants to laugh, you know his heightened sense of smell can already figure it out. You don’t though, you merely shuffle on the porch nervously.

“W-Well I - um… I know Bucky isn’t feeling well, and I wanted to drop off some brownies for you guys.” Your eyes suddenly go wide, a small panicked noise leaving your lips. “Which I just now realized is probably not a good thing for Bucky to eat right now.”

You kind of want to smack your forehead. You were so focused on trying to be helpful that you didn’t even think of what would actually help Bucky feel better. Sensing your growing panic, Steve hums softly, reaching out and taking the dessert from your hands.

“That’s really sweet, honey,” Steve purrs, transferring the container to one hand so he can take your hand in his free one. “Thank you.”

An unexpected squeak leaves your lips, warmth filling your body as you squeeze Steve’s hand and smile up at him shyly.

“Y-You’re welcome, Stevie.” Your voice is soft, nearly indiscernible except for your Alpha with his advanced hearing. “Um, just… I guess you can text me later and tell me how they taste?” It’s phrased as an uncertain question because you don’t want to make him feel like he has to, but you desperately hope he does. You need their praise more than air.

“You’re not staying?”

That question has your head snapping up so you can look at him directly, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you take in his equally confused gaze.

“I - um. I guess I just thought you wouldn’t want me to. I mean, you never want to come in my house, so I just figured you wouldn’t want me in yours.” Your voice comes out shakier than you’d like, and the hope that he’d invite you in is creeping up. “Which is fine! You - you don’t have to, and I don’t want to make you guys uncomfortable, especially since Bucky isn’t feeling well.”

Steve sighs, his scent souring a little as though he’s disappointed, and now you’re anxious over possibly saying something wrong. But when he senses your growing panic, he tugs on your hand until you follow him inside. And immediately, the aroma of both Bucky and Steve’s scent calms you down.

“Of course we want you here, sweet Omega.” Steve smiles at you again, pulling you further into the house until you get to the kitchen not far from the entryway. He drops your hand so he can place the food on the counter. The Alpha quickly moves toward you, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you into his chest. Plush, soft lips land on the top of your head, and they linger there for a few moments.

As though he sensed your arrival, Bucky comes rushing into the kitchen with a wide smile.

“Omega,” He says, walking toward you and Steve with purpose so he can wrap around you too.

“Our sweet girl brought us some brownies since you aren’t feeling well.” You can hear the smile in Steve’s voice, and they both release their hold on you so you can turn around and face Bucky.

Bucky goes silent, and when you place your hands on his chest you can feel how his heart rate picks up. And after a few moments of simply staring into your eyes, his smile softens, his body relaxing.

“Oh, honey,” Bucky sighs wistfully, falling into your embrace while Steve stands behind you with his arms around your waist and helping you not fall over under Bucky’s hulking frame. You don’t mind though, you’d happily die by being crushed under their weight if it meant you could touch them, and have them touch you. Caressing you, kissing you, adoring you the way only they can. And despite your earlier hesitation, you wouldn’t pass up the chance to brighten up your Alphas’ day for anything. And their grateful kisses and pleased rumbles let you know that you did just that.

“Thank you,” Bucky mumbles into your neck as he presses soft and chaste kisses to the area. “You’re perfect.”

You can’t help the nervous chuckle that passes through your lips, nor can you stop yourself from shaking your head, immediately trying to deny it. While you love praise, specifically theirs, you don’t really feel like you deserve it sometimes. How can these two perfect Alpha’s possibly be interested in you? You’re not too sure why they like you, but you try not to think too hard about it. You don’t want to overthink everything and spiral into self-doubt, which would then lead you to sabotage the relationship, and you absolutely don’t want that.

“I-It’s nothing, really. I just want to make you feel better.” Your voice is small and shy, and you cast your eyes downward when Bucky pulls away from you to look at you with such intensity that it makes your entire body go warm. Your heartbeat speeds up when Steve steps back too and moves so he can stand beside Bucky and look at you directly.

“It’s not nothing, baby,” Steve sighs, reaching out and placing a large hand on the back of your neck and turning your head upwards so he can hold your gaze, and it’s absolutely impossible to suppress the shiver that runs down your spine. Oh, how you want to feel his hands on… other parts of your body.

“It’s thoughtful,” Bucky adds, lightly squeezing your hips. “We mean it; thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” You say softly, smiling at both of them and reaching out to place your hands on each Alpha’s chests. In a quick and bold move, you lean up on your toes to place a gentle kiss on Steve’s lips, then move over to Bucky.

Bucky, however, decides a single peck isn’t enough. Steve keeps his hand on the back of your neck and angles your head so it’s easier for Bucky to slide his tongue along your bottom lip and take advantage of your surprised squeak by slipping his tongue into your mouth. He swallows your little gasps and sighs, snaking his arms around your waist to pull your body flush against his.

The intensity of the kiss comes to a halt when Steve’s stomach rumbles. You and Bucky break apart with breathless chuckles, turning to look at Steve’s sheepish expression.

“Sorry,” He laughs, sliding his hand from your neck to the side of your face, and he smiles wider when you nuzzle and kiss his palm. “We haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“I can cook for you!” You say quickly, surprised with yourself by how fast you were to offer. You’re not the best cook, but depending on what food they have you’re pretty sure you whip up something presentable. Plus, your inner Omega is just aching to please them.

“You don’t need to do that, honey,” Bucky says, stepping back but keeping one hand on your back. “We can just order something.”

“Please?” You ask softly, smiling up at him and using the fact that he can never say no to your pout to your advantage. “I want to.”

Both men sigh, fully knowing that they could never deny you anything you want. So, they both nod, stepping aside so you can go to their fridge.

“You can just make something easy, it doesn’t matter to us.” Steve kisses your forehead, then smiles as he turns to look at Bucky while you go about finding something to cook. Pulling him in close, Steve quickly kisses Bucky’s lips and murmurs, “Told ya she’d understand.”

____________

“Told ya she’d understand.”

Steve chuckles when Bucky playfully shoves his elbow into his Alpha’s stomach. And Steve absolutely cannot stop himself from kissing Bucky again. And one more time. He can’t help it though, Bucky was feeling so awful earlier, and seeing his genuine smile and sparkling eyes fills him with happiness.

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky mumbles with a playful roll of his eyes, wiggling out of Steve’s hold so he can go sit at the kitchen island. Steve follows him, muttering “jerk” low under his breath as he sits next to Bucky.

The two men sit side by side, both with love-stricken gazes and twinkling eyes as they watch you flit around the kitchen happily, grabbing things here and there. They aren’t too sure what exactly you’re making, but it starts smelling good in no time. But the underlying scent of happiness coming from all three of you is what really strikes Bucky’s heart.

And in no time at all the food has been finished, and you make sure to pile their plates full of the food.

“I know spaghetti is boring, but I added a few spices so I hope you like it.” Your voice is soft and shy as you present them with their plates, and your rapidly beating heart showcases your nerves. You’re desperately hoping they like it - maybe praise you a bit for taking care of them.

“We’ll love it,” Steve says quickly, getting off the chair and walking up to you with a wide smile. “We’ll love anything you make us, honey.”

The squeak you let out makes both Alphas chuckle, giving you such soft gazes that makes you want to bare your neck to them in submission. With that, Steve and Bucky take their food and guide you to the couch in the living room, being careful as they sit down while Bucky pulls you into his lap.

They take time eating, occasionally feeding you despite your assurances that you already ate before you came over. They don’t care though, because they’ll be damned if they don’t dote on you for making them feel better.

And when the food has been eaten, Bucky gives you a glare when you offer to do dishes. “You’ve worked hard enough, honey,” Bucky tells you, wrapping his arms tighter around you to keep you in place.

It’s at that moment that Bucky realizes that this, the three of you under one roof, on one couch, is what home is for him. With you in his lap and Steve cuddled into his side, he knows that he’s the luckiest guy in the world, how can’t he be? He has his Alpha; the greatest love of his life, and you; the sweetest Omega to ever exist who’s teaching Bucky how to be happy in ways he never thought possible.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until you make a slightly distressed sound, your hands coming up to cup his cheek.

“Buck?” Steve coos, bringing up a hand so he can run his finger through his mate’s hair. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky sniffles, shaking his head as he wipes his eyes, then takes hold of one of your hands so he can kiss your knuckles. He smiles, so soft and sweet and innocent, smiling wider when Steve presses a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s stupid,” Bucky says with a quiet huff and shrugs. “I just… Today was shit, like, awful. And I’ve been happy all these years with Steve by my side, but other than right now, the only time I can remember feeling this happy was when I was finally reunited with him.”

Bucky briefly glances over at Steve, giving him that soft and adoring look he always gives him, then looks back at you and holds your gaze.

“You make me happy, Omega.”

Your eyes go wide, a soft gasp escaping your lips. Because, while you don’t know everything about what’s transpired in their lives and relationship, you know that it must be a pretty big deal for him to say this. And it fills you with a feeling dangerously close to love, but you can’t help it. Bucky’s been through the depths of hell and back, and he deserves everything good in the world. And you being able to give him some of that goodness just makes you want to cry.

“You-“ You cut yourself off, clearing your throat to suppress the waver in your voice. “You make me happy too. Both of you.”

“Good, Omega,” Steve purrs, reaching across Bucky to give you a tender kiss.

And when you break away from Steve, you turn to give Bucky a kiss as well, and Bucky? Well, Bucky is pretty sure (re: totally confident) that he loves you. He knows Steve does too, which makes everything easier. Knowing that they’re on the same page about their feelings for you gives him reassurance that maybe this could work out.

He wants to mate with you, he wants to be with you in every way possible. And when you pull away and smile at your Alphas with that sweet and tender way you always do, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, you want that too.

So who can really blame him when Bucky asks, “Will you mate with us?”

From next to him, Steve doesn’t visibly react, though his heartbeat speeding up and the flush creeping up on his face tells Bucky that he wants that too - they’ve also spoken about it in length, so he knows he’s not just speaking for himself.

All the two men can do now is wait for your answer with bated breaths. It comes only a half of a second later.

“Of course.”

m&h masterlist: @the-ginger-fairy-artist / @supernovatardis / @perdidosbucky-yyo / @wckedheart / @kandis-mom / @wandaneedstherapy / @bigcreatorwombatdreamer / @venusfly11 / @buckybarnesmetalarmswife775 / @the-photo-hoe / @matsumama / @fandoms-writings / @thornsnvultures / @sadboiabby / @lily-excal / @alright-i-guesss / @blondie-bluue / @loveforreading / @marvel-wifey-86 / @wheezy-stucky / @exposition-belongs-somewhere / @stuckysbike / @starkblackwolf / @caitlink26 / @dreaming-potato / @lethargicluv / @perfectlyboring / @monicachic13 / @akmenia / @shawnftjacob / @hc-kerr / @iamfandomwasted / @wizardofstories / @emerald-writes / @matchat3a  / @mollygetssherlockcoffee / @normalgirlnextdoor / @lolitsbuckybarnes / @rippedpiece / @biteofcherry

main taglist: @lilyalone / @crazyunsexycool / @goldylions / @yeehawbrothers / @buckyssweetheart

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (8)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Authors' Note: Implied torture and mild gore ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 8: The Chantry

He should’ve known you would be sharp enough to pick up on his remark about the suitor back at the cafe. Damn him and his big mouth. Well, you would’ve gotten wind of it somehow anyway, especially since Wesker had put you on this case with him too.

You waited patiently for his answer, as you saw a range of emotions sweep across Leon’s face. Unlike his compatriot, Luis, he was not a great talker. You’d experienced that first hand when he tried to reveal his nature to you.

“I don’t know who he is exactly, but most likely a higher-ranking Anarch,” he divulged, eyeing you intently to gauge your reaction. “The guy wanted to use you as a way to bring the East Side under their domain.”

A bunch of mixed feelings churned within you as you lamented the fact that just when you were beginning to reach an understanding with the man, fate decided to throw another roadblock in your path. “So, you Embraced me first to prevent that,” you deduced, the hurt in your voice evident as you made the following observation, “Was I just some political tool to you?”

“No, angel—” he caught himself as he accidentally let slip his term of affection for you. “You have never been, and will never be, a tool to me.”

Reaching over, he laid his hand protectively atop yours, tracing delicate patterns across its back. To his surprise, you didn’t berate him for using that pet name, nor did you shy away from his touch. Perhaps you had given in, your fire extinguished to smoky cinders.

“You know I feel a great deal for you… and regardless of what you may think, I’ve always wanted you to have a say in your Embrace,” he reiterated undeniably.

You bit your lip, still doubtful of his words. “What would you have done if I had said no?”

There was a thoughtful pause before he replied, “Probably be devastated, but I could never force you. Not like that.”

With a bitter laugh, he commented further, “I might’ve killed that son of a bitch before he got to you though.”

All at once, you were reminded of the side that made him inhuman, talking about murder as if it were a normal part of his daily routine. It irked you, but it also comforted you that he would do anything to keep you safe.

“And risk Final Death?” you asked, wondering if he was joking, or if he really would break the last of the Traditions for you. Unless the Prince had issued a Blood Hunt on a specific individual or group of Kindred, he would be forbidden to destroy another of his kind.

“Would’ve been worth it,” he quipped under his breath, his searing gaze unabashedly roaming across your body, following every contour of your silhouette as he admired what was before him. 

You wore things differently from his sire, which was all he had ever known. When he reminisced about Ada, bold, bright reds, like a fountain of blood, flooded his mind. Blood which he drank from every Sunday, worshiping martyrs and sacrifices, up until the point he had strayed. Blood which gave him a taste of life and death, anger and passion, lust and love. Blood from a broken hymen on bleached white sheets, like the innocence he’d lost when he stepped into the underworld. Blood drained from a pig to drench him in when he was hazed, the resulting humiliation he had felt after and his reddened cheeks, just like the shame that carved out a hole within him when Ada left. His throat tightened, just like the way her clothes hugged her body like a boa constrictor.

And then there was you, in emerald greens, deep burgundies and swatches of black — duller, yet no less luminescent beneath the surface. Something he had to work for, digging to unearth the gem of humanity he had squandered away over restless nights and bouts of insomnia. Your flowy dress robes and kaftans transported him to gap year adventures under the starry skies in Morocco, sand filling your shoes, and the scorching heat on the desert breeze. He had never been, never left the city since he was turned. But he loved to imagine a future where he could travel there with you. Dancing with wild abandon, in dark kohl eyeliner and that carefree smile. God, that smile… and your fire. You could captivate him for days. He never thought he could feel so intensely for another person again, but he was wrong — and he was glad to be.

From your end, you regarded him with reservation. The love he declared for you bordered on instinctual passion and obsession, and you couldn’t decide if you found it flattering or problematic. As a Toreador by blood, would you end up like him? It was still early days, yet he treated you as if he had been pining after you for a century. You wondered if this was just a temporary, fleeting thing and he would eventually tire of you in time to come.

Almost as though he could read your mind, he broke away, avoiding eye contact with you as he apologized, “Sorry, I, uh, didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Adjusting his collar awkwardly, he cleared his throat, coming back to his senses as he uttered, “We should, um, discuss about the Tremere.”

You nodded in agreement, dabbing your palms against your forehead and cheeks, letting the coolness seep into your warm, flustered skin. “So, I’m guessing you found something?”

“Not quite,” he sighed, gently rubbing the temples at the sides of his head.

Pushing himself up off the couch, he went over to his desk, grabbed a bunch of papers, and handed them over to you. Thumbing through the sheets, you briefly scanned its contents, realizing it was a shift schedule of all the Umbrella scientists based in NEST, as well as a couple of reports, though signed under a different name from the person you were meant to get in contact with.

Ms. Rebecca Chambers. The up-and-coming Tremere prodigy who had recently returned from a stint at the Hartford Chantry, renowned for their work on mind and memory alterations. Like the rest of the clans, the Tremere were a secretive sort, and even more so. They guarded their research and activities closely within their base of operations, known as chantries. Leon had mentioned to you about their adeptness in matters of the blood or ‘Blood Sorcery’ as it was named. They had once been a group of mages who discovered immortality through undeath, though they had wrangled their power at the expense of other Kindred. No wonder Jill had called them ‘ursupers’. You didn’t like the sound of their schemes and ploys either.

“Rebecca’s not in any of the schedules, and there’s no trace of her anywhere, even though she works directly under Wesker,” he put forth. “She’s not even credited in the projects she’s meant to be researching on.”

“It’s all signed off by this guy: Glenn… Arias?” you took a shot at pronouncing his name while flicking through the pages.

“Yeah, that’s her Regent,” he pointed out. “And a jealous one at that.”

“What do you mean?” You stopped rummaging, peering at Leon with a quizzical look.

“Well, word has it that he intends to hold onto his position for as long as he’s unliving. Meaning, capable apprentices are considered a threat to be dealt with,” he expunged.

“But he can’t just make someone relatively high-profile like Rebecca disappear,” you stated, pinching your chin in a thinker’s pose. All this sleuthing reminded you of those classic black-and-white noir films from the 1940s. Pity you were missing the whiskey and cigars.

“Yes, he can,” he insisted, pacing the room like a lead detective hot on the case. “He’s already doing it now — scrubbing out her achievements, making sure she leaves an invisible trail, and hoping that she’ll be forgotten among the sea of neonates who dazzled a little too brightly.”

“And of course the fucker is taking all the credit for her work,” you sneered, disliking this guy already before you even met him.

“Looks like you and I have something in common then,” he noted with a lopsided smile. He hated the man as much as you did. “Unfortunately this leaves us with no choice. If we want to get to Rebecca, then we’ll need to go through the fucker.”

You slumped back into the couch, your weight causing the upholstery to mold to your body. “Gonna need a whiskey beforehand.”

Shaking his head as he laughed, he took a seat on the coffee table directly opposite the couch facing you. “Sure, just be prepared to throw it up an hour later.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

When nightfall came the next day, you found yourself sulking in the passenger seat of Leon’s jeep as he drove towards the northwest of Raccoon City, heading straight into Raccoon Forest. It would be several miles before you’d reach your destination. In the background, grunge rock music from one of the local radio stations played at a low volume through the car speakers. Resting your head against the window, you heard Leon humming along to the melody as he tapped the steering wheel in time with the steady beat of the track.

“Funny, didn’t take you as a rock’n’roll kinda guy,” you muttered, still peering out of the glass pane, unwilling to look at the man who you were dead certain was wearing a giant smirk on his face right now.

“Glad I can continue to surprise you then,” he answered jovially. “I was young and rebellious once you know.”

“You? A rebel? Please…” you scoffed, rolling your eyes so far back into your head you probably could’ve popped them out of your sockets if you wanted to.

Instead of replying, he belted out the chorus lyrics in his annoyingly smooth voice. Frankly, you were a little sore about your exchange earlier back at his place when he had kept his word, and allowed you to have a sip from a cask of fine French whiskey stored in his vitrine. The problem was, he didn’t tell you that it would taste like shit.

Seeing as your undead body wouldn’t be able to digest it, you were prepared to risk throwing up just to have a shot of alcohol running through your veins. However, it turned out that everything except wine would taste like ashes and dirt. You didn’t even need to force yourself to regurgitate the contents; you did it naturally, spewing it out like a spray while Leon howled with laughter. Some fucking joke that was. Asshole.

“Still pissed off, huh?” he questioned. You could sense a hint of remorse in his voice.

“Take a guess.”

You felt his fingers brush against your arm. “Hey, I’m sorry. Sometimes I get a bit carried away,” he whispered apologetically, his tone subdued, as if he was a dog who’d been chastised.

“Mm.” You pursed your lips, shrugging noncommittally.

“If you want, I can teach you how to be able to enjoy things like before,” he offered as a form of consolation. “But to experience the effects of alcohol, you’ll need to drink from the inebriated.”

Finally, you faced him to catch his midnight blue gaze, and he gave a weak smile. “Time for me to get wasted then.”

He took that as a sign that you had forgiven him, and you were back to bantering again. “No drinking on the job,” he warned.

“Yes, boss.”

With that, you turned your attention to the changing scenery outside, which blurred past your window. Gone were the city lights in the distance; you were now deep within the thicket of the forest. Tree branches shaped like claws scraped the sides of the vehicle and peculiar winged creatures flew in and out of the shadows. The only source of light was the car's beam, focused directly on the path ahead. At times, you thought you could make out pairs of glowing red eyes from the bushes in the dark surrounding you. Clutching the door armrest, you felt pinpricks of cold sweat forming on your palms, and you couldn’t wait for this segment of the journey to end.

As you reached a clearing, you saw the pale moonlight gleaming overhead through the clouded sky, its pearlescent light casting a silvery sheen across everything in sight. That’s when you spotted the imposing mansion in front of you as the car made its way up the driveway. There was a bluish tinge to its white-painted exterior, and although the building was well-kept, there was a decaying quality to it, as if it had been abandoned by its owners decades ago. You observed its towering columns and large lancet windows, noting the intricate details carved into the eaves of the roof. Who knew there was a mysterious grand manor situated in the middle of nowhere within the woods? You felt like an extra in a B-movie horror film.

After parking the car, you and Leon hopped out of the vehicle, walking over towards the main entrance of the house. Except for the sound of gravel crunching underfoot, it was eerily silent and nothing stirred. It began to dawn on you why the place was so unnerving: there was no rustling of animals or chirping of insects; it was completely devoid of life.

Spencer Mansion. So, this foreboding construct was Raccoon City’s Tremere Chantry. Perhaps there were worse clans to be part of, you ruminated.

Raising his knuckles, Leon was about to knock on the front doors when they creaked slightly ajar on their own, until a strong gust of wind materialized out of thin air, swinging them wide open as they rattled against the walls of the house. “Nice party trick,” he mumbled sarcastically.

“I heard that,” a voice boomed from the main hall.

The hallway was as opulent and musty as the building's facade, with smooth, spotless marble-tiled floors and a red carpet rolled out from the door towards the stairs. There was an elegant chandelier suspended from the vaulted ceiling, as well as decorative candle stands and sconces in every corner. Despite the multitude of light sources available, the room still seemed dimly lit.

In the center of the carpet stood a woman in a preppy tweed pantsuit, picking at her fingernails as she eyed the two of you haughtily. Even though she was alone, you had the strange sense that there were plenty of others in the room hiding in plain sight, and watching you from the shadows.

“An acolyte,” Leon whispered, making sure he was out of earshot this time.

It was just a fancy name the Tremere gave to a fledgling. Essentially, she was at the bottom rung of the pyramid, a newbie like yourself, and yet she was behaving as if she owned the entire manor.

“The Regent is waiting for you in the bar,” she informed. With a slight, dismissive wave of her hand, she indicated for you to follow her.

“Stick close to me,” Leon instructed, drawing you in until your arm bumped against the side of his chest. “You don’t want to get lost here.”

Definitely not. You’d heard about the chantry traps that the Tremere were famous for, designed to keep out both malicious entities and those unfortunate souls who had accidentally stumbled in, blissfully unaware of the nature of this place. Ending up like them would be worse than a disaster.

As you passed through the main hall, a stately set of doors on your left caught your eye. They were cracked open, and through the gap, you could see two rows of people seated opposite each other at the long cherry wood dining table. A large burlap sack, bound with rope, lay on its surface; whatever was inside squealed and kicked about. You could hear its muffled screams when suddenly, all the diners turned their heads to face you, completely expressionless.

Gasping in shock, you instinctively huddled against Leon’s body, seeking refuge from the chilling scene you had just encountered. He hooked his arm around your shoulder, allowing your head to burrow in the crook of his neck as you continued onwards. An odious grin crept over the acolyte’s face as she witnessed your reaction.

Climbing up the stairs, the whole mansion descended into a torturous maze. It was a nauseating feeling to lose all sense of direction, unable to distinguish where you were or where you were going. Each corridor looked the same; you took countless left and right turns, and it felt as if you were being led around in circles. Even your depth perception was off; objects shifted and merged, and passages stretched and compressed as you walked through them. It became increasingly difficult to judge your distance from anything in sight.

You tried to focus on the acolyte, using her as a beacon to guide you through this complex web. Although Leon was faring better than you, he too appeared to be struggling to keep up with the pace. You were ascending levels only to head back down again, no longer sure which floor of the mansion you were on. Was this some cruel joke she was playing on the two of you, or were they trying to ensure you’d never remember how to navigate a route through the building?

The next time, it was Leon who saw something unspeakable. Red light emanated from a narrow doorway at the side, and within it, a naked man was strapped to a sturdy mahogany chair. His head lolled on his chest and his frail body was bruised and battered. Pieces of his flesh had been carved out in strange shapes; some of the slabs were scattered on the floor. His festering wounds were weeping and if not for his feeble, trembling groan, Leon would have assumed he had been long dead.

“Christ, this is some sick shit,” he hissed under his breath in revulsion. You peered in the direction he had glanced at, but there was only an austere portrait hanging against a blank wall. Were the both of you going mad and imagining things?

Shaking his head, he advised, “You don’t want to go looking for it, trust me.” 

At last, the acolyte came to a stop, ushering you into a modest-sized room with checkered tile floors, reminiscent of a chessboard, and an oak bar counter at the side where a clean-cut, impeccably dressed man sat. There was a grand piano facing the bar, and Moonlight Sonata was playing on its keys despite there being no musician present at the instrument.

The room was vacant, apart from the lone person by the bar, whom you presumed was Glenn. He appeared to be a middle-aged man with graying hair and a deep scar across his left eyebrow. His long suit coat was a well-coordinated palette of grays, reds and blacks. As he imbibed the ruby red liquid in his crystal tumbler glass, a dash of it spilled out by accident, though it hovered in the air. Setting the glass down, he sucked it into his mouth with ease; his mouth twisting into a sinister smile.

“Please, make yourselves at home,” he welcomed both of you, gesturing to the unoccupied bar stools before him. Despite his mild mannerisms, his gaze was cold and calculating, honed through years of corrupt transactions and political backstabbing.

When you had settled in, the acolyte closed the door shut, leaving you with the man. It was then that he spoke up again, “There’s no need for pleasantries, so let me cut to the chase. You wish to see Ms. Chambers, yes?”

“On Prince’s orders,” Leon highlighted.

At this, Glenn laughed contemptuously, “I thought you knew better than to use threats against me, Mr. Kennedy.” He extended his gloved finger, wagging it scathingly in front of Leon’s face. “Unlike what the rest of you neonates think, the P-word doesn’t hold much weight here.”

Retracting his hand, he reiterated, “For your sake and the sake of your childe, I suggest you learn to play by my rules.”

You watched as Leon lowered his head in submission as your hatred towards Glenn grew. Were all the Tremere stuck-up assholes? You had a hunch that such behavior was largely shaped by this man himself.

“Excuse my earlier transgression, Mr. Arias,” Leon apologized rather perfunctorily. “Is there something we might offer in exchange for the inconvenience?”

“That’s more like it,” Glenn remarked, curling his finger over his lip as he nodded favorably. “Well, now that you mention it, I suppose there is.”

From under his coat, he pulled out a thin folder of documents, handing it over to Leon. “You see, for some reason, it’s been a tradition in my clan to divide the roles between Regent and Primogen, when really, they could just be handled by the same person.”

“And you want the Primogen title,” Leon surmised.

What else would he expect from a power hungry Tremere, who wanted the best of both worlds? As a Primogen, he would be considered his clan’s representative within the Prince’s Council — the first port of call the Prince would consult on various matters. That, along with being the figurehead of the Chantry, would allow him to elevate his status to what would essentially be a dictatorship within his clan.

“You said that, not me,” Glenn pointed out sneakily. “I’m merely exposing the incompetence of the current appointee.”

He tapped the documents in Leon’s hands. “Anyway, back to business. It’s quite simple, I’d like you to plant these documents in the office of the current Tremere Primogen. Discreetly, of course.”

Pausing for dramatic effect, he drummed his fingers on the counter. “And then we’ll see about your visit with Ms. Chambers.”

“What’s in them?” you questioned abruptly.

His eyes snapped sharply to you. “Oh, so she speaks!” he mocked. “Let’s put it this way, it’s enough to get her for treason.”

You were about to counter with a barbed remark when Leon cut in, talking over you, “Mr. Arias, would you be so kind as to allow my childe and me a few minutes to converse over this matter in private?”

An acerbic smirk appeared on Glenn’s face. “Of course.” He nodded slightly and took his leave.

“So you’re just gonna sit there and accept this slimy motherfucker’s offer?” you goaded, already irritated about being interrupted by your sire earlier.

“Language!” Leon hissed, reproaching you gravely. “The walls have ears.”

This only served to incense you even more, as you slammed your palm on the countertop in defiance. Glenn’s empty glass skittered across its surface, though Leon caught it just in time before it shattered onto the ground. 

“You’re condemning an innocent person to Final Death or worse!” you accused.

A dry chuckle slipped from his lips. “Innocent? No one in that sort of position, let alone this world, is innocent.”

For once, you were at a loss for words, only able to articulate how you felt about him in the moment. “You disgust me.”

“Honestly, I disgust myself at times,” he admitted rather self-deprecatingly.

Some part of you could understand that perhaps this was all he knew: lies, deceit, and shady dealings. Could you change that and make him see things from your perspective? You had to try.

Placing your hand over his, you squeezed it, peering into his brilliant blues as you reasoned, “How many compromises are you going to make until there’s nothing left in here?” You prodded his chest gently with your finger, urging him to reflect on what made him human.

“I—” He scrunched up his face, a tormented expression blooming across it as he turned away, unable to look you in the eye. “I-I can’t…” His voice was pinched and strained, as if it would hurt him to utter any more words.

“This is just how it works in the Kindred world,” he asserted, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Your anger dissipated into pure disappointment, weighing like a stone in your heart. “Keep telling yourself that,” you stated simply as you let him go, resigning yourself to your original position. Coward, you denounced internally.

As if on cue, you heard three sharp knocks on the door before Glenn came back in. “So?” he questioned, glancing over at the two of you in anticipation.

Leon’s features stiffened as he met the man’s gaze head-on. “We accept.”

[minispidey]

Lust is a Drug.

Marc Spector x f!reader. Angie's first kinktober.

(a/n: i got writer's block! but i just had to put this out as soon as i could finish it and I finally did! and i just realized marc didn't take off reader's undies... mushi said it was ok so i'm not gonna edit it...)

warnings: corruption, breeding, p in v, cheating, reader is in a cult. english is not my first language.

word count: 2,394.

For as long as you can remember, you've never really known the world outside your house. You weren't taught basic math or science, you were just your parents' doll. So when they let you go, after 21 years of being under their control, you wandered off not knowing what to do. You didn't have a diploma or the basic education to even get a job.

And when a couple of nice people invited you to their small town, of course, you accepted. You were provided shelter, food, and clothing. You were as pure as an angel and untouched, and Arthur Harrow set his eyes on you, wanting you for himself. You were the perfect woman.

Of course, you said yes. He was kind to you. He was a decent husband, but your marriage wasn't what you imagined it would be. There was always something missing.

When your husband brought back Khonshu's avatar, you were curious. Finally, someone who knew what the world was like without being as brainwashed as everyone around you.

You poked your head out to watch your husband lead the man to the dining area. Your white dress swayed as you made your way to Arthur's side, holding his arm "How fascinating..." you whispered.

"Don't mind her. This is my wife, just curious like always." Arthur looks at you before patting your head "Dearest, I'd like you to meet Steven Grant and well, Marc Spector."

"It's very nice to meet you." you stared doe-eyed at him. Steven's eyes shifted towards you before nodding "It's nice to meet you too."

"Why don't you go ahead and help with supper, hm? Run along now." Arthur smiles at you before rubbing your back.

"Alright." you obediently nodded as you went off to the other tables. Arthur let out a small laugh "Beautiful, isn't she?"

"Your wife? Yeah, I guess- I mean, she's a real beauty." Steven stammered with his words "She's lovely."

"Don't be so tense. She doesn't bite." Arthur pats his back as they both sit in front of a table.

From afar, you continued to stare at Steven. Your eyelashes fluttered a bit and your body felt like putty. You squealed a bit when your fingertips accidentally graze over a boiling pot.

Right. Kitchen duties.

The night wore out, and you retreated to your quarters, washing yourself. The soft silk of your nightgown rubbed against your skin as you lay down on the sheets. You took a deep breath of the fresh cold air, relaxing your body.

Not long after, your husband joins you. He smiled at you "What do you think, dearest? Think he'll help us?"

"I can tell he's stubborn." you giggled, turning your head towards him.

"Well, Marc Spector is. Steven Grant is... gullible and he'll trust us. You can help gain his trust. You're always the convincing one." His finger boops the tip of your nose before he cups your face with both of his hands.

"If that's what you think best, my love."

He pressed a kiss against your temple "We must rest for tomorrow. You'll keep him company, won't you?"

"I will."

The next day, you dressed in your usual white dress and prepared to welcome Steven to your little town. While Arthur was off doing whatever he does, you stopped by the little cottage Steven was given for last night.

You knocked on the door and patiently waited with a soft smile until he eventually opened it.

"Good morning." you said "I brought you bread. As a welcome."

"Uh, thank you." he nods.

"May I come in?"

"Yeah, go ahead." his British accent was gone, you noticed. You blinked twice before smiling "Marc Spector?"

"Yeah." he opens the door wider "Come in."

"Okay." were you a little scared that it was Marc? Yes. Steven seemed nicer than how Arthur first described Marc to you, but now you were faced with Marc himself.

"My husband wanted me to give you a warm welcome. He has some duties today so he sent me in his place. Did you sleep well?"

"Not bad." he shook his head.

"Good to hear." you nodded "You must be starving-"

"What do you want?" Marc asked you, staring into your eyes.

Your mouth was hung open before you took a deep breath in "I just... want to welcome you. It might be just a visit but I wanted to make you comfortable..."

"Nothing about this whole... thing..." he waved his hand "...is comfortable."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Listen. You can leave. I'll tell Harrow that you did welcome me, and whatever. Just leave." he walks towards you, making you back up against the wall.

"I'm not very fond of lying to my husband..."

"Then keep a secret. Now, leave." Marc points to the door "Thanks for the bread. Now, go."

You felt butterflies in your stomach. You've never felt this way before. But something about this... situation, is making you extremely-

"Go."

"Y-Yes..." you stuttered as you kept eye contact with him. You slowly made your way to the door before walking outside.

Your legs were like jello. You felt an unfamiliar sensation down there, your... core. You gulped before walking back to the town and rushing into your house, running up the stairs. It confused Arthur who had just come home.

You hiked up your skirt when you reached the bathroom and sat on the toilet. You had thought you were on your period— but you weren't.

But clear substance coated your folds. You've never touched it before but you were curious, taking a finger and dipping it inside.

"No... it's a sin..." you quickly pulled your hand away "I mustn't...." you whisper.

You washed your hands and quickly fixed your dress. But the burning sensation in your core never stopped.

That night, you lay in bed alone, your breasts were warm as you placed your palm to feel your heartbeat.

Marc was just so intimidating. The way he looked at you made you feel things you've never felt before.

The way he towered over you, the way he stared at you, and the way he spoke to you...

Your hand was in between your legs again.

You let out a gasp before pulling your hand away and sitting up. Your heartbeat raced and your face heated up, feeling your soaked cotton panties.

Just as you clasped your hands for a prayer, you heard a click from the window, making you snap your head towards it.

The moon shines from behind the white curtain and suddenly the windows slammed open, the cold air hitting your face.

You shivered and covered your eyes from the bright moon before getting out of bed, the soles of your feet touching the cold wooden floor. You made your way to the window to close it.

Until you felt a warm breath against the nape of your neck.

It sent goosebumps down your spine and you turned to find

"Marc?"

His stare was hypnotic. You didn't even notice that he was walking closer to you, trapping you against the window.

He lifted your chin upwards to look at you closer, his thumb grazing over your bottom lip. You quivered from under his touch as you fully surrendered yourself to him.

It wasn't right, but Gods did it feel right.

You shot up from the bed, beads of sweat falling down your delicate skin. Arthur was sleeping peacefully beside you and you quickly snapped your head up towards the window to find it closed.

You slipped out of the bed and grabbed a robe before leaving the house, off to see Marc in the cabin.

You didn't even knock.

"Marc?"

His door was wide open and he looked like he was just about to leave. He locked eyes with you "What're you doing here?"

You played with your fingers as you looked down "I-I know some of the townsfolk won't tell me anything about my uh... problems... but I've just been wanting some answers from someone who knows the outside world."

"What do you mean?"

"This morning." you immediately replied "You made me feel something. I don't understand what it was..."

Marc stood silent as he scanned your face. You looked clueless.

"Come in."

The cabin was dark, but moonlight peeked from the curtains. You sat on his bed and you kept eye contact with him, waiting for him to make a move. You weren't sure what but anything would satisfy you just to break the silence.

"How exactly did I make you feel?" Marc slowly approached you on the bed "Tell me.”

You hesitated. You struggled to get the word out, until finally “A-Aroused." It made you feel dirty, unclean, unworthy of your godly husband "I must go, this was a terrible idea-"

Just as you stood up, Marc grabbed your wrist, but he was gentle "Sit back down."

All you could do was stare up at him as you sat back down at his command.

A mischievous smirk curls on Marc's lips as he hears your admission. He pulled back slightly to meet your eyes, his gaze was intense and filled with desire.

"Aroused, huh? Well, well, looks like you aren't as pure as I thought." he says "Tell me, what specifically got you all hot and bothered?" his fingers toy with the tie around your robe, teasingly brushing against the exposed silk of your nightgown.

"I want to know every little detail that got you all worked up. Don't hold back now. I want to help you." truth be told, he already knew.

His other hand cupped your cheek, making your breath hitch as you melted into his warm touch.

"Help me..." you mindlessly repeated. Marc leans in, claiming your lips in a deep hungry kiss.

"Tell me, what do you need from me?" he whispered against your lips.

"I need you..."

Marc hikes up your nightgown, holding your thighs as he knelt. He dips his head towards your core while spreading your legs apart. He could smell your essence from the wet patch of your cotton panties

He trails teasing kisses along your inner thighs, his lips tantalizingly close to where you need him most.

His hands slide up your body, gripping your hips possessively as he positions himself to give you the pleasure you crave. And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, his tongue makes contact with your throbbing clit.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You gripped the sheets when you felt the sudden pleasure on your sensitive bud “W-Wait…” but you didn't want him to stop.

Marc's mouth works expertly, his lips and tongue exploring every sensitive inch, flicking and teasing with precision. His voice is a seductive melody as he speaks against your skin.

"You taste so good..." he murmurs, looking up at you.

As the pressure builds, Marc's pace quickens, his mouth working fast, driven by the desire to bring you to the edge. He listens to your moans, your gasps, your pleas, adjusting his movements to match your rhythm and intensity.

And as your stomach twisted, Marc's doesn't let up. His tongue flicks over your sensitive clit and went back to dip in between your folds, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath.

“Marc…” you whined out a string of incomprehensible words. Marc then lets you wrap your legs around his head, letting him go deeper.

Marc continues to lap at your sensitive flesh, prolonging your release, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. He revels in the way your body shuddered, your moans of ecstasy echoing through the room.

“O-Oh, I… Marc…” your toes curled and you let out a loud moan as you reached your orgasm.

Marc slowly withdraws, his lips leaving a trail of lingering kisses along your inner thighs. He rises to his feet, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

“T-This is a sin…”

“It’s normal. Everyone does it.” he licks his lips clean of you before cupping your face and pressing a kiss on your lips “You’ve never done this before, huh?”

“No…” you shook your head.

“Not even with your husband?” he raises an eyebrow.

“He said it wasn't necessary.”

“That’s a lie, you know? You’ve never experienced pleasure— sex.” Marc’s other hand slides down to hold your breast “I can show you how it feels.”

“But my husband-”

“He won’t know a thing.”

He had you wrapped around his finger. You slowly nodded as you lay down on the bed, his hand guiding you.

His hands find their way to your hips, his touch possessive yet gentle as he got on top of you.

"I’ll go slow." he whispers, his voice gentle and assuring, making your body relax.

Marc pulls down his sweatpants, taking out his already-hardened cock. He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

And then, with a slow thrust, he enters you, filling you. A moan escapes his lips as he relishes the sensation of being inside you. You let out a gasp as his cock overwhelmed you.

"Fuck, you feel so good…” he groans, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and desire. "You're so tight, so perfect.”

He started with slow, painfully slow thrusts. Marc let you adjust to his girth and kissed you to ease the new sensation “That’s it… good girl…”

As the pace quickens, Marc's grip tightens on your hips. With each thrust, his cock massaged your walls, and he guides you towards ecstasy.

Marc’s thrusts become more relentless as you let him go faster. His breath was hot against your skin while he drove you both toward a mind-shattering climax. He talks you through it while hitting your g-spot “That’s a good girl…”

And when the release finally crashes over you, Marc continues to move to stuff his cum inside of you, prolonging your pleasure and drawing out every last sensation. He revels in the way your body quivers beneath him, your moans filling the air.

As the waves of pleasure subside, Marc eases his movements, his touch becoming more gentle and tender. He presses soft kisses against your lips “You can keep a secret, right?”

“Yes…” you nodded, a bit hazy from the pleasure “I’ll keep a secret…”

“Good girl.” Marc praised you as he wiped off the sweat from your forehead “Now, do you know where the Scarab is?”

[starks-hero]

Concerning Lockley

A 3rd installment to the Smoke and Mirrors series.

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader, Jake Lockley x Reader

Summary: A year has passed since the events in Cairo and two things cannot remain hidden for much longer; the truth and a third alter.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: canon-divergence, revolves around Marc and Steven's past so implied child abuse, lightly implied smut, descriptions of violence, language (but it's me so that's almost a given)

a/n: A criminally late third installment to Smoke and Mirrors/The Truth is Rarely Kind. It's fairly heavy so I'd recommend reading the first two chapters for context. Anyway, guess who's finally arrived? 😏

You had grown fond of the night. The peace, the silence. The temporary comfort that, even just for a little while, things would be okay. Well aquatinted with the early hours, you woke to see them hit the clock almost religiously; every night without fail.

Every night since Cairo.

Sleep was something you'd forsaken. The few hours of rest you did manage to steal were few and far between and when you did manage to drift off your guilt followed you into your dreams. It seemed that was all you ever felt anymore; an overwhelming, crushing sense of guilt that never went away. 

You'd started making a cup of tea some time ago, (five minutes perhaps? enough time for the boiling water to cool, now a comforting warmth radiating through the ceramic.) It was another sanctum in your ritual, the action almost bringing more comfort than the drink itself. The steam kissing your hands and drifting through your fingers in playful wisps, the hypnotic sound of the spoon gliding against the ceramic edges of the mug.

Your hand stilled and your breath hung idle in your chest; a moment later two arms settled around your waist with a gentle squeeze and a yawn muffled against your shoulder. 

"Alright, love?"

Steven spoke the words into your neck. They were gentle and warm, just like the rest of him. There's a certainty in how he holds you to him and you quit stirring your tea in favour of supporting yourself against the counter. You fear your knees will give way, from the lack of sleep or guilt, you can't tell. His nose ran the length of your jaw and you offered a quiet hum in response to his earlier question.

"What are you doing up, ey?" His voice is breathily quiet, softening at the end as it would when he spoke to a child or small animal. Something he was worried he'd frighten. His hands, feather-light in their movement, traced down your arms until his fingers brushed the swell of your wrists. Intertwining your fingers, he brought your joint hands to your chest and pressed down. It was a grounding, comforting weight.

I'm here. I've got you.

You took several deep breaths, each somewhat steadier than the last. You swallowed down the sand that seemed to have formed at the back of your throat; dry and scratchy.

"Couldn't sleep," you answered truthfully.

Steven had waited patiently for your answer. He was always so patient. He'd been patient during the three weeks you'd scarcely spoken to them after Cairo, and patient still during the outbursts that followed when you did start talking to them again. And how could he blame you? Dying and coming back again was bound to have that effect. The entire dying situation was something that had been quickly placed in the red zone (extremely triggering and not to be talked about,) and after an exceptionally explosive episode with Marc over it, none of you were eager to revisit it.

Steven wasn't even certain you remembered your time in limbo, but if you did you didn't talk about it and he didn't pry.

"Come back to bed, yeah? I'll stay up with you till you doze back off."

He did know that you didn't sleep anymore. Not really. On more than one occasion he'd wake in the early hours to find you sat by the door or perched by the window, something sharp in hand. Harrow, by some miracle, hadn't come looking for you yet, but you planned on being ready when he did. 

Steven and Marc could feel the anxiety that practically hung above your head like a black cloud of miserable smog. The thought of Harrow and his goons finding the ushabti and following through with their plans was one that haunted you. A fact made clear by your desire to, in your own words, 'find the deepest, most ancient well known to man and chuck the damned thing down there.' But dealing with people set on genocide called for something more permanent and Layla had assured you she had it handled.

You didn't doubt her but it didn't make you feel any more at ease either.

You focused on the weight of Steven's hands against your chest instead and took another steadying breath. You agreed to go back to bed, if anything just to ensure Steven got a few more hours of sleep. You would fake it, you'd gotten good at it too.

He kept your hand in his as he led you back to bed. The tea abandoned on the counter eventually went cold.

You awoke to Marc, his lean arms barely brushing the expanse of your stomach, hand resting openly against your waist. You always knew the difference, knew who you'd woken up to. Steven held you like you would turn to dust and Marc held you like you were made of glass.

His hold on you tightened as he woke, that subconscious urge to keep you at arm's length crumbling. He kissed your head, your neck and then the expanse between the blades of your shoulders, his hands reverent as they traced your skin.

He made love to you differently since Cairo. It was slower and methodical, that desperation and fear that had been there before was long gone and there was a certainty now. He was more sure of himself, of you and of what you were to each other.

You rested in a comfortable silence afterwards, the air still warm and sweet and the sheets grounding against your trembling body.

Marc was a work of art beside you and for the briefest of moments you could understand why Khonshu chose him. He was made to be divine, to be godly.

His eyes had lightened a shade, as they tended to do when he was unfocused and staring into nothing. It was something only you'd noticed; the way the dark chestnut brown turned amber, almost pools of honey in the morning light now.

You traced his temple and he turned to you, taking the time to plant a kiss to your wrist. Right above the gentle beating of your heart. You temporarily worried that he'd feel your guilt in how your pulse drummed irregularly against his lips. You always felt guilty when he touched you softly. Knowing what you did you felt you didn't deserve it.

Your anxiety must have bled into your expression and Marc mistook it for worry.

“I'm alright,” he said. “It's just… quiet.” He traced his forehead and looked back at the ceiling. It was an observation he'd made several times in the last few months. His thoughts weren't as loud and his head didn't feel as crowded, no longer bursting and tearing at the seams. You supposed that made sense, now that a homicidal bird was no longer among his mind's residence.

You drifted with your thoughts until a gentle nudge from the man beside you brought you back to earth. His brows were furrowed subtly, trying not to give away that he knew something wasn't quite right.

“Baby–”

“I'm fine.” The words were so rushed they tumbled over each other as they left your tongue. You doubted Marc would have understood you at all if it weren't for how many times you'd parroted the phrase in the last few months.

Marc sighed and wrinkled his nose. “Steven doesn't believe you.”

“And you?”

“I think you're a bad liar,” he added. It wasn't accusatory, quite the opposite. “What's going on?”

The rehearsed lines came naturally. “I'm just tired.”

He seemed disappointed by your answer but said nothing. Another fifteen minutes in bed and Marc got up to start his morning routine and you prepared to keep up your masquerade for another day. You knew your lines as well as the part you had to play. It was all second nature now.

A week later you decided that you were going to tell them.

It wasn't the guilt that drove you to it in the end, not exactly. You'd been dealing with that for long enough. Rather it was the humbling realisation that this was no longer about you. It wasn't about how you spent every waking moment thinking about what you'd seen. How every time Marc laughed you envisioned the child that spent his birthdays either alone or berated. Or how each time Steven touched you softly you thought of the little boy cowering from his mother. 

No, it was about Marc and Steven and the fact that they deserved to know. And if your relationship was the price to be paid for them to have their truth then so be it.

But just because you'd made the decision by no means meant you were handling it well.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You cursed with each step as you did laps of the kitchen. You'd started pacing just after Steven left for his shift and you were certain you could pace for the rest of the night if you needed to. A hieroglyphic on the patterned rug Steven had bought had noticeably worn down beneath your feet. 

You'd tried to rehearse something, gone as far as writing out bullet points and trying to convert them into something that resembled a speech. But all that came out of it was a bin full of crumpled-up paper and an even deeper pit where your stomach should be.

You passed the fish tank for what felt like the ninety-ninth time and stopped to glance at its resident. Gus seemed about as interested in the current affairs as a goldfish could be.

“How do you feel about staying with me on the weekends?” You asked. A single bubble left the fish's mouth in reply. “Gods, I'm losing it.”

Your heart near burst from its ribbed prison as the doorbell sounded three clanging chimes of doom. Your anxiety was so off the charts you were certain anyone nearby with a radioactivity monitor would be recording some cataclysmic event with your apartment as ground zero.

You employed every shred of willpower you had to get your legs to move you towards the door and opened it with such a convincing smile you should have been handed a bafta then and there.

“Hiya, love!” Already unsteady on your feet, the absolute, unabashed optimism in Steven's voice nearly had you keeling over.

He barreled forward past the threshold, a well-aimed kiss landing on your cheek and a bouquet of pink carnations brushing your chest.

“Picked these up for you on the way home,” he quipped easily as if the gesture came as easy to him as buying the milk. The bouquet was so large you had to employ both hands to hold it. The petals were so picturesque they almost seemed fake and the stems were a healthy green. The stall vendor had cared for them so well.

Steven hadn't stopped talking, not even as he removed his work clothes, electing instead to keep telling you about how the vendor had told him of the variety of colours carnations came in and their individual meanings but that he chose pink just because they were pretty–

“And I thought maybe we could go out tonight, grab something nice to eat. It's been a while since we've– everything alright, love?”

Still staring at the flowers, you hadn't realised you hadn't looked at Steven once. And he'd read you like a book.

“Do you not like them? Is it the colour–”

“No, no, Steven, they're beautiful.” You rushed. “It's–” That awful sensation of pressure began to coil around your neck and you struggled to swallow. Every thought spilled from your mind like water through a bullet-riddled tin can. “I just–”

In three quick strides, Steven was upon you, hands rising slowly to cradle your face. “Hey, hey now, it's alright. Had a long day?”

Something close to a whimper caught in your throat. You'd had a long few months. 

You closed your eyes and focused on the soft press of Steven's palms against your skin, how his fingers brushed your jaw and thumb was ceaseless in its comforting movements across your cheek.

You took a steadying breath, Steven praising you as you did, and in the moment of silence that followed you felt the extra presence. That there were two bodies in the room but three people. That reminder of Marc served as a final shove.

“I need to tell you something.” The words were so long coming you felt your lungs almost give out under the weight of them. “The both of you.”

Steven's gaze softened, not an inkling of fear to be found despite your troubled expression. There was no doubt or worry he'd done something, only that certainty he'd carried himself with over the last number of months. 

You thought about telling them your 'heinous crime' was breaking Steven's favourite mug and then he'd laugh and act offended regarding the remark Marc would have made about Brits and their tea. Then the three of you would go to bed and nothing bad would happen, nothing would change– 

“I'm here, Marc too. We're both listening.”

“Back in Cairo–” A breath. Now or never. “Khonshu showed me something. I know it sounds ridiculous but when Harrow shot me– when I died and before I came back, Khonshu– he showed me your past. He showed me everything. And I've wanted to tell you for so long, I should have told you–”

His hands fell from your face and without the anchor of his touch, you felt yourself sway. When he took a cautious step back your heart capsized. You wanted to follow him but guilt and fear had fused your feet to the floor in equal measure.

“Steven please, I didn't want to hurt you. Marc, I–”

His eyes fell closed and your chest felt like it was caving in atop your lungs as you waited for them to open. Waited to see Steven, eyes innocent and confused and knowing you'd have to tell him that everything he was came from something so awful. Or waited for Marc, eyes clouded and full of anger. Your entire life hung by a thread and at this rate, you wondered if cutting it yourself would be a kinder act.

They had every right to be angry after all, every right to hate you. Having someone poking around in your head without permission was such a nonsensical thing to have happen that you couldn't think of a single reaction that wouldn't be warranted.

After what felt like hours, his eyes opened. 

But it wasn't Marc. And it wasn't Steven. 

It was a dull, far-off stare; tired eyes regarding you from beneath hooded lids. 

You dared not move. It wasn't just the eyes but his entire body that was different, the way he carried himself. A tired smirk pulled at his lips and this stranger, this intruder in their body, seemed to have caught on to your realisation. He turned his back on you and walked towards the kitchen without a word.

His footsteps were lighter than Steven's and heavier than Marc's and his shoulders remained squared as if ready for a fight. And for a worrying moment, you thought maybe he was. 

You stayed as you were, moving only a few inches to keep him in sight whilst still within bolting distance of the door. It was a terrifying thought, having to run from someone that looked like them.

 The intruder opened the cabinet below the sink and pulled out a shoulder of whiskey you didn't know was there. The broken seal and missing liquor as well as how casually he grasped the bottleneck in his hand told you this wasn't his first indulgence. 

Opening the second cupboard to the left, (how did he know where everything was?) he retrieved two short whiskey glasses and placed them on the counter, the bottle presented in the middle almost decoratively.

He looked to you, then to his alcoholic display, then back to you expectantly. Against all better judgment, you joined him at the counter. You hoped he couldn't notice the sweat at your brow. 

“I don't know if you drink,” he said and his voice knocked the wind out of you. It was so foreign, coming from his mouth; like hearing the brass notes of a trumpet come from a clarinet. “But I think you might want one for this.”

You regarded him as one might do an unwanted guest, cautionary and with no shortage of distrust for this stranger wearing your boys' face. 

“Who are you?” he didn't answer. “Where's Marc and Steven?”

His brow twitched in a move you took for unamused disapproval. Ignoring your questions, he generously topped his cup and downed it all at once before pouring himself another and this time including you in the debauchery. You didn't trust your hand enough to lift the glass from the tabletop. You hoped he hadn't noticed how you were shaking.

His eyes set on you and his head tilted to the side. You were sure, rather you hoped, it was a harmless gesture but feeling as small as you felt it was hard to receive it as anything but predatory.

There was a stretch of silence that lasted so long you felt yourself losing your nerve, then–

“Three's.” He said, grasping his glass loosely. “All good things come in three's. You heard that one before, carino?” He lifts his pointer from the glass and tilts it in your direction.

If it weren't for the fact he was suddenly speaking Spanish you might have found the strength to answer. You anxiously toyed with your glass and you were certain he caught the tremble in your fingers.

Scared as you were, the fear was slowly melting into frustration as the absence of Marc and Steven became more pronounced with each passing second.

“You're not Marc.” He shook his head. “And you're definitely not Steven.” Another slow shake of agreement. “Then who are you?”

“People with big houses buy big guard dogs to keep them safe.” He took another swig of his drink. “Let's say I'm this house' guard dog, I keep things safe. And since you joined our little fiesta, that includes you.” 

You tried to swallow the information but found yourself choking on it instead. There was a third.

Your mind was near bursting, cracking and fissuring at the revelation. An hour ago you had convinced yourself that you were ready for whatever was to come, ready to change the trajectory of your life for the worst all in the name of both what was right and your love for Marc and Steven. But by the universe and all the gods within, this was not what you were expecting. The thought that Marc and Steven had been keeping this, keeping him from you was an unwelcome one. You could understand it of course, but the notion that you’d all been keeping practically life-altering secrets from one another left you feeling uneasy.

“Relax,” he said, and either the body's skills were interchangeable or you really were just easy to read. “They weren’t lying to you.”

The length of time you spent processing the information proved enough for him to finish his drink with another five seconds of wiggle room. 

“They don’t know?”

He shook his head and for the first time all night, he took his eyes off you. “And we’re going to keep it that way. They won’t find out about me, or Khonshu, or that little stunt back in Cairo-”

Your blood ran cold, freezing water flooding your veins. “How did you-?”

The movement of his mouth fell somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

“Khonshu told me to give you his compliments. You’re the first person in decades he’s done that to whose brain hasn’t turned to sand and come out their ears.” You stopped breathing. “That, and that he wishes you could have been there when we put three bullets in Harrow’s skull.” You rose so quickly the chair fell away behind you and your drink toppled. He kept a good hold on his own glass, ignoring the spilt liquor seeping into the timber. He didn’t seem concerned as you backed away from him.

“What the fuck did you do?” The words burned as you spoke them, leaving your throat hoarse. All the fear and confusion had warped into a horrified anger so palpable that your body trembled to withstand it. “What did you do?”

“What I had to.” He rose to meet you, in tone and stature. “To keep this safe-” he motioned his arm around at the apartment. “-And to keep this together.” This time his hand motioned between you and him. No, not him. The body.

“They have a right to know.” You bite the words out harshly, the tears of frustration welling in your eyes only making you more intimidating.

“They have a right to some peace.” His answers came quick and concise, as if he had them memorised like a well-versed script. “I think that’s something we can both agree on.”

Your lips parted with the promise of an argument but the absolutely overwhelming weight of the conversation crested and swept you away before you got the chance.

“They don’t want to be avatars anymore, that’s fine. They can stay here and keep playing house and happy families and I’ll do what has to be done. All you have to do is keep it that way. Now, I’m going to leave and when you open the door again it will be to one of them. And you’ll smile and act like everything is fine and the three of you will get on with things as if nothing happened. Understood?”

“And what about you?” You doubted the walls of any courtroom had ever heard a tone as accusatory as the one you’d just employed.

He made a brief noise of amusement before raising his head to look down on you and it was again made clear that this man couldn’t have been any more of a stranger.

“Some dogs are meant to be kept on a short leash.” 

With that, and leaving a deepening cavern beneath your ribs, he started for the door. You tried to breathe, tried to speak, tried to stop yourself from throwing your heart up. He swiped the bouquet of carnations from the desk as he went; Steven was prone to daydreaming, all he had to do was reset the scene. 

“Wait,” you managed as he turned the handle. If you were going to even entertain going along with this sick, twisted theatre of lies then you deserved to know who you were performing with. “Who are you really?” 

He grinned, apparently sharing the sentiment. “Jake,” he said, the sound like water on hot coals. “Jake Lockley.”

And then he was gone, leaving you to rehearse your appreciation of carnations and the colour pink.

Thank you so much for reading!

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[gwiyeounsonyeon]

Hold Me

Pairing: ftm!Leon Kennedy x cis!Male Reader

Summary: Leon's dysphoric and depressed and reader comforts him

Words: 859

Warnings: depression

Notes: I just wanna give him a hug and cuddle him until he feels better :(

if you like my work please support me with either the tip button or visit my kofi page, you can see the pinned post on my blog for more information please look into it

It didn't take very long for you to notice, given it wasn't some huge in-your-face statement, the little things he did just gave it away. Earlier that morning when Leon had finally woken up, it took him a little longer to get out of bed and when he finally did get up he walked hunched in on himself and put on a bigger thicker hoodie than his usual leather jacket. He took a while to get to the bathroom and when he did he hadn't bothered turning the lights on, you guessed so he wouldn't have to look at himself in the mirror.

When you’d offered him breakfast he had declined and pulled out his favorite whiskey and when you eventually took it away from him he had snapped at you and chewed you out. You knew he didn't mean the shit he said but it still hurt and you got a little mean with him in return causing him to recoil and slink back into your guys’ dark bedroom to get back in bed and wallow.

That left you sitting at the kitchen table feeling like an idiot for what you said. You look up at the door to the bedroom before sighing and getting up from the chair, you put Leon’s whiskey back and walk to the bedroom only to hesitate at the door when you hear Leon sniffling. It was very uncommon for Leon to be crying so you couldn't help but feel worried, more so when you pushed the door open to see Leon cocooned in blankets in the dark room “Lee… Baby? What’s wrong?”

You walk into the room unable to take your eyes off of the trembling lump of blankets. “Leave me alone” You have to strain to hear his muffled watery voice and when you do your heart breaks, Leon didn't deserve this. “Tell me what’s wrong baby” You try to be as patient as possible, This is the man you love the man you've been in love with for years, it literally kills you to see him like this. “Just leave me alone.”

It's not hard to hear the desperation in his voice, he needs you but he's too proud to admit it. You take a seat next to him on the edge of the bed and lay your hand on his back “I love you, Leon… Too much to let you deal with this alone” You speak from your heart, you wish that Leon could know the lengths to which you'll go for him to just be happy, It’s true, you love him so much that if you had the choice you’d probably take Leon’s pain and deal with it for him and It pains you so much to see your baby like this.

Upon hearing your words Leon finally breaks down, he sobs quietly into the pillow he's clutching. tears come to your own eyes, Leon sounds so raw and broken, he's been holding this back for years. Years of being alone, years of suffering and trauma, years of being abandoned by the people he fell for. In his eyes you were a gift from god, you were an angel, he hates that you love him of all people and he hates that you care so much and he absolutely despises how gone he is for you.

If it weren't for you Leon would've drank himself to death by now, You were his saving grace and here you come again, unraveling his pathetic form from the covers and wrapping him back up into your arms, holding him to your chest. Leon feels pathetic to say it out loud but since breaking up with his girlfriend before Raccoon City 19 long harrowing years ago he hadn't been held and even then she couldn’t compare to you.

The way he fits against your body, Leon is certain that you were made for each other, You once called him your soulmate and he had scoffed and called you a kid trying to act cool but later after you had left he had cried himself to sleep in the dark of his room because he didn't want to believe it, it was too good to be true, the way you looked at him, the way you smiled at him when you called him your soulmate, it all felt too good to be true and he was so scared.

So scared that he’d lose you because he’s so jaded and old and miserable and everyone he loves always ends up leaving him. but not you, you were so determined to love him, In the beginning, Leon had tried with all of his might to push you away but you stayed, no matter how hurtful or nasty or pathetic he acted. You stayed and you loved him unconditionally through all of it and now here you were, petting his greasy hair and rocking him back and forth as he cried pathetically into your shirt.

He vaguely recognized you talking, saying something about how good he was and how strong you think he is but the words only made him cry harder, you were his angel.

COMING UP NEXT - SEP 22

Pairing: cis!Simon Riley x Male Reader

Summary: Simon is angry and takes it out on his boyfriend

Words: 666😳

SEE NOW ON - kofi

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter four.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Day 97 - Better known as the first day you reunite with Section Commander Hange Zoe, who has their own plans to recovering your memory.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Eventual Romance, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Nonbinary Hange Zoe, Angry!Levi, Other Additional Tags to be Added As the Story Progresses

( Read on AO3 )

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER FOUR.

There is something therapeutic about cleaning.

Clearing stubborn dust in every corner and pesky grime from the floorboards brings a sense of accomplishment — a sense of control, to your day.

It's not what you thought you'd be doing in the midst of preparing for your first official training session with the military, but Petra Ral claims this is how the Scouts indoctrinate all the new recruits.

A rite of passage, so to speak, to learn how important it is to mind your space.

(She's quick to mention you've already completed said rite in another life.)

Petral Ral, better known to you as the girl from Erwin's file, is a devastatingly perky and short redhead with stars in her eyes. Despite the harrowing business of being a Scout, she speaks like she's on the most incredible adventure of her life.

A novel-quality crusade.

She greets you with such excitement upon your arrival with Erwin Smith that you can't help but feel relief that this is your intermittent handler. You don’t remember Petra, not in the way she hopes you will, but she parades you around the rendezvous castle like it's your first day.

Because, according to her, she's just repeating history: she was the one to do this just a few short years ago.

Before you get your hands on military gear and weapons, Petra first offers you a broom and dust pan. "Scrubbing down the common room mess space is first priority," she supplies, holding up her own broom. "You might want to take a cloth to keep your hair out of your face. When you're done with the mess space, you can start on your room. You hold a broom like this, and—"

"Petra," you start, and she waits patiently for your reply. "I'm not braindead, just blank. I remember how to clean."

"You do?"

"Yes," you reassure with a breathy laugh, holding the broom handle with a half-assed sweep of your arm. "Ta-da."

She squeaks in embarrassment, bringing her gloved hand to her mouth.

"Gosh, I'm sorry! This really is just like old times! I'm getting deja vu just looking at you."

"In a good or bad way?"

"Oh, good. Definitely good. You were so fun back then," Petra reassures with a bright grin. "But go, go, go — I'll see you for lunch!"

So you're here some odd hours later, scrubbing down the common room mess space and clearing your swirling mind.

You don't know where Petra's gone, but she can't possibly be far.

This is nice.

Quiet. Manageable.

Tirelessly flinging cobwebs from the ceiling corners, you wipe a hand over your shining forehead and draw a short sigh. This place is looking good. Beyond an improvement to what you first faced upon entering this seemingly abandoned castle.

At least you remember how to make a room spotless—

“Ahh!”

A shrill shriek from behind breaks your peace.

It’s so loud that the broom handle fumbles from your hands and clangs to the floor.

“There she is!”

Startled, you turn to address the danger head-on.

A person with wild brown hair and a military uniform stands in the door of the hallway, fingers folded tightly together at the center of their chest. The Scout crest at their breast distorts by how hard they press their folded palms into their body, like they’re using every ounce of willpower not to—

Too late.

Their arms swing wide as they near. Before you can open your mouth, your body’s being squeezed into a tight hug. 

“And look — all limbs intact! Wow, talk about a lucky break, huh? I thought for sure we’d be seeing a missing appendage or two.”

For good measure, they back up just enough to pick up your hand from the wrist. Tugging the eye glasses from their forehead, they squint and lean in to observe the remaining bandages.

You should say something.

What do you say?

“Uh — hi?”

Nailed it.

Belatedly, the preoccupied person flashes a look back to your face, considering in a haze.

Then the dots connect.

“Oh, right! Duh. Maybe no missing limbs but you’re missing memories. Allow me to re-introduce myself: Hange, Section Commander, at your service.” They smile wide. “Captain Levi told me where you were staying, so I thought maybe I’d make a visit.”

Wait.

Captain Levi knows where you’re staying?

(Why does it always have to circle back to him?)

“And when you weren’t there, I asked around — Petra knew!”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, embarrassed that you can’t match their elated energy. Hange doesn’t hide their excitement, so you cannot hide your hesitance.

Maybe the surprise touch has something to do with it, but this encounter already feels different. As if Hange is a long-awaited crisp breeze on the first day of Spring. You find yourself wanting to hug them again, to see if the spark lingers.

“Yeah. Commander Erwin gave me over to Petra for the week. I haven’t seen the Captain.”

“Oh, you haven’t? Color me a little shocked.” Hange drops their arms from you to wipe some strands of hair from their face. “Well? Any new discoveries since you first woke up?”

“A few,” you admit, bending to pick up the broom lying on the ground. “Commander Erwin got me to remember a little bit about where I came from and how, uh… being in the Scouts was kind of my whole life.”

“Part of the job description,” Hange bemuses before mimicking Erwin’s deep voice for the salute. “Dedicate Your Heart — every artery and then some.”

The endearing attempt at imitating the commander makes you snort despite yourself, and you sweep one final pile of dust into the pan.

“At least you feel familiar. The Commander and the Captain were like blank slates.”

It’s as though you’ve said the most magical thing to the Section Commander's ears. Their smile now bursts into a grin.

“Ch’yeah, I’d say you and I got into some wacky adventures in our day. Of course, only when you weren’t so busy in the corner with Levi.” The grin falters if only for a fraction. “Though I must say, I’m really surprised he wasn’t the first.”

Your brows knit. “The first what?”

“The first person that you would remember — at least, in feeling.”

“Everyone keeps implying that,” you tell them, crossing the room to settle the broom against the frame of a bookshelf. “Except the one time that I saw him, which was the first day, it sounded like he hated me.”

“Hated you?” Hange blurts. “Captain Levi hating you is about as true as me hating titans.”

You blink. “That… comparison escapes me, Section Commander.”

They lean in with a flippant shrug. “Hange, please. And I don’t hate titans at all. They’re incredible, fascinating, the thing I think about all the time.” Heat rises to your face. Hange doesn’t let up. “I think he’s just a bit grumpy since — well, I don’t know if I’m allowed to tell you.”

Eyes widening, you step closer to the other person.

“No — do. I wanna hear it. Seriously, living in the dark about this whole thing is probably a hindrance to remembering anything at all.”

“Hey, that’s what I said.” Hange laughs. “Still in sync, even when you’re not You!"

They pause for a moment, holding up their index finger.

"Actually let’s shelve the Levi debacle for a bit, because I thought maybe I could give you something and see what you think about it.”

“Give me something?” you repeat.

“Don’t get too excited. It’s not like a gift or anything.” They reconsider, slipping a hand into the breast pocket of their uniform jacket. “Well, for you, it might be.”

It’s a small and flat brown box, only a few centimeters tall and not very wide.

Hange holds it out for you, nodding down to it — take it — and you meet them in the middle.

Nothing sparks while holding the box, and it takes every ounce of your curiosity not to give the thing a preliminary shake to hear what’s inside.

Your fingers pry the top lid off—

And it hits.

Like a lightning strike to the heart, you drop the lid to the floor, hand limp.

Silver — unassuming, dainty, but very obviously a necklace. There is barely anything special about the fragile jewelry, but emotion swells and threatens to choke you up and out. From the bottom of the chain dangles a small gemstone, swirling in stormy gray color. It looks well-loved, worn, but still manages to glimmer in the soft sunlight peering in from the open windows.

The pad of your index finger brushes along the smooth surface.

A drop of water splashes on it.

(Are you crying?)

Glancing up to look at Hange confirms that you’re not only crying, but sobbing.

Streams of tears drag along your cheeks as you let out a broken breath, confused yet relieved. The bottom half of the box drops, too, joining its sister on the floor as you clutch the necklace to your chest. 

You can’t explain any of this, but you know.

You know this is the one thing you subconsciously hoped to see, to feel, one day.

“You kept it.”

The blurted sentence is barely above a murmur.

Hange draws an inhale through their nose.

“When Captain Levi brought you in on horseback after your accident, I was the first to receive you,” they explain, softer this time. You watch them through a watery lens. “There was little to no time. Your uniform was torn to pieces. When the doctors were preparing you for the emergency surgery — you’d lost a lot of blood while traveling, and we weren’t sure how deep the cut wounds went — I took that necklace off of you in hopes that one day I could give it back.”

Your heart swells with an overwhelming gratitude you can’t quite place into words. Hange nears cautiously and places a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“That necklace went everywhere with you. In all our years of serving together, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take it off.”

“It’s important to me,” you reason with certainty. Hange nods with empathy.

You don't even realize what you're saying, but it comes from the heart.

“...I’ve had it since I was a kid. This was the only thing I owned in the Underground. Before I joined the Scouts, I didn’t even own my own clothes. They were — they were stolen. Everything was stolen. I had nothing. Nothing except this.”

With trembling fingers, you try to unhook the clasp and fail. Twice. Hange tsk-tsk’s with their tongue and drop their hand to close around both of your hands.

“C’mon, you big softie. Let me?”

You sniff and nod, pushing hair away to give them an avenue to your neck. Hange easily situates the chain around your neck and secures the clasp. The cold chain presses to your body like a weighted blanket.

Your shoulders slack with its comfort the minute you can press the gem between your thumb and index finger.

“There. Feel better?”

“Loads,” you admit in a sigh, wiping your eyes with your free hand. “Sorry for the outburst, Hange, it just—”

“Hey, happy to help. Look! You remembered something.”

They’re right.

Something so small brought such a visceral emotion to the forefront.

Rolling the gemstone between your fingers, you forcefully smile in return. What you say next rolls right off your tongue. “You know... you’ve always asked me where this came from, and now I’ve accidentally divulged that story. Talk about a dirty trick, Hange.”

“Whoa, I—” They start but reconsider. Hange doesn’t give it away immediately, but the section commander’s surprise is palpable the longer your words linger in the air. “Damn, you remember that?”

You do.

Clear as day, in fact, with the way they’re looking at you right now. Sitting right in this very room — you were both at the table situated in the corner, though it's now crowded by four chairs you've scrubbed vigorously clean. When you blink towards them, you can see the silhouette of Hange's frustrated hands flying high into the air. You're leaning back in the chair, tipping it with the heel of your boot pressed against the table's edge with a laugh.

“Oh, c'mon! Stop being such a tease and tell me about it already. It’s just a necklace!”

“That doesn't sound right,” you tease, grinning ear to ear as you absently roll the gemstone between your fingers. “If it's just a necklace, then how come you wanna know about it so bad, huh?”

Hange groans in the pale torch light, sliding down into their seat in dramatized agony. “Be-cause I just watched a five-meter titan almost snap the damn thing in half."

“So?”

“So! I saw how fast you sliced that thing up! You went totally berserk, like you had a personal vendetta.”

You chuckle low, burying your chin in the mouth of the emerald green cape around your shoulders.

“Five-meter titans should learn not to touch my stuff, then.”

“Hey, shitheads.”

Except that last part is something you hear with your own two ears, now, in the present.

A deep voice unlike yours or Hange’s.

Your heart skips a beat. You turn your chin to acknowledge it.

Levi Ackerman stands in the door frame dressed with a similar green cloak you wore in your vision. He’s wearing the same Scout uniform as Hange, but with a pressed white shirt and a flare of his own cravat nestled at the neck. His black hair falls over his eyes, shoulder pressed into the door frame, but he doesn’t look at you.

His eyes land directly on an all-too giddy Hange.

“So much for telling me that you arrived,” he mumbles.

Hange gives him a one-shoulder shrug. “Oh, you know I couldn’t help but find her for myself. The Commander caught me up to speed in a letter.”

“I would argue that that sort of information should remain out of letters, don’t you?” Levi asks as he nudges a boot into the room to join the conversation.

“Too late for that!” Hange sing-songs, pulling you into their side. “We were just catching up.”

Levi’s brow raises by a centimeter on his forehead. “...catching up.”

“Yep! It seems like I’m top of the team leaderboard for most memories. Amazing what happens when you try to work with victims of memory loss.”

It feels like a direct jab to Levi’s effort — or lack thereof — but he doesn’t react to it.

Not yet, anyway.

Because a whole world of awkwardness comes to a head when his eyes flicker to your face, then down, and stop.

Hange says nothing, but you feel it — their hand curled around your arm grips tighter.

Your chin drops to see what he’s staring at:

The necklace between your fingers.

When you stare back up, you’re certain Captain Levi has changed an entire shade of pale.

“—anyways!”

Hange’s voice cuts through the heavy silence as they squeeze you one last time into their side before letting go.

“I gotta go check in with the Commander. You two have fun catching up, alright?”

They pass with a bounce in their step, but not before stopping at the captain to all-too-whimsically point out the obvious.

“Look, Levi, she’s cleaning!”

He doesn’t have a snarky comeback this time.

Hell, he doesn’t even say goodbye to Hange when they exit, leaving the two of you to a room full of uncomfortable air.

If you so much as breathe in longer than a second, then it threatens to suffocate you.

Three whole months of nothing, and now?

There’s no excuse.

“You missed a spot,” he finally tells you, gesturing to the back left corner.

“Huh?” you mumble, turning to observe. “I haven't gotten to that part yet.”

“Sure.”

That’s all he had to say?

This was the big reunion everyone waited for?

Subconsciously your other hand raises to your necklace in order to tuck the jewelry into your gray button-up.

“You never visited me a second time.”

“I did,” he corrects, and your eyes narrow.

“I never saw you.”

“You were asleep.”

Your stomach flutters with butterflies. “Wait, really?”

“Do you think I care enough to lie?” When you blink twice from how biting his tone is, he sighs to himself. “Yeah, I visited.”

Although you probably shouldn't believe him, you do. The sigh is as much of a surprise as his confession. Like he's resigned to chip a part of the wall he builds between you.

So you speak with honesty, too. “I’m sorry I missed you, then.”

His brow twitches.

“Why?”

“Because contrary to the nature of our first encounter, I’ve wanted to speak to you.”

At first he says nothing, opting to merely study your expression. You try to remain confident, chin up and expectant.

“Did you remember something?” he asks.

“Yeah." He doesn't react. "I have been remembering bits and pieces, but…”

You venture to a chair to your left at the newly-cleaned table, sitting with a short huff. It feels nice to get off of your feet.

“...that’s all they are. Bits and pieces to bigger outlines, bigger pictures, that I don’t have."

"Sorry to hear that," he tells you, evidently not sorry at all.

Your brows furrow as you lean forward, taking the time to really look at the shorter man this time. "Except something weird happens every time I talk to someone. Specifically Commander Erwin."

"Which is?"

"The commander is pretty hellbent on mentioning your name every time we have a conversation."

Levi’s stare hardens. “Right.”

"In fact, Hange just now mentioned you.” You pause. “Aren't you curious about what they say?"

"No."

The word leaves his mouth too fast. You realize instantly that it's a lie. You press on.

"They tell me that you know me."

He scoffs. "I already told you that, dumbass."

"No you didn't."

"I did," he argues. "In Trost."

"Your twenty-question crusade three months ago is not the same as just telling me how I know you," you snap right back. "This isn't some acquaintanceship. They act like I know you incredibly well. Better than I'm supposed to know Hange or Petra or Erwin. And they all refuse to talk for you."

“As the shitheads should.”

This conversation is running in circles and getting nowhere.

Whereas Levi sticks to his conviction, your shoulders deflate.

"Captain..." You begin to stand, voice softening. “Captain, I want to—”

“Excuse me,” he abruptly states, turning on his heel to walk to the hallway.

By the time you stand at full height to follow after him, he’s already shut the door behind him.

.

.

.

.

.

“Hange.”

Their name is acidic on the tip of his tongue on purpose.

This isn’t a game.

Hange knows, too, because they take their fine fucking time walking down the hallway. Like — if the way they turn on a heel with a pursed smile is any indicator — that they already knew the conversation in that room with you would be short.

Levi can feel his blood boiling well over its limit. His hands are itchy, like they need to be doing something, so he digs half-crescent moons into his palms instead.

Hard, so it hurts.

Pain is one hell of a drug.

“Levi!” they call, feigning ignorance. “How was your talk with—”

“You kept it.”

It, because Levi knows he doesn’t need to elaborate on what exactly they’ve done. Over and over the scene replays in his head: the turn of your chin, your torso, with the glitter of silver in the afternoon sun just between your fingers at the collar of your shirt.

“I don’t know what you mean,” they sing-song, and Levi’s nostrils flare.

“You know damn well what I mean.”

“Oh — what, are you referring to the Lieutenant’s necklace?”

The first card is on the table in full show, and Levi’s all-too certain Hange believes they have a winning hand.

The white cravat at his neck threatens to choke him out when he swallows, maintaining a mere shred of his nonchalance.

“Of course I kept it, silly," they add.

“Why?”

“Even I knew how important it was to her.”

The sentence turns his tongue to lead.

Important.

“When did you take it?” he chooses to ask, pushing through the strain on his vocal chords.

“Before the doctors prepped for surgery, duh. Why? What’s so important about that stupid thing to you anyway?” Then they grin, and Levi knows he’s in deep shit. “Care to finally elab-or-ate?”

Each syllable is annunciated with such sickening clairvoyance that he instinctually turns the other way, opposite of the mess space.

Away.

Away, away, away—

“Oh, come on, Levi!” 

“Not now, Four Eyes.”

“But we just started getting to the bottom of this mystery!”

Too late. Hange’s lanky ass legs get the better of him. They outpace his stalking and eliminate the distance he’d been trying to clear.

For someone notorious for ending fights, he sure didn’t know why he started this one. Levi doesn’t want to be a part of this experiment, this thing, where they treat you like a fragile baby bird waiting for the moment you’re strong enough to fly on your own.

It’s insulting.

You were — are — more than that.

“There is no mystery,” Levi sours.

“Oh, please,” Hange groans. “I may not have perfect vision, but I’m not blind. You looked like you witnessed a titan trying to learn how to tap dance.”

“Fuck off.”

“Y’know, you’re going to have to tell her eventually before someone else does.”

So they did have a winning hand.

Levi abruptly stops walking to finally face the taller person. Hange’s tone remains in a sing-song, but their smile all but disappears. 

“Excuse me?”

“We all knew her, Levi. We know her,” Hange corrects. “Perhaps not as well as you, but things are going to start slipping out.”

“Not if you keep your damn mouth shut.”

“Why?” they challenge, crossing their arms over their chest. “I’d actually quite like my friend to fully remember me someday.”

“They won’t be honest memories, then,” Levi argues. “Just whatever shit you put in her head so you feel better about it.”

“What a pessimistic way of looking at it.”

“It’s our reality.”

Hange sighs in that way that Levi hates: saddened, like they know something he doesn’t.

He’s heard it countless times before the scientist made a devastating, truth-shattering discovery.

“Then I suppose you don’t want to hear that it helped.”

Levi turns into stone.

Hange pretends to be interested in the cuticles of their nails, tone light and airy. “Oh, didn't you ask? Or are you still pretending she’s a tree with legs in HQ’s yard?”

“You’re lying.”

“Now that’s just hurtful.” The smile returns. “Look, Levi: the minute she took a look at that necklace in the box, it was like she came back to us. Even if just for a moment, I swear, it was her. I’m no cranial injury genius, but I like to think that the more she interacts with things that are important to her, the more memories it may trigger.”

The sharp pain in his palm returns.

Had he been holding that fist this entire time?

Things that are important to her.

Even without its origins spelled out, the necklace meant something to you. You wore it under your uniform just as you always had before the accident. Close to the chest, its meaning hidden from most of the world.

Maybe Pyxis has the right idea to drink on the job, because Levi’s one more bad day from breaking open a cork just to taste something a little more bitter than what fate’s allowed.

(What memories came back to you?)

He could ask.

He could play stupid just to see if Hange’s telling the truth.

He’d rather get swallowed whole, but it’s better than turning around and asking you.

“What did she remember?”

Hange, thrilled that he’s taken the bait, leans in to keep the conversation private. 

“She told me that the silver necklace came with her from the Underground.” Oh. “She’s had it since she was a kid.” Oh, shit. “Said it was the only thing she’s ever owned.” Shitting shit. “Sounds like the exact same story she told me when Erwin made her a Scout — the whole fend-for-yourself mentality, the crappy childhood, blah-blah-blah. We don’t need to dive back into all of that.”

No, he doesn’t.

What he needs is to take a breath, but his lungs stopped working twenty words ago.

Hange is waiting for the gotcha right on the tip of their tongue, a years’ long question in the making, but he refuses.

Can’t — because those are your secrets to tell, not his.

“Is that it?” He asks, feigning neutrality.

“You sort of interrupted the epiphany,” Hange grins, “but yeah. That’s all. Nothing’s stopping you from turning around and hearing it for yourself, you know. I’m sure it’ll make you feel a hell of a lot less crummy if you do.”

Yeah, it probably would.

Because your memory’s coming back, with or without him.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has sent me anons about this story! I'm having so much fun writing it. I appreciate your likes and notes xo.

[mandowifey]

Headcanon request for either Albert Shaw or Arthur Harrow as a dad. But honestly, I would accept such a Headcanon for any villianeous character you write about. So surprise me.

This has been sitting in my head for awhile, so I'm excited to get to work on it.

I'm gonna do both these handsome fellas!

° ° °

Fatherhood

Albert Shaw & Arthur Harrow x Reader HCs

Warnings: Hints of Dubcon, definitely Noncon, implications of above mentions, crazy boys around kids, reader is not referred to by specific gender terms but is able to get pregnant.

♡ ♡ ♡

Arthur Harrow, first and foremost, wanted a child.

A child to him is a means of keeping you beside him. The bond would tie you two together forever. He likes the sense of control it brings him, especially over you. When you first met him, you were on the pill and mentioned never wanting kids of your own. But Arthur, as he does, convinces you otherwise. Perhaps even it was an 'accident'. He is certainly the kind of man who would swap your birth control with sugar pills. But he'd smile anyways and assure you it was fate.

While pregnant, you would be doted over. Every need met, whether it be from him or his followers. You would be given luxury and love and treasured like a little goddess. This is Arthur's child, after all, and that baby would be considered a herald. He would enjoy sitting with you, head on your stomach as you two talked. He would additionally make sure you ate well and took all the things you need for a healthy child. Arthur enjoys touching your belly while he reads or falls asleep. You have never looked more stunning.

When the child arrives, Arthur is in love immediately. While most wish for a boy, he always wanted a girl. Regardless, he was happy with whichever. He would sit beside you and help you cradle the crying newborn, imagining all the great things your baby would grow to accomplish. You, as the carrier, get to name the baby. Arthur would suggest names of course but leave the choice to you.

Fatherhood suits him. The man is extremely patient and controlled. He is great with teaching your child and helping them along. You've never heard him laugh so much before. There is considerable joy in his life now, and it shows. That baby would be raised with love and expectations. However, he is stern and unrelenting. The child never gets away with anything, and punishment is taken very seriously. It will learn that for actions, there are consequences.

I think Arthur would be a natural with parenting and fatherhood. He'd enjoy the molding of such a young life. He would eventually ask you for another, and maybe one more, once the first is a little older.

○ ○ ○

Albert Shaw has never wanted children. As a child, he was violently abused and mistreated. He can not mentally grasp the responsibility of a child (even if he can raise and train a dog, it's different).

That being said, in this instance, you are a victim/obsession that he's grown fond of and wants to keep. Pregnancy at its core appeals to him. The idea of his seed stuck inside of you, the fact that you are forced to grow and bear something that is equal parts his own excites him. He enjoys the thought of you being stuck with a piece of him inside of you and for life. But that is just about where it ends for him.

When you start showing signs of pregnancy, he'd simply watch. Maybe, depending on if he really enjoys you, he'll give you water and use his softer tone to reassure you that all was well. He does find it arousing that your skin clears and breasts swell - he'd be very interested in those. When your tummy grows, he'd touch it and talk to you about it, generally wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"How does it feel? Being stuck with a piece of me inside of you."

When it came time for birth, you were most likely alone. Stuck in the basement and forced to go through the entire process alone. In this instance, if you survived, he would return home surprised to see and hear a baby.

There is a long pause, and he is gripping and loosening his hands. You can't really tell what he's thinking. You would be filthy, tired, barely awake if not for that need to protect your newborn. He would come across the room and shake his head, scolding you about the mess you made. You are afraid when he sits beside you and looks at the child. Part of you wants to believe he cares, but you see no semblance of love in those eyes of his.

He'd sit in silence for a while, wincing if the baby cried. Eventually, when you got too tired to keep awake, he'd take the child out of your arms and leave the basement.

And you would never see the baby again.

[ink-and-blood-goddess]

First Time (Arthur Harrow x Reader)

Requested by @sarasiadati-Hi can i ask for a fic harrow x reader (smut_romance_lemon) where its reader's first time and she is so afraid. But harrow take care of her and tickle her and her clit is her weakest spot . I love your writings😘 you are one out of ten😘😘

A/N-Finally another Arthur Harrow fanfic request all finished up. Sorry if I made you wait for this, but it was worth it trust me. As a heads up, I’m already in the process of making the next Character List so be on the lookout for an announcement/update. Also, I’m still playing catch up with other fanfic requests, so please be patient and give me time…

Other than that, please enjoy 🙂    

Oh, and thank you for the compliment. It means so much to me that others, including you, enjoy my writings 😘💕

Warnings: FULL BLOWN SMUT, fluff, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, some fingering, slight orgasm, slight nudity, and some language 

Citrus Scale: 🍋 (SMUT BELOW THE CUT! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!!!)

W.C+: 2.3K

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You’ve been with Arthur for two years now. Living happily together and doing everything together. Well, except for one thing. Neither of you had sex with one another. It was a topic that either of you have discussed about doing together as a couple. But there was one thing in the way of it. You were a virgin.

You’ve never had sex in your entire life. Never have you done it with anybody if you had been in a serious relationship. The only thing you’ve never thought of, until now.

It was nice and warm outside. The smell of Spring blew through the community living area, after it had got done raining. The Spring rain always had a lovely scent to it, even at night. You’ve opened the windows to your shared bedroom, as the rain slowed down a bit earlier. Little rain droplets plopping down onto the windowsill into little puddles of water.

 The white window curtains blew swiftly in the night time breeze. Dancing along with the Spring air. You sat on the bed, across from the window reading one of your books. The bedroom was quite spacious for you and Arthur. You had your things and Arthur had his.

 As you read, the breeze blew gently across your bare legs. You felt your skin prickle at the cool touch, making you shiver a bit. The only warmth you’ve had on was a baggy sweatshirt covering your entire upper body.  The other piece of clothing you have on was a pair of pantties. You wore this to bed every night whenever it was nice out.

After you turned a page in your book, the sound of tapping cut through the silence. But you knew what that sound was. It was the sound of Arthur’s cane. The sound of it grew closer and closer towards the doorway. 

The door to the bedroom creaked open as Arthur entered through the threshold. Closing your book now, you set it on the nightstand beside your side and turned to look over at Arthur.

Arthur looked graceful as ever. He turned to close and lock the door behind him, with his cane in the other hand. Looking over his shoulder, a smile spread across his lips and looked over you with his beautiful blue eyes. They glowed ever so brightly in the light.

“(Y/N),” he whispered, “you look so beautiful tonight.” He said, as he started to walk over to the bed. The tapping of the cane resumed on the stone tile floor.

“As ever,” you said back in a chipper tone. Arthur chuckled at the remark, “yes as ever.” He lowered himself and sat on the soft bed at last. Arthur hung his cane on the edge of the bedpost on the head board. Then he took off his sandals and placed them near his nightstand.

He turned himself over and laid on his side to face you. You could feel your heart fluttering, as Arthur looked upon you with his hungry eyes. “You look very stunning sitting like that next to me,” he breathed out. Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off of you for a moment.

Then he slowly moved his hands over towards you, grabbing a hold of both of your sides, and pulled you over to him. You felt his fingers grip onto the cloth of your sweatshirt and feel the sheets beneath you glide against your bare skin.

You giggled and squealed a bit as he pulled you closer and closer to him. Finally within his grasp, Arthur started peppering your face and neck with a bunch of kisses. His lips ghosting your soft skin each time they left. It felt like he was devouring you with his love.

Squirming beneath his grasp, you couldn’t contain your playful and delighted giggles. Arthur lightly chuckled as continued to kiss you. After a few moments, he placed one final kiss on your soft and tender lips.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, “I couldn’t help but kiss you when I saw you just laying there. Always makes me smile, you know that,” he said as he ran his hand through your soft (H/C) hair. You loved it whenever Arthur played with your hair. Feeling his fingers run through the strands.

Your eyes fluttered, as his slender fingers entangled and wrapped themselves around the strands. “Oh (Y/N), you’re so beautiful. You and me, we belong together,” he said as he placed another kiss on your forehead. Arthur was right. The both of you belong to one another together.

“(Y/N),” he said, but with a normal tone, “I would like to try something new tonight with you.” You arched a brow at him and sat up against the headboard. Arthur removed his arms from you and returned them to his sides. “What would that be Arthur,” you asked with a curious tone.

It took him a few moments to think over what he was going to say to you. He was biting the edge of his lower lip and then licked them with his tongue. “We’ve been together for two years (Y/N). I think it’s time to try something new.”

“Like what exactly Arthur,” you asked, as you crossed your arms. Arthur continued to think for another moment. Whatever it was, he was being careful with what words to say to you. Arthur took several deep breaths at a time.

“(Y/N),” he said in a soft tone, “I want to have sexual intercourse with you.” 

You felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. He finally said it. Arthur wants to have sexual intercourse with you now. You were fearing this would happen one day. You sat up quickly in surprise.

“Sexual intercourse,” you said in a surprised tone. You started fiddling with your fingers as your heart began racing inside your chest. “I-I-I don’t kn-kn-kn-know Arthur,” you began to stutter, “do you think it’s a good idea?” Asking him in a panicked calm manner.

He tilted his head to the side, looking a little confused by your answer. “What do you mean by that (Y/N),” he asked, pushing himself closer to you. Feeling very confused, you raced through your mind to find the right answer to that question, but nothing came out of your lips.

“It’s okay, you can tell me what it is.” He said in a softer tone. After several moments of thinking it over, you found what you were going to say. “Arthur,” you said slowly, “I’ve never had sex before.”

Arthur’s eyes widened with surprise from what you said. “You’ve never had sex before,” laughing a bit after asking you that question. You shook your head no. “Not once. Not with one person.”

Arthur still looked stunned at you. Flabbergasted more like it. He tried to laugh it off for a moment, but quickly covered his mouth with his hand. You felt your heart drop to the bottom of your stomach. “You don’t love me, do you Arthur,” you asked in a low voice, rolling over onto your side. Facing away from Arthur.

“No no no no no no no no, I didn’t say that,” Arthur defended his reaction, “I’m just shocked that’s all. I just didn’t know that about you.” He placed his hand on your shoulder. Reassuring you that he did nothing wrong to hurt your feelings.

You turned back over towards him, looking into his gentle blue eyes. “You mean it?” Asking him softly. He nodded his head, “Yes. I mean it.” Sitting back up against the headboard, you continued to gaze softly into his eyes.

“(Y/N). I’d like to try something with you.” You arched an eyebrow at him. “What is it Arthur?” Asking him in a much calmer manner than the first time. “Since you’ve never had sex before, I want to give you a headstart experience.” He began to motion you towards the middle of the bed.

“Arthur, what are you doing?” You asked in a curious voice. He began to softly shush you, “don’t worry my dear (Y/N), I’m going to be very gentle with you.”

You felt his hands rub up and down your bare legs, making you shiver beneath his delightful touch. Then you felt his hands go up to your hips, slipping his fingers beneath your pantties. Slowly, he began to pull them down your legs with his slender fingers. 

The soft material glides across your skin, making your heart race a bit. Arthur was being careful with pulling down your pantties. Slipping them off over your feet carefully, Arthur held them by the edge and then tossed them over to the side of the bed.

His hands then began to trail back up over your legs, towards your thighs. Feeling his fingers moving around in circles against your cold skin. A sensation runs rampant through your veins, rushing towards your head.

You let a soft gasp as his hands and fingers moved around on your thighs. “You like that don’t you,” Arthur asked with a smile on his lips. You slowly nodded your head and whispered yes to him. He let out a light hearted chuckle.

Then he moved his hands towards your inner thighs. “Please hold still. This won’t hurt a bit,” he said as he started to move your legs apart slowly. Gently pushing them apart and spreading them out on the bed. The warmth of his hands sent another sensation across your body, pressing them against the soft flesh.

“My my. What a pretty thing we have here,” he said in amazement. Slowly, his right hand crawled towards your upper, inner thigh where your clit was. Once he stopped there, he started moving his two fingers around in small circles. Sorta tickling you in a way.

A small laugh escaped from your lips, making it tingle you almost. “You like that my dear,” Arthur asked in a curious manner, tilting his head to the side. “Yes. I do,” you said with a bright smile, “I’m very ticklish. Even down there.”

“Ticklish? I’ve had no idea,” he said with a devious smile. Still, he continued to move his fingers in circles on your clit. Making you laugh and gasp at the same time. “Let’s take this up a notch, shall we,” he said with a serious tone.

Moving his fingers away from your soft clit, he brushed them over your slick and wet folds. Another shiver went down your back, as you felt the tip of his fingers hovering above your opening. Making little circles around your soft area. Then, he started to slowly push his two fingers inside of you. Placing his other hand softly on your other thigh for a better grip.

A moan escaped from your lips, as his fingers began pumping in and out in a slow movement. You gripped onto the bedsheets with both hands, digging your fingers deep into the silk cloth. 

“You’re loving this. I can see it,” he said in a playful tone. You nodded your head, as another moan came out. “Fuck.” You said in a low, soft tone. Arthur continued to push his two fingers deeper into you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you said repeataly under your breath. 

What was this sensation you were feeling? You felt your face flush and eyes fluttering. Heart racing like a running rabbit. Hands continued to grip onto the sheets.

“Alright my dear. Let’s try something you’ll really enjoy,” he said as he pulled his two fingers out. An emptiness filled you once his fingers left your slick folds. Like a hole caving into your empty stomach. You were very breathless. Breathing in and out slow and fast at times.

Lifting your head up from the headboard, Arthur got onto his knees and began to pull his pants down. As he did, another gasp came out of your lips. Once they were pulled down, you saw something graceful. His cock.

It was a normal length, but looked a bit bigger and longer. His cock rested between his two legs and upon neatly trimmed hair. 

Arthur’s pants dropped down to his knees and slowly slid out of them. He then threw them off to the side of the bed where your panties landed. Your heart began pounding much faster, as you looked upon his naked lower form.

Grabbing a hold of your legs again, he slowly pulled you down towards him. You felt the sheets slide against your bare skin. Your entire body going limp, as you laid beneath him now. “Now hold still my dear, I won’t hurt you.” Arthur said, as he lowered himself onto you.

First, you felt the tip of his cock brush up against your slick folds and then he thrust it into you. A loud and deep moan came out of you at last. Pushing deeper and deeper inside your opening. Arthur let out a soft groan from his thin lips, making another push into you.

Both your hands lost their grip on the bedsheets and became numb. Then lifting them up, you wrapped both arms around Arthur’s thick waist. Locking them with your still numb hands.

Another loud moan came out as Arthur thrusts into you again. “That’s right. Take it in slowly my dear (Y/N).” He whispered in your ear. A fiery sensation burned through your entire body. But what was it though? This made you breathless thinking about it. Your heart was racing faster than ever. It felt like a bird trying to escape from a cage that won’t unlock or open up.

Still, having this moment with your love Arthur, made it more special for you in every way. Having sexual intercourse for the first time with him made you dizzy and amazed at the same time. Everything felt great for you now. You weren’t afraid anymore.

Having this very special moment with Arthur made everything lighter for you to feel with your whole body. Every single nerve made you tired, but you’ve still got some energy left for the rest of the night. 

You want to feel more from Arthur. Now you’ve had something special happen with you and it was with somebody you’ll love for eternity for teaching you this moment in life and in your everlasting relationship.

[jokeringcutio]

Harrowing Love - (Asylum Patient!) Arthur Harrow x (f) Reader - 18+

Summary: It started against your will, yet, you find yourself more and more falling in love with this man. Asylum Patient Harrow x Reader, Breeding Kink fic. There's a way for Ammit's powers to come out, but Harrow and his goddess will need you for that. [ Read it on AO3 Or continue below ]

Fandom: Moon Knight (TV) Pairing: Arthur Harrow x Reader Lots of warnings on AO3, but to name a few: 18+, explicit material, will contain smut, breeding kink, noncon/dubcon/eventuallycon, age difference, older manxyounger female, Strangers to Lovers, and much more! Dedicated to @nicktremblaywayfu & Lotsa notes below the chapter.

*~* Intro *~*

“Jot it down, a stronger dose is needed for patient forty-seven, Arthur Harrow,” the nurse said, eying her younger colleague.

“He can’t keep his hands off our nurses. During the day he is actually quite docile and pleasant, but at night, a whole different person emerges. He keeps grabbing our nurses and getting quite handsy. Plus, he is incredibly strong when he has one of these psychoses. I think we need to double his dose and prevent him from harassing our colleagues. I have two of them who are refusing to work the night shift because of him.”

The younger nurse quietly scribbled down the new instructions and bit her lip. Her heart thumped in her chest, loudly, for both her former leader and her Goddess Ammit.

~* ~

“And?” the young nurse asked her taller friend, also dressed in a nurse’s outfit. They stood in the faint amber glow of the night light, safely away from Arthur Harrow’s chamber. Faint roaring faded until the drugs had made the man fall into a dreamless sleep.

“You were right,” the taller nurse replied. She pressed a hand to her chest to calm her own beating heart. “It is a good thing you called for me. Ammit is alive in him. Whenever he roars at night it is because she tries to come out,” here she paused, and both listened if they heard footsteps, but no one approached. The hallway remained quiet. “She reached out for me, mad with a desire to be free. Said that in order to be free, she needs Arthur to – Oh, I can hardly say it, but there is no kinder way to translate it - she literally said breed. It must be due to her crocodile nature. Surely it wasn’t intended to sound this harsh but yes. She says Arthur needs to breed. Then she tried to reach out for me, but I sidestepped her.”

The smaller nurse frowned, lost in thought. “You mean, our leader has to procreate?”

“A child,” the taller one said again. “She asked for a child produced by Arthur to unleash part of her powers within.”

“Did she say how this is to be done?” The other nurse asked again, worried. “Can it be done with anyone?”

“I can understand ancient Egyptian, but I do not know how to answer in it,” the taller nurse said. She paused and then smiled down at her friend. “But I do think by her hiss that I was not suitable. I would have let them if they had wanted me,” the nurse blushed now. Her smaller friend did the same, being of a similar state of mind. Who did not want to be the lucky chosen one to bear the famous Arthur Harrow’s child?  Especially those of his followers who had seen his power and awaited Ammit’s paradise with bated breath – none would refuse.

“We shall have to see who is suited then,” the smaller one replied. “Will you stick around to help me, Monique?”

Monique nodded with a knowing smile. “I could use the extra hours,” she said, chuckling. “Besides, I have missed our friendship. I’ll gladly stick around.” She hesitated. “So, what do you say? You’ll be up next?”

~ * ~  ONE ~ * ~

Arthur Harrow had seen you arrive from his spot behind the patio windows. It was a spot the nurses had put his wheelchair so he could enjoy the greenery outside of the hospital. He was stuck in the psychiatric ward part of it, but from this point, he had a view over the entrance that lead to the hospital part. The normal hospital was attached to the psychiatric ward via two heavily guarded doors and a hallway. They had made it deliberately difficult for the psychiatric patients to get into the hospital area because some of the patients would try and escape via that route, acting as if they were normal. Arthur wasn’t one of them though. He was content with just sitting and enjoying the little things in life. Not that the state he was in allowed for much more, with the heavy dose of medicine given to him.

But his content didn’t mean he had given up on his purpose. Ammit was still alive through him and within him, and at the beginning of his stay here he had brokered a deal with her that he would let her do whatever was necessary to get out, so long as she would spare him until she was free again. He was her vessel, nothing more. Valuable to her, because she inhabited his body, but powerless compared to how he was before.

She seemed to have accepted his offer and treated him as her avatar and servant still. She would leave him to his peace during the days and only emerge during the nights.

It wasn’t until one of the new nurses came to inform him of Ammit’s words that he understood the goddess had found a way to unleash her powers once more. It was a tricky, risky little plan, as patients were not allowed to become intimate with guests or other patients. But he understood that if it had to be done, it had to be done.

The task of producing a child now rested upon his shoulders. But Ammit and Arthur both held reservations. Arthur hadn’t been intimate with others for a long time. Not since he had joined Ammit on her quest and not since he tried to do penance for mistakes made earlier in his life. It didn’t help that he had become sort of numb and insensitive when it came to feelings such as arousal. Having known pain for most of his life, and now growing older and not feeling sex to be a necessary thing, Arthur had started to take delight in the fact that he felt no need to be intimate with lovers any longer. Asexual, one might even say. If the need for release became too high, and it seldomly was, he could always use his hand. But he found no pleasure in the act itself.

So to hear he had to perform intercourse to please his goddess was greatly unsettling to him.

He shared his reluctance with Ammit, who was uncomfortable in the body of the man and found herself more attracted to the male humans. On top of that came the many requirements she held for the one to carry Arthur’s child. A list, Arthur faintly was aware, which was long and demanding. It held things about looks, purity, innocence, fertility, and even factors that would ensure the child would be exactly as Ammit had pictured it to be.

A list full of needs that would never be met.

Arthur Harrow took delight in that knowledge, for it meant that he would not be forced easily by his goddess to lay with a woman he had never met before.

The nurses were another point of bother. Arthur had become aware that slowly, one by one, the asylum staff was being replaced by Ammit’s followers. A good thing concerning his safety, but a troublesome development for his privacy. The nurses would often appear at night to offer themselves to him as a potential mate. But when he had refused them all, they would bring in potential mates. Both young and mature women had been paraded in front of him, while he had been paralyzed. They had placed their hands on him and had tried to seduce him. But none had achieved the desired effect. Ammit had cursed Arthur silently for remaining unaffected and limp, but she had praised him afterward for respecting her list. It seemed neither of them had been tempted by the partners offered to them.

Which brought everything back to you. Arthur caught sight of you only a few weeks ago. He watched how you followed your mother into the hospital area, and how you left about an hour or two later. Intrigued by your looks and the way you moved, he asked the nurses to put him in this same spot again the very next day. And it had been like this for a while until he had discerned the pattern.

You came here each week on a Friday afternoon, visiting along with your mother who drove the two of you. You would arrive around two, then visit your elderly grandmother to play games with her in the hospital cafeteria and chat. After about an hour or two, the two of you would leave with a wave and a smile. Grandma would be in the hallway, in a wheelchair of her own, waving back at you while you smiled brightly.

That smile. It did things to him.

For the first time in years, Arthur felt himself stir. Aroused to a point where he felt his hands would no longer do. It could never be enough.

He longed for you ever since the first time he clapped eyes on you. It was a feeling he had tried to subdue, but it was no use. Ammit had felt it – and how could she not when she came to the surface in his body to find him fisting his own stiff cock? Ammit had taken delight in it.

Even now she watched along with him through his eyes and growled gently inside his head, the sound of approval.

You ticked all the boxes on Ammit’s list. Ammit, who despite having been sealed in Arthur’s body, still held some of her powers and instincts. Unlike Arthur, she didn’t need to hold your hands to read your scales. She could sense things like this. As if being trapped in his body had made her more like a crocodile in the water, eyes and nostrils still above, observing everything while being unobserved herself. Only those who knew she was there would be able to spot her. And she had sensed you were fertile and ready to become a mom.

Young enough, she crooned inside of Arthur’s mind, for more than one hatchling. Pretty enough, she continued, for you to enjoy. Innocent enough, she concluded, for her scales to tip to the light.

Arthur’s eyes darkened when he saw you enter the hospital, towing after your mother. He signaled with his hand, alerting the tall and slender nurse that belonged to his community. She came to stand next to him, placed her hands on the edges of his wheelchair, near his shoulders, and leaned down. She squinted her eyes, observing you and your mother as you entered the hallway.

“That girl,” Arthur murmured, voice weak by the number of drugs pumped through his system. Inside of him, Ammit crooned again. Make her swell, she thought, pump her full of your cum and see her turn round with your child. Let me pass my powers onto your hatchling.

“That girl?” the nurse asked, she gestured with her head.

Arthur merely nodded. There were no others he could have meant. Your mother would have been that woman. The nurse in the hallway would have been that nurse. And it was clear he wasn’t indicating any of the three elder men who sat in the hall, waiting for a taxi to come to pick them up.

The nurse slowly stood up again and nodded thoughtfully. “Let me bring you to your room so you can prepare.”

No questions asked, no doubts spoken. Arthur was glad she was like that, a follower who did not doubt the ways of Ammit. He felt how the chair dipped back slightly, then started to glide over the floor. Contently, he tapped his fingers against the armrests of the chair, humming a soft tune while the nurse wheeled him back to his room.

Inside of him, Ammit chortled happily. ~ * ~ End of Chapter ~* ~

AN: Hello dear readers, here's another shameless self-indulgent Patient Harrow x Reader insert I promised to write for someone. It starts out quite dark with the non-con start, but rapidly transforms into a more romantic tale with the angst slowly bleeding out of it and the fluff coming into play. I enjoy writing the more daily and ordinary activities for this. But there'll be lots of smut as well. Expected length: *Story length, no dirty thoughts tusk * I have not finished it yet, and knowing me, I am very curious to find out if I ever will. When I do, I will update the expected chapters for this fic in the chapter count, so keep an eye on that. Note: Despite the series being set in America, the situations and locations in this fic are based on my experiences in the local hospitals and on traditions in my area. You will see a lot of European influence. Requests: Thank you for sending in requests for scenes in this fic. I have tried to add as many of the requested situations as possible. I'll make a banner for this tale once I have decided about the title. Also, if people have Arthur Harrow stock material they wish to share, send it to me :3

[azsazz]

A Court of Four Horsemen

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Based off of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse featuring Rhysand as Conquest, Cassian as War, Eris as Famine, and Azriel as Death.

Warnings: War, famine, death, smut...a little bit of everything.

Word Count: 5,319

Notes: So so excited for this one. I've worked really hard on this and I hope you all enjoy it. Three parts to follow. Welcome Rhysand to Azsazz.

_________________________________________

I. The Lost Girl

It was the day the moon fell.

A cry that could be heard across Prythian, halting the townspeople in their tracks, conversations falling quiet as the hairs rose on the back of your neck, the pure anguish in the scream, streets shaking and birds flocking away in its wake.

The High Lady of the Night Court was dead.

Word had spread fast, the angry High Lord of the Night Court had lost the one thing in his life he thought he’d have forever, and now he was going to avenge her by taking over all of Prythian. 

If they wanted a war over his declaration, he welcomed it, forming a group of his most trusted warriors, mounting their steeds and setting out across the lands, ready for whatever the other High Lords were set to decide. They could join him and perhaps rule under him, or they could die.

They rode for six days across his lands, spreading the word and dealing with those who did not agree. All four were skilled in the art of killing, each had their own interesting ways to convince the fae that did not want to stand under his reign.

On the seventh day they reached a small town, your town. It was nearing nightfall, and they had traveled for such long hours that day that they knew there wasn’t another city for hours, considering themselves lucky to have found this one, as not even the High Lord had known this little village thrived off of his lands.

Thrived was not the correct word to describe the settlement you lived in, but it would have to do until the morning.

He rode into your town on a horse as white as the freshly fallen snow with a babe on his hip. He was the stark opposite of the wild creature beneath him: smooth, tanned skin, hair as silky dark as the night sky, wearing only the most expensive onyx fabrics. He did not look ready for war, no, he was dressed to conquer.

Following him were his comrades; a warlord who donned gleaming crimson siphons, face set like he hadn’t smiled in centuries, eyes harrowed with too much battle. He sat atop a stallion reminiscent of the red mountains of the Night Court, a large, gleaming sword settled comfortably in his grip, as though he was born holding the saber.

An auburn haired male followed on a well fed dark horse, reflecting that of stormy midnight. Your eyes widened as you realized it’s mane and tail were made of flame, hot, red and wild like his spirit, carrying the weight of his torturous father, how he hoped to kill the male and any High Lord that stood in thier way, bodies turned to ash and swept away with the wind they left on.

Ending the pack of powerful males was death incarnate. A pale horse below him, its coat the sickly pallor of a corpse, and you knew without a doubt that he would be the last thing you see when your time comes. The animal's hair seemed alive, made of dark mist, curling around Death's ear like they were whispering secrets to him, and when his hazel eyes cut to yours from underneath his black hood, you looked down immediately, bowing your head in the presence of them.

They had come with word that your territory was now under the rule of the future High King, who passed his babe off into the awaiting arms of the warlord as he addressed your town. The crimson glow washed across the babes sleeping face as the commander shifted him in his arms, asleep against his chest, still looking as menacing as battle itself, even with the fragile child in his grasp.

No one dared object as his violet eyes scanned the crowd, waiting patiently for some poor soul to do so. Death’s grip flexed on his knife as his shadows slithered through the crowd. They stopped when they reached you, and you stood completely still as they twisted up your legs and torso, reading your body language. One stalled in front of your face and you stared directly into it, into death itself, before they skittered away and back to their master.

You watch intently, nervous, fingers clutching at the fabric of your pants as you observe what seems to be a silent conversation from the party above. They stand tall upon their steeds, eyes going unfocused for only a moment, before the leader’s stormy violet eyes fall upon you.

Something happens then, your muscles lock up and you can’t move, can’t look away from that intense gaze. You’d heard about him, his powers, the male upon the white horse could shatter a mind with half of a thought. Maybe that’s what he was trying to do with you.

Show us where we’ll be staying, his silky smooth voice echoes in your mind instead, his abilities caressing against the inside of your head, goosebumps breaking out across your flesh. You can’t nod, too tightly under the wrath of his powers, so you think your response and he lets you go.

You gasp a short breath, swaying in your spot. He’s not the sort of male you keep waiting, as you slink your way through the crowd and towards the four warriors. The closer you get the more you notice; the dark crown resting upon his head, the bow stretched across his back. They are all incredibly beautiful and command attention with ease. You are sure that they will not fail their mission. These are not males to be messed with, and the crowd is dismissed as soon as you break from the mass of people, stepping up to face his horse.

He looks down upon you, you eye the jutting structure of his jaw, he looks as if he himself is in need of a hearty meal and a good night’s rest.

“What is your name?” he asks, and it’s the same silky voice that had purred in your head only a moment ago.

“It’s (Y/N), my King,” you respond politely, giving them all a bow.

“(Y/N),” he tastes your name on his tongue and finds he quite likes it, smirks as he speaks next, “Lead the way.”

It’s nothing much, your town, small and poor and not even on any map. How they had found it and why they thought making the trip here was beyond you, but you didn’t question it as you led the way to the best inn for travelers.

The babe awoke with a cry and Death immediately took him into his arms, singing him a harrowing song in a beautiful voice, low and raspy until the youngling settled, staring up at the male with wide eyes. 

The male on top of the black horse takes note of the fae within your town, most wearing ratty old clothes that do nothing to block out the bitter cold, their bones jutting out from hunger. He will not have much to do here.

The warlord scans the scared passerby, but stops only after seeing a few. He’s come to the same conclusion that the fiery haired male has, that these people were hungry, and they were not fit for war. He’d have to recruit warriors from somewhere else.

“This is the nicest inn we have,” you don’t know why you’re embarrassed. Perhaps it was the intimidating and spectacularly clean foursome before you, clothes thick and pristine, made for the harsh winters wind. You didn’t have a say where you grew up, how poor you were, but your cheeks reddened nonetheless as you gestured to the decaying boarding house.

The leader dismounted the horse with ease, landing lightly on his feet beside you, reins of the white beast held tightly in his hand as the horse shook out its blinding white mane. He was even more beautiful up close and you had to turn your head away to control the pounding in your heart.

“Where can I tie up Glory for the night?” His voice is soft, thankful even, as he pets his steed on his nose, admiring his animal.

“There’s a post just around the corner,” you start, turning on your heel to lead the pack to the stumps in the ground. The earth should be frozen enough to keep them upright all night, for you knew in the summer with the rain turning the dirt to mud the posts would fall over.

“No need to show us, (Y/N), I’m sure we can find it from here,” he gives you an easy smile, eyes gleaming like the stars about to appear in the night sky. “Though we are in need of something to eat, if you would be so kind as to point us in that direction.”

You swallow harshly, knowing full well that the only restaurant in your town was closed, the chef having succumbed to the illness that struck the town this time yearly. Thinking quickly on your feet, your respond just as nicely, “No need to worry about that milord, I will fetch you all something, even the babe. Why don’t you all get warmed up and settle in while you wait?”

He eyes you curiously and you wonder if he thinks you’re going to poison them. You wouldn’t, didn’t have the resources if you really wanted too, but you can’t help but fidget underneath his gaze.

“Very well,” he nods his head to his comrades, who take off on their horses in the way you’d pointed, “Formalities are unnecessary. Please, call me Rhysand.”

“Very well Rhysand,” your response is curt, and he dismisses you with his own nod, turning on his heel to follow the direction his friends had gone. You miss the glance he takes over his shoulder as you walk back towards your own home.

__________

You scrounge up just enough to make a pot of stew for the visitors after pleading to some of the people you trusted. When they were weary, needing food for their own families and thinking you wanted it for yourself, a simple lie on the behalf of the soon to be King helped you out. One of them even offered you milk from their family goat for the babe.

The owner of the inn you knew well, and offered up the dirty kitchen for you to use, even going so far as to scrounging up mismatched bowls and utensils to serve the food in.

One by one you ascended the rickety stairs, creaking with every step you took, delivering the food to the warriors.

Famine eyed the bowl and then you hungirly, as if it was you he wanted and not the food. You clutched the bowl and cup in your hands tighter to stop them from shaking beneath the gaze of the gorgeous male. He took the food without a word and closed the door in your face.

Death offered to help you, taking his own food as well as the babes bottle while you carried the warlord's portion. He moved silently and kept on your heels, your heart racing just a little bit faster as you felt his shadows swirling at your ankles. You shuddered as one slithered up the back of your spine, nearly tripping on the stair before you, but he steadied you and you caught a glimpse of his massacred hand, white-knuckled around the glass before he snatched it away, pulling down his sleeve over it with his teeth.

You couldn’t see the look on his face as he towered over you once you reached the top of the stairs, back pressed tightly to the wall behind you. Your breath was stuck in your throat, all you could see was the sharp smirk on his pink lips, hood pulled down and shadows swirling around the rest of his head. It was all you could wonder if his scarred hands matched the skin of his face.

You were both curious and terrified and you think he can tell by the way his smile lifts higher, catching the loud beating of your racing heart in his ears before he’s turning away, his robe swiftly following like his shadows down the hall.

The babe is with the warlord again, who’s shirtless, tanned skin glowing in the dim faelight. You know he could warm you in an instant if you were tucked up beside that large, muscular body, and your cheeks heat as you stutter out your words, passing him over the food.

He gives you a cheeky smile in return, looking you up and down once before stepping back and letting Death sweep into the room, thanking you for the meal. You nod once, spinning around on your heel as fast as you can before you’re making your way back down to the kitchen, nearly tripping down the stairs for an entirely different reason.

You lean against the counter trying to get your bearings. The utter beauty of these males was one thing, but they were dangerous, very much so, and you didn’t need to be getting caught up in the middle of it, no matter how desperate you were.

You scoop up the last of the hot stew and dump the pot into the sink – you’ll clean it when you come back down – you make for the stairs one more time, legs burning with underuse. You catch your breath at the top of the stairs, slowly making your way down past the other three rooms to his own.

You knock on the door with your foot, both hands occupied, and you need to catch your breath all over again once he’s opened the door.

His hair is slicked back and tousled, wet from washing up, like it was all he could bother to do to wrap a towel around his waist and run his fingers through his hair before opening the door. His skin is still dewey, and you swallow hard as you follow a drop as it rolls over his collarbone and down his pectoral.

“(Y/N),” his smirk is filled with mirth, eyes dancing with mischief, the very one that hadn’t been emoted from him since the passing of his mate. He hadn’t felt much of anything since then, only anger and the burn to avenge her the only way he knew how, to become the King of Prythian, and no one could stop him.

But you were something else. Kind and caring like his mate had been, treated so poorly by the people of your town, not sure where you really belonged, though you knew it wasn’t here. You were a dreamer and he noticed that.

“Here you are my King,” you bow your head once more, offering him the bowl and cup, praying that he takes it instead of staring down at you as he leans against the door like he’s doing now.

He likes the way you call him King, even if he hasn’t taken over the other courts yet. It has a nice ring to it, especially the way you say it and his cock awakens as you do. But you needn't call him King quite yet, for now Rhys will do just fine. He tuts, crossing his arms over his chest, causing those muscles to bulge and your mouth to run dry. “Now, now, I thought I told you to call me Rhys.”

“Sorry, Rhys,” you squeak, flushing bright red as you stare into his intense eyes.

The side of his mouth quirks up into a smirk as he finally takes the food from you with a gracious smile. “Tell me (Y/N), have you eaten yet?”

And you want to lie to him, to tell him that you’ve eaten before they arrived or that there’s more food waiting downstairs, to turn around and run and never look back. Surely you’d be gone from his mind by this time tomorrow, and you could pleasure yourself to the thought of any one of these males everyday until the end of your terrible life.

But you can’t lie, because he will know, and by the look he’s giving you now as he retreats a step backwards into the room, he already does.

“Ah, no,” you clasp your hands together in front of you nervously, wavering in front of the door.

“Come on, I don’t bite,” he grins as he settles on the edge of the bed, nodding for you to join him. His voice purrs in your mind, making your heart jump, Hard. 

You fist your hands in your dress, taking a steadying deep breath that doesn’t calm your nerves at all, and you step inside of the room, closing the door behind you.

He was a beautiful male, and you wanted this – wanted to spend any amount of time with him that he’d allow, only if it even were just talking and sharing a bowl of stew. He needed this just as much as you did.

So that's why you join him on the bed, taking a seat on the edge, springs squealing as you sit, a leg tucked up under you. Rhys gives you a lopsided smile as you settle, cheeks pink with the embarrassment of your town’s awful everything.

He offers you the first bite, wiping the drips over the edge of the bowl and leaning in close and holding it out to you. As you part your lips you wonder if this is how he feeds his own babe, who’s being taken care of by the other members of his group.

You can’t imagine what he’s gone through, having lost a mate he’d spent so little time with. Finding your own mate has long since left your goals in life, exchanged for keeping yourself alive by any means necessary.

Taking the spoon into your mouth, you grimace at the taste, immediately embarrassed about serving this slop to males who had clearly eaten better than this their entire lives.

Quirking an amused eyebrow at your expression, Rhysand scoops up a bite of his own, and he tries to keep his face schooled in a calm expression, but you laugh when you see his lip curl slightly.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” you ask, though you know the answer. You want to know what kind of a High Lord he is, one that will lie to his people, or one who won’t sugar coat his thoughts.

“Oh, it’s absolutely awful,” he scoffs with a smirk and you glare back playfully, “But I won’t complain about a hot meal served to me by a beautiful female.”

And then you’re blushing again, looking down at where your hands rest atop your bent knee. This male…Gods, he was something. His sensual smirks and bright eyes, his way with words, you could see how he would be a great High King.

He reaches out gently, placing a hand beneath your chin and lifting so you’re looking into those earnest violet eyes again. 

“It’s true,” his voice is soft but you can hear the raw honesty of his statement, the silent suggestion behind his words.

Maybe he was just hurting. Missing the mate that had been taken from him and his child too soon, wanting to think about something other than the gaping wound in his chest, the empty feeling where she should be…

“Don’t,” he shakes his head, “Don’t think that.”

“Rhys–”

He cuts you off with a hum, “Nuh-uh, please,” he requests, bringing the spoon to your mouth again, “Let’s just enjoy this.”

“As much as we can,” you mutter, taking the bite of food.

He huffs a laugh, eyes glimmering, but he keeps quiet.

And he won’t stop looking at you like that as you share the rest of the meal. It’s gone before you even know it, but it’ll be enough to last you until your next meal…whenever that should be.

“Let me,” you offer, trying to take the bowl from his hands but he’s leaning back, keeping it from your reach as you lean further and further into him until you’re nearly toppling over into his lap, using your hand on the bed to keep you upright.

“No need,” he whispers, and he’s so close his breath causes your eyelashes to flutter. You watch the dirty bowl disappear into thin air, swept away in a dark mist and when you look back at him you catch his eyes flicking up from your lips to settle on yours.

“That’s a–” you swallow harshly, suddenly all too aware of how close you are to him, but you don’t want to back away, “That’s a neat trick.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest and you can smell his arousal like the candle he’d lit across the room and you wonder if your own scent is as captivating as his. It’s all you can do to not shut your eyes and lean into his neck, sucking in a hearty breath straight from the source.

He clears his throat a little, leaning in just a bit more and you nearly go cross eyed looking at him as he purrs, “Do you want to see another?”

“That depends,” you murmur, “Does it involve anything else disappearing?”

Rhys’ smile is feline, “It involves my cock disappearing into that tight little cunt of yours.”

His mouth is on yours before the words even register, taking your face in both of his hands as he leans backwards to lie flat on the bed, pulling you with him.

You settle across his hips, one leg thrown over each side of his own. The towel he miraculously still has tied across his waist is thin and you can feel his hardened cock beneath the cloth.

It’s dizzying. His feverish kiss, tongue poking out and asking for permission, his fingers gentle with just the right amount of pressure as he explores the length of your body. You’re in bliss, drunk on lust as you courageously swirl your hips in a soft circle, a noise of pleasure escaping the High Lord.

“Have you ever…” he asks as you kiss down his torso, licking a hot stripe against his freshly showered skin. You can feel his muscles flexing beneath your tongue and your pussy throbs with anticipation.

“No,” you admit, cheeks flushing as you look up at him, wide-eyed. The innocent look on your face has him groaning, tossing his head back into the pillow for a moment, his cock pulsing from it confines.

“Don’t worry,” he’s breathless, tugging you back up to his lips and kissing you desperately between words like you’re a drug he can’t get enough of, “I’ll take good care of you.”

He brushes your hair back from your face messily, fisting it at the nape of your neck as you climb back down his body. His other hand rips the towel away, his cock red and stiff and dripping at the tip. He circles a large hand around it, giving it a few rough tugs and you swallow thickly at the sight. He grunts, nudging your head towards his cock.

You poke out your tongue, giving the head a kitten lick that has him shuddering beneath you at the unexpected sensation. You don’t know why, surely he wouldn’t have been expecting you to take him completely when never having done this before. Your pussy clenches at his reaction and your heart pounds in your chest, nervous and excited to feel him in your mouth.

So you did another thing he wasn’t expecting, taking him as far into your mouth as you can, hitting the back of your throat pleasurably. Rhys’ hips bucked up instinctively, his hand holding your hair firmly in place and you gagged slightly, a wet squelch coming from the back of your throat where his cock hit and he rumbled with pleasure.

You plant your hands firmly on his hips, eyes watering as you let him take control, conquering your mouth and abusing it like he owns it. You whimper at the taste of him, heavy on your tongue, swirling around as much of his cock as you could, using your hand to twist around the base of it.

He moans. Your mouth is so warm, and so wet. It had been too long since he’d fucked, he can feel his orgasm building rapidly.

But he is nothing short of a gentleman, as he lifts you off of him with a hiss at the loss, the cool air of the room caressing his throbbing cock as he flips you over onto your back, a squeal leaving your lips, fingers scrambling for purchase, clawing as his back. 

He kisses you because he can’t stop himself, moaning at the taste. You let your hands slide up his torso, smooth and soft as butter, and you moan at the feeling as he lowers his chest against yours when your hands wrap up around his shoulders and bury in his midnight hair.

He parts your legs with his own, rutting his firm cock against the crease in your pants. 

You gasp at the sensation, mouths pressed firmly together, his tongue hot against yours. Your heart is racing in your chest and his hands climb up your sides, exploring, shoving your shirt up as he goes. You struggle to slip your arms from the fabric, lips still moving feverishly against his own, but your naked torso arches up into his, skin burning against yours.

Rhys moves from your lips, dragging them across your cheek, down under your ear, sucking a mark harshly into the soft skin while you turn your head away in bliss to give him more room. His hands snake up your body again, a fistful of your breast in one hand while the other jerks your thin shirt from around your neck, mouth back against your skin in an instant.

You moan as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling sensually around the pert nub as he rocks into you again, the material of your pants against his sensitive dick has him grunting. He needs you out of those immediately.

He takes his time, kissing every inch of you on the way down, fingers playing with the waistline of your pants, dipping below the fabric. It has your stomach clenching, swooping with want, whining when he removes his hands completely, only for him to rip at the laces of your pants a second later.

And he’s tutting as you clench your legs together, the coolness of the room an icicle against your exposed cunt. His large hands spread your legs apart and he eyes your pussy like it’s such a prize.

“You are exquisite,” he murmurs, kissing along your thigh, nipping and suckling, dragging his lips across the soft skin.

His eyes watch you, returning the favor as he licks tentatively across your clit, your low moan and arching up into the air has Rhys going back for a second taste.

It’s too much but not enough at the same time. This clearly is a male who knows his way around a female’s body, but it’s driving you nuts the way his tongue swirls and fucks, pulling you just to the edge but never quite letting you freefall into orgasm. No, he wants you to beg, like all of the High Lords will beg for their lives when he comes to take over their courts.

And you’re a female of survival, will do what you have to to make it through the night, to get what you want out of the High Lord who’s bowed down in front of your cunt, lapping into it like he was made for it.

“Please, Rhys,” you whine, burying your fingers into his hair and twerking your hips against his tongue, trying to get him in the perfect position. It almost works until he stops your movements with a palm settled across your midriff.

“Fuck,” he moans, licking a hot stripe across your pussy, “Say my name like that again.”

“High King Rhys,” you lower your voice, eyes half-lidded and looking down at him where his face is buried in your cunt, “Please let me come.”

He does, adding his fingers into the mix, fucking into you with abandon, dragging against the bundle of nerves that has your breath heaving, body tensing as he helps you topple over into your climax, fist in his hair, the other curled in the sheets, legs shaking as you come with a cry of utter pleasure.

He’s climbing up you while you try to catch your breath, sated from release. Rhys holds your face in his hands, kissing you too softly like it’s all over. It can’t be, you feel too good but you haven’t even felt his long cock inside of you yet, and you go to speak, but he’s pressing his cock into you and your mouth goes lax at the sensation.

It seems like it lasts forever, him pressing into you so slowly, the drag of his long cock pushing all of the air from your lungs.

And you feel so good that he can’t even kiss you, pressing his forehead harshly into yours as his hips settle against your own, nothing but the sound of your shaky shared breath filling the room.

Shit, you didn’t think you could ever be so full, and its pure euphoria, the starbursts behind your shut eyes, Rhys’ lithe body pressed firmly against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist, holding each other so tightly you don’t want to let go.

Can I move? He asks into your mind because he can’t speak. Because he’s using every ounce of resolve he has to keep himself from ravishing you completely. 

Gods, please, you respond mentally, and then he’s pulling out and slamming back into you just as quick, ripping a moan from your throat that settles deep within his bones.

He sets the pace, rocking into you rhythmically and with fervor, like he hasn’t enough time. His kisses are all teeth and sounds of arousal, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind while he’s fucking into you like the God he’ll be when he takes over Prythian.

It’s nearly too much to handle, the way his chest glides across yours with each thrust, his lips searching for yours in a desperate kiss, his hands everywhere as if he’s mapping each and every single thing about you, admitting it all to memory like the first and last time you’ll be together.

And you claw at his back because it’s the only thing you can do besides moan. You can’t even put words together to form a complete sentence, a plea of his name here, a cry of pleasure there as the feeling of your orgasm starts building within you.

Rhys hits that spot everytime without fail, no matter what position he puts you in. Leg lifted up around his shoulder, flipped over on your stomach, riding him. It’s like he’s inside of you somehow, knows exactly where his cock feels the best, buried deep within your tight cunt.

You come with a howl of his name on your lips and you’re sure everyone in the inn has heard you begging the future High King for release. And he fucks you through it, drawing out your keen as long as he can, cock somehow even harder as he praises himself.

He pulls out with a grunt and then he’s coming all over your stomach, spurting across your chest until he’s spent, collapsing back on his haunches as he stares down at you. His pupils are blown wide as you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, swirling a finger around in the come on your stomach, then ever so slowly raising that digit up to your lips and sucking on it lewdly.

“Oh,” he breathes, and his cock twitches with interest even though he’s just orgasmed, “You’re coming with us, (Y/N).”

[urfavstargirl1]

don't dream it's over

Part 6 to the series Chemistry, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5-- Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

stranger things masterlist | Spotify playlist

summary: thanks to Eddie Munson, Y/N faces the consequences of breaking her parents number one rule: no boys allowed. After a month of no fun, no friends, and no boyfriends, Y/N makes a harrowing realization about just how much she misses the "freak" of Hawkins High

cw: angst, fluff, anxiety, hurt/comfort, shy/nerdy!reader, pre-ST4, cocky!Eddie, swearing, strict parents,

a/n: this chapter was a long time coming so I thank you all so much for waiting patiently. I also meant to end the story at the 6th chapter but my last chapter did mitosis again and this isn't the end (just yet), but for now enjoy this extra long chapter

“Eddie,” Y/N cries out in despair. 

“It’s ok sweetheart. I’m right here.” Eddie replies. 

 He tightens his arm locked around her waist and pulls her body closer to his. He breathes in the scent of her hair. Feels the warmth of her body pressed against his as they lay in his bed.

“I-I need you,” she calls out to him, too afraid to turn over and look him in the eyes.

“It’s ok, I need you too.”

“But I can’t. I-I’ve never needed someone like this before…”

***

When Y/N woke, there was a brief moment of reprieve. 

Her swollen eyes struggled to widen amidst the soft sunlight peeking through her blinds. She breathed deeply, barely on the brink of consciousness to relish the last waking moment she would have before remembering the horrors of the past twelve hours. 

Soon enough, the look on her mom’s face and the tone of her dad’s voice came flooding back to her. The memories loom accompanied by an intense pounding in her head. 

She’s reminded of the tears she had cried throughout the night, but now, there’s only silence. 

Numbness overcomes her, and for the rest of the day, Y/N simply floats by, barely interacting with the world around her. 

At breakfast, lunch, and dinner, she looks down at her plate and only opens her mouth to take a few bites of whatever is in front of her.

In the calm clear morning air, her parents reinstate her month long punishment with the new addition of having her phone privileges taken away too. 

Y/N knows from her sister’s many moments of being grounded that the punishment usually entails promptly coming home from school, with the exception of extracurricular activities, and only leaving the house for family outings. But for the first time, it’s Y/N’s turn to be on house arrest. Forbidden from seeing Eddie and any of her friends.

And if it wasn’t drilled into her head before, the whole, “no fun, no friends, and no boyfriends” thing was permanently embedded in her skull. That and the idea that those are all worthless distractions from the only thing that does matter: doing well in school.

Y/N almost wants to complain. A thread of anger in her shouts that this is all unfair, but a bigger, much louder part of her knows the harsh reality: life isn’t fair. And this is exactly what would happen by doing something as stupid as falling in love in a house that forbids it.

Now, she’ll have to pay the price for her idiotic actions and make sure nothing like this happens again.

Even when she hears a faint tapping on her window later that night, only to discover Eddie climbing up the roof of her house.

Y/N starts hyperventilating and feeling the blood in her veins scream. 

“Eddie, what are you doing,” she whisper yells, from the window cracked slightly ajar.

Eddie, with his tongue slightly poking out of his full lips, lost in focus from trying not to fall and quietly make his way to her window, doesn’t hear her. 

As he climbs Rapunzel’s tower, a small part of Y/N can’t help but feel her heart soar. On this cool autumn night, here Eddie is, climbing the edge of her parents house in his signature leather jacket he fills out so well and chunky ring clad fingers clutching the railing. 

As Eddie nears her windowsill, Y/N stands in front of it like a guard, blocking his attempted entrance.

“Hey sweetheart,” he reaches forward and caresses her cheek with one calloused hand while the other holds him upright, balancing carefully on the rooftop. “You didn’t call. I was starting to get worried.”

“Eddie, you can’t be here right now,” Y/N frantically states before looking over her shoulder. “My parents could hear you. I could get in trouble for this.” “I know,” He sighs, “But I wanted to see you.”

Eddie smiles at her, not in that million dollar gleam way he always does that she loves so much, but in that bashful heart warming way that makes her stomach do a whole gymnastics routine.

Y/N shakes her head and firmly states, “I don’t care. You need to go home Eddie.”

Eddie frowns, partially at her words and also at the sudden realization that her cheeks have been stained with what were presumably tears.

“Eddie, please.” Y/N shoos him away. The pleading sense of urgency is audible in her voice.

Eddie takes a beat, realizing the events are not unfolding like he imagined they would have.

He knew it might take some convincing. Nothing with Y/N has been easy, but he thought throwing rocks at a girl’s window always worked, at least in the movies it does.

But the frazzled look on her face and the shaky look in her eyes right now say otherwise.

“Eddie, please, I’m serious. You need to go home, right now.”

She looks like she could be on the verge of tears and that alone is enough to make Eddie stop. His heart absolutely broke at the sound of her cries over the phone last night. It would practically kill him to be the one bringing tears to her mesmerizing eyes.

“Ok,” he replies reluctantly before slowly making his descent down the side of the house. 

When his muddy Reebok sneakers hit the pavement, he’s left disoriented. Not that the climb had any effect on him, but Y/N’s mood was just so off putting. 

He knew she would at least be bummed. He imagined her parents would get mad and maybe even ground her and that’d be enough to have her properly pissed off, but he didn’t expect her to be so… perturbed.

 Maybe it should come as no surprise, given how anxious she was before she got home last night. And you’d think after all the things Eddie’s cynical eyes have seen, he would know better than to have hope, but something in him can’t help himself. For once, he wanted his expectation to meet his reality no matter how much he wished he didn’t.

For Y/N, all sense of hope disintegrated the night before. It feels like nothing even matters. Once in a tug of war between her parents wishes and her own, the rope got yanked out of her hands making her fall in the mud.

She couldn’t run away. She couldn’t fight it. All she could do was freeze. Freeze and retreat into a hole of safety and familiarity which was obeying her parents and keeping any hope of something with Eddie tucked away at the back of her bleeding heart.

***

The silence continued the next day at school, where a cloud of doom loomed over her incessantly. Y/N breezed by, narrowly escaping the minimum amount of effort required of her classes and demands of friends or teachers.

Until chemistry class.

As soon as she walked in, Eddie, who normally arrives as the bell rings, was already there waiting for her. He rushed over to her and engulfed her in a warm hug.

“Sweetheart, what happened? Are you okay?”

Y/N pulled away, acutely aware of the odd stares from her classmates. But those were pinpricks compared to the blistering pain of her parents' wrath.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He frowns.

She shrugs his touch away, “Meet me in the woods behind the school during lunch.” 

Like clockwork, Eddie finds her sitting on the shoddy wooden bench in the clearing out past the track and field. The sound of his footsteps with leaves crunching under his feet and the chain swinging along his jeans announcing his arrival.

“Hey smarty pants,” he greets, gently teasing. He slides in the spot next to her and wraps a protective arm around her hunched over shoulders. He kisses the top of her head and the proximity of his actions brings the scent of soap and the sort of musky scent she doesn’t know what to call other than just, boy, to her nostrils. It makes her close her eyes and shoulders drop slightly.

“I was worried about you yesterday. Was hoping you might call, sweetheart,” he sweetly says as he cups her cheek.

Y/N turns the other cheek and looks down at her lap. His touch is too tempting. Her body yearns for him, but she can’t. She has to be strong enough to resist.

“My parents took my phone away. I’m not even allowed to use the main phone in the kitchen unless it's for an emergency,” Y/N glumly replies.

“I think a quick call to your local dungeon master counts as an emergency,” he teases.

“Eddie,” She looks up at him sullenly, “It’s not funny.”

Y/N looks down and Eddie frowns.

“Hey, look at me,” he softly instructs, turning her shoulders towards him.

She holds her breath and looks into his warm eyes. They’re so beautiful, she wishes she could just jump into his irises and swim in the warm lagoon of their honey hue.

“We’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

“How? My phone privileges were taken away and I’m grounded for a month. I’m pretty much not allowed to do anything but go to school.”

“Seriously,” he asks, arms tensing at the thought.

“Yeah,” she looks down dejectedly.

“That’s bullshit. Are you kidding me?”

Y/N frowns angrily and huffs. Like she doesn’t already know that. 

“Those’re the rules, Eddie” she shrugs glumly. “I have to follow them.”

Eddie exhales through his nostrils. “And what if you don’t?”

Y/N looks at him incredulously, “Eddie are you serious? I got the ass-chewing of a lifetime. I’ve never gotten in trouble like this before. I-I feel horrible for what I did.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

“Eddie, what are you talking about?”

“Y/N did nothing wrong. Your parents are just blowing this way outta proportion. Teenage rebellion is good. Healthy even.”

“Look Eddie, just because you can get away with being rebellious doesn’t mean I can.”

Eddie huffs in frustration. “I’m just saying, you need to stand up for yourself. Your parents are only gonna keep controlling you if you let them.”

Y/N opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

“And besides, who are your parents to stop you? I mean, think about it. The first time you do something like that, it’ll shock them, but the more you do it, the more they’ll get used to it. Then they’ll have no choice but to face the fact that we want to be together.”

Y/N looks at him in disgust and shakes her head before looking up at him with fear in her eyes, “Eddie, what the hell? I barely made it out of there alive.”

Eddie drops his shoulders he hadn’t realized were tensed up.

“You just don’t understand. It’s never gonna get any better. And even if it did, I… I wouldn’t want my parents to just put up with us dating. I love my parents and I don’t want to disappoint them any more than I already have.”

Eddie looks her square in the eye and throws the curveball of a question, “Y/N are you really disappointing them or are you finally doing what makes you happy?”

Y/N jerks her head back. She doesn’t know why his words cut as sharply as a knife as they do, but it stings nonetheless.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters to me is being with you, the right way. I want my parents to accept us.”

“And what if they don’t?”

Eddie looks into Y/N’s eyes.

“Are you only ever going to do things they approve of?”

Y/N’s teeth clench and her lips purse. She grabs onto the wooden table for stability as she feels tears threatening to spring from her eyes, but she can’t let Eddie see her cry. She can’t. 

The question in her mind that has her on the verge of explosion: Is it really so wrong for me to want to date Eddie and have my parent’s approval too?

Eddie’s features soften at the sight of her state of deep tension. He has to remind himself that Y/N isn’t the one he should be mad at, it’s her parents. Even though Y/N is the one freely letting her parents drive the wedge between them even deeper. 

A small part of him is envious. He almost admires Y/N’s willingness to obey her parents. And the way she doesn’t hate them for what they’ve done. She hasn’t even thought to continue dating him just to spite them.

And yet, the bigger part of him, full of spite and resentment he has toward his own parents, is angry, both at and for her. He crashed and burned trying to get his own father’s acceptance way back when and doesn’t want her to do the same. 

“Look, I’m just… I hate seeing you like this,” he presses a palm to her back and gently rubs. “I know you really care about what your parents have to say, but they’re wrong about us, about you,” he whispers as he brings a hand forward to caress her hair. “Y/N, listen, you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

Y/N breathes in deeply, “Eddie… You didn’t see the look on their faces. It was like-like I’d taken their hearts and just smashed them into tiny little pieces, right in front of them.”

Eddie wants to say something, but is rendered speechless. He wants to complain about how unfair her parents are being or how ridiculous it all is, but he can see how upset she already is. He doesn’t want to be the one to bring any more tears to her precious eyes.

He wraps his arms around her and whispers in her hair, “I know.”

Y/N leans into his touch but doesn’t wrap her arms around him back.

Eddie takes a deep breath in and slowly pulls away. “So what are we gonna do now?”

Y/N peers up at him, through her curled lashes. Her eyes like falling stars. 

“I think we need to call it.”

“W-What?” He chokes.

“I can’t,” Y/N sniffles and shakes her head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“What?” He sighs and frustratedly runs a hand through his hair, “Is this really what you want?”

Y/N shakes her head, “No, but I–”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie calls out to her, making her heart constrict. Y/N looks at him from the corner of her eye. “Remember what I said to you that night, on the phone?”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at Y/N awaiting her answer as she reluctantly nods.

“I meant it, okay? Every word. I’ll do whatever it takes for us to be together. To have a shot at finding out whatever this is, it’s the least we deserve, right?”

He moves his head to meet her gaze. 

“I want,” his voice cracks and he clears his throat. If Eddie starts crying then Y/N will surely cry too and absolutely none of that can happen.

“I need you in my life, Y/N. And I know you feel the same way too.”

Y/N’s breath hitches in her throat. Hearing Eddie say he needs her in almost the same way she did to him in the dream she’d had that night makes her heart drop to her stomach, but only for a moment.

“Eddie, it doesn’t matter what I feel. And there’s nothing you can do to change the fact that my parents won’t let us be together.”

Eddie takes one good look at her. The creases in her forehead. The tension in her shoulders. The pout on her pretty lips. And the nervous look in her eyes. The kind of look you have when you need to be on guard. Before, it was just her heart she had to guard, but now it’s her spirit too.

“And besides, what’s the end game here?”

“What?” Eddie shakes his head in confusion.

“I mean, even if we did… date, how long could it possibly last?”

Eddie blinks, completely thrown for a loop by her question. “I don’t know, as long as we can keep it going I guess.”

“Eddie, what’ll happen when we graduate? When I go off to college?”

“I-I don’t know. I hadn’t really planned out our relationship Y/N,” Eddie says in a snappier tone than he’d meant. He knows Y/N likes to plan ahead, but even for something like this?

“Maybe they’re doing us a favor. Saving us the trouble.” 

Eddie tenses, fighting his lip from quivering at the thought.

“Do you really believe that,” Eddie’s voice cracks and Y/N looks away.

She wishes her father’s words could go away. That they could’ve just gone in one ear and out the other. But they didn’t. They stuck to her. And as much as she’d like to believe in the little dream that anything is possible, she knows it's better, safer to be realistic.

For Eddie, it doesn’t matter if their relationship lasts 10 days or 10 years. And yeah it’ll hurt like hell when it’s over either way, but for her, he’s willing to take that chance. Or so he thought

“So that’s it? We’re not even going to try and see what this could be?” He asks in a steady and calculated voice.

Y/N frowns and looks away. When he puts it like that, she feels ridiculous, idiotic. Like a fool for not even trying. But how could she? How could she be brave enough to stand up to her parents? To stand tall in the face of adversity?

To cower in fear and hide away is what she’s always done. She did it whenever her sister did something rebellious and had to face the ugly consequences. 

Y/N thought she could avoid that fate. All she had to do was obey her parents. If she did what she was told her life was easy, familiar, and safe. 

“Eddie, I just…”

Y/N can feel her heart being torn down the middle. It’s killing her to let the people she loves down. If it’s not Eddie then it’s her parents. But she can stand to disappoint Eddie. She can’t stand to disappoint her parents anymore than she already has. She never wants to experience that ridicule again. 

“For the first time in my life, I felt brave. You made me feel brave. You made me feel alive. And happy. But maybe it was all too much because then…then it all blew up in my face. And now, I’m scared. 

I'm scared it’ll happen again. I’m scared that even wanting something like this makes me a bad person. I’m scared that I’ll lose you again because of something I have no control over. 

So yeah, I’m sorry if that’s not the answer you want, but it’s the only one I’ve got.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. He’s surprised by her answer. And if she wasn’t giving him the worst news possible, he would be proud of how assertive she’s being. If only she could channel that energy toward her parents.

“I think it would be best if we just acted like none of this ever happened. Now that our chemistry assignment is over and done with, I think we should just go our separate ways.”

And before he even has a chance to say anything, Y/N gets up from the table and runs away in the direction of the school. 

Her muscle memory has her making her way to the cafeteria, but as soon as she sees her friends sitting at their usual spot, she freezes in her tracks, almost bumping into someone walking with their lunch tray.

“Watch where you’re going,” they spit at her.

Y/N tenses up and looks back at her friends smiling and laughing. It should make her happy to see her friends so happy, but at this moment, all she can feel is the fragile lines of her heart cracking into broken pieces.

 She can’t do it. She thought she could at least handle lunch with them, but not today. 

She makes the great escape from the cafeteria till her legs bring her to the safe haven of the school’s library. 

She takes a spot towards the back, behind rows and rows of bookshelves by a window with a view of the student parking lot. 

She spots a few of the jocks cutting class. For a moment, she almost hopes Eddie might come and find her. But more than anything, she just wants to scream.

***

For the rest of the week, Y/N avoids Eddie like the plague. Much to her chagrin, Eddie’s persistence has resulted in many a chicken scratch written note in her locker.

Y/N please, can we talk? I miss you like crazy. If you change your mind, I’ll be waiting by my van after school today (p.s. I promise I’ll be on time).

You didn’t show up yesterday. I guess you had an after school thing. One of those clubs you’re in that I forgot about. Ever the lovely smarty pants. Anyway, I have to stay after school for Hellfire today. Just so you know, the drama club doors are always open. 

I know you won’t talk to me, but I just wanted to say you look really pretty today. Well, you look pretty everyday, but especially today.

I listened to the mixtape you made me. I wish I could tell you in person, but I think I might not hate the Thompson Twins (Don’t tell the Hellfire boys though).

I miss you sweetheart, please don’t shut me out.

Y/N crumbles each of them up and shoves them into her bag, letting them collect at the bottom. It takes every ounce of energy she has not to succumb to Eddie’s poetic ways.

In the meantime, Y/N continues to laser focus on school and avoid her friends. 

She stopped eating lunch in the cafeteria and came up with an excuse to get out of any conversation with them in class.

Y/N didn’t want to have to explain what happened or pretend like everything was normal to anyone, so instead she’s choosing to walk the paved path before her alone. 

Whenever Y/N comes home, she hides away in her room like a crab hiding in its shell, only coming out at meal times or to leave for school in the morning. 

By the end of that long miserable week, Y/N asks her sister to take her to the Radio Shack. She’s been saving up her birthday money for an emergency and this was as much of an emergency as anything.

Normally her sister would object to chauffeuring her around, but even she felt a little bad for Y/N. 

Luckily, because her sister would accompany her, Y/N’s parents allowed the little field trip.

A brand new Walkman and a few tapes of her favorite albums might be the only beacon of hope she has for a while, at least until this all passes. If it passes. Unlike the storm that night in the back of Eddie’s van, she fears this torment may never pass. 

Eddie feels equally tormented by the whole thing. For one, he never expected to fall for a girl like Y/N. And now that he has, she’s just out of reach. Just his luck.

He knows the universe is just laughing at him like it always does, because for the first time in a long time, he actually had hope. Hope that even he can have a happy ending. But it’s long gone now.

As the days fly by and there’s no sign of change, he realizes this isn’t just a setback anymore. That there really might be nothing he can say or do to change her parents' minds. To change her mind.

And even if by a miracle, they could be together, he can’t help but feel sort of hurt and rejected by Y/N's insistence on avoiding each other and acting like what they had means nothing. 

Her act of obedience is not only taking her own happiness away, but his too. 

It hurt, but he hated letting it show. So he exchanged his pain for irritability or anger. 

He would lash out at the boys from Hellfire Club for the littlest things. He would drive home to the loudest most brash music he owned a cassette too. 

At the trailer, he would angrily pluck away at his guitar. And sometimes, on the more difficult days, he would even pick fights with angry drunks at the hideout just to feel something.

When it inevitably didn’t, all he had to do was turn to that lucky little black tackle box to take his pain and anger away. And oh, what a familiar delight that was.

Anything to numb the pain of losing her. And what could have been.

As Eddie began to turn to his vices for comfort, Y/N found comfort in a few bad habits of her own.

Self-imposed isolation in times of turmoil was one. She hardly spoke to anyone at home or school. She couldn’t be seen without her headphones on or the Walkman attached to her hip. 

It probably would have killed Eddie to know she couldn’t listen to Prince anymore. If she so much as listened to the first 3 seconds of any track on Purple Rain, she would fall apart.

But, on a hard day, she’ll pop in that one tape, lie in bed with the covers over her, and sob into her pillow as the ballad of Purple Rain flows into her ears like medicine.

The rest of her days include hiding away in her room or the library at school. She makes excuses to get out of hanging out with her friends. She cries at night and sleeps a lot during the weekends.

Another bad habit she turned to was extreme focus. All her newfound time and energy was devoted to the one and only thing in her life she could control: academics.

The self-imposed torture was alarming to many of the people in her life. 

During the first week of her punishment, her parents were taken aback at her change of temperament, but figured she was just upset. But the longer it went on, the more worried they got. So did her friends and teachers.

When they all tried checking in on her she gave the same excuse that she was just stressed about college applications, which to a degree was true. 

However, she could fool her teachers or her parents, but she couldn’t fool her friends. 

Michelle especially knew something was up. Even though Y/N hadn’t told her anything about what happened that weekend with Eddie, Michelle figured it must have something to do with the reason Y/N was acting so weird.

And even though Y/N wanted it to be kept a secret, Michelle told the rest of the girls in their friend group, out of concern.

Just like Y/N thought, they were shocked at first, but she would be surprised to learn just how happy they were for her. Happy that Y/N finally found someone, even if it was a freak like Eddie Munson. 

Immediately, they knew they had to talk to Eddie. Michelle was already at the defense, prepared to interrogate Eddie and literally fight him if he had done anything that would hurt Y/N. 

Little did they know that what hurt Y/N the most was not being with him at all.

***

After her one month punishment was served, Y/N the zombie still hadn’t left. She continued to shut the world out. 

Her parents tried to talk to her, wanting to understand why she was acting this way but she wouldn’t budge. She was giving them what they wanted, right? Anything more would be a death sentence.

And with early decision applications due soon, Y/N was in no place to waste time with friends or family or anything else that would distract her. 

She mustered up the energy to craft them to perfection. With near perfect SAT scores and gpa, all that was left was to refine her resume and essays. 

It only took many a sleepless night, but by the time she had a decent application together, she put them through an extensive review process.

She reviewed them with her current English teacher and every English teacher she had since she started high school. 

She found another school counselor who could review them and even reviewed them with the school librarian. 

And just when she thought they might be good enough, she even went to review them with the librarian at the public library in town. 

Countless hours of editing, hundreds of pencil shavings, and red pen ink stains later and she was almost there.

Before she knew it, that dreaded November day was upon her. If she wanted her application to arrive by the deadline, she would have to mail them in soon. 

One fateful Saturday morning, she sat in her room and rifled through her materials at least ten times to make sure every element of her application was present and accounted for, pristine, and completed to perfection.

She put them in the envelope and sealed it shut. With the packet addressed and ready to go, she left the house and bicycled over to the post office. 

She walked through the doors setting off a jingling noise to her ears. She walked over to the counter and handed over the packet to the person working there. 

In the blink of an eye, she sent three and a half years worth of work off its merry way to be scrutinized for her aptitude at the University of Chicago.

She had time before she would submit applications to her safety and reach schools. And with an application perfect enough for U Chicago, she knew she could reuse those same materials. 

But this was it. All those hours studying, volunteering, and working built up to this moment. And suddenly, the pressure built on herself was free to flow from her shoulders down to her hands into that packet and on their way to Chicago, IL.

As she walks out the door and the bell chimes again, a sudden and intense pang feeling hits her chest. 

Like a bomb, this gut level feeling hits her: she has no more control at this point. Between now and the time admission decisions get released, there is nothing she can do. 

There is nothing now.

As she reaches the bike stand, she begins to weep and instinctively, her hand flies to cover her mouth. 

At first it was a few hot tears quietly slipping their way down her cheeks. But then it became a deep seated cry, starting from her lungs and chest working their way up to her throat then her eyes and finally her head.

It had been weeks of crying, but now it felt explosive. For the first time since that dreadful night, she truly feels lost and alone. 

Without a goal to keep her company or give her hope anymore, she’s never felt so small. 

As she hops on her bike and cycles past a park, she wanders through a clearing in the woods. She finds access to a stream and hops off her bike to gently kneel before it, watching as the current lazily washes over the rocks. The light breeze in the air swooshes against her hair.

For a moment, she can see her muddled reflection in the water. Her teary eyes blinking rapidly and her cheeks red hot.

Once she was sure no one was around, she let it all out. No holding back. She held her head in her hands as she cried and screamed till her cheeks and lungs burned.

All these years, she’d spent 110% of her effort trying to be perfect for others, to submit to their scrutiny. It took every ounce of energy she had. The weight of it all that's been crushing her down all these years is suddenly gone. 

For the first time, the pressure is gone. The need to be perfect, at an all time low. 

It doesn’t matter what she does. Whatever is meant to happen will happen. The earth will still spin on its axis at a 23 degree angle. The sun will rise and fall no matter what she does. Or who she is.

At the very least, she’ll want to maintain her gpa to graduate as number 3 in her class, but otherwise… She doesn’t really have to do anything to prove herself anymore. 

She can finally breathe.

She lowers her hands and looks at her reflection in the water. She laughs aloud and sighs.

When there were no tears left to cry, she regains her breath, dusts herself off and cycles back home. 

***

Y/N feels a shift in her spirit. Like she's a new person, well, sort of. She’s no longer the girl that grinds herself to shreds to achieve her goals, well not until the next goal presents itself. But for now, she can relax. She can surrender to life.

What sort of person will she become with this newfound freedom? She doesn’t quite know.

When she gets home, she ignores the sounds of her parents and sister and goes upstairs. She locks herself in her room and searches through her closet. She takes out the dusty old half-used sketchbook. She sits at her desk, puts on her headphones, and starts her Walkman. 

She takes out a perfectly sharpened, long, yellow, number two pencil. She lets the pencil hit the paper and it flies.

She draws and draws and draws for the rest of the day. 

Without even thinking, she just draws whatever her hand feels like drawing. She fills pages and pages of the sketchbook. She never stops to eat or drink or even use the bathroom. She has years worth of drawing she needs to let out.

She draws pictures of Hawkins, her friends, memories of Chicago, her favorite album covers, her room the way it is now, her room the way she wished it had been decorated, her favorite movie posters, outfits she’s seen other people wear that she thought looked cool, people from school, landscapes of school, college applications, the stress of maintaining a perfect gpa, herself when she graduates, and Eddie.

She draws so many pictures of Eddie. Eddie in the library, Eddie at the diner, Eddie in his van, Eddie at the lake, Eddie and his beautiful long hair, Eddie’s lovely hands adorned with chunky rings, Eddie's tattoos, the new tattoos she had drawn on him that day, Eddie in a Hellfire shirt, Eddie in his Metallica crop top, Eddie in that jacket he wears like a uniform, Eddie with the chain on the jeans hung loose on his hips, Eddie with a bandana hanging out of his back pocket, Eddie in his room, Eddie playing guitar for her, Eddie teaching her how to play guitar.

Eddie Munson, the first boy to ever steal her heart. 

It all comes out of her so fiercely. It takes over her like a spell. She was in the zone. She didn’t realize the magnitude of the force of her drawing till she woke up the next day still seated at her desk. Light seeping through the slits of the curtains. She turns to the side and sees a plate of what must have been dinner off to the side of the desk. 

What? Who brought her that? When did they come in? Was Y/N already asleep? Surely they wouldn’t have left it if she was asleep. How did she not notice them? 

She looks back at the clock on her wall that reads 12:36. 

Y/N’s never woken up this late. What happened yesterday?

She looks down at the sketchbook opened at a page with a drawing of the Grease movie poster reimagined with her and Eddie smudged at different places.

Her desk is littered with pencil shavings, eraser filings, and broken or shorter pencils. 

She flips through the pages filled with at least dozens of new drawings. Some are messy and crude while others are bright and beautiful. 

She closes the sketchbook and holds it to her chest. She smiles and starts crying. She’s confused by the tears despite feeling relieved and realizes they’re tears of joy. 

After all these years, she’s still got it. More than ever before, drawing has brought her so much joy. Joy she almost forgot even existed.

She takes a deep breath in satisfaction. This alone is enough to keep her happy. Even if she never makes a penny on her drawings, she’ll continue to do them. She doesn’t care what kind of job she has, as long as it can afford her to live comfortably and have time for this. Drawing. It’s what makes her happy. It’s what feeds her soul. It’s what makes her spirit soar. 

She loves it so much, she just wishes she could share it with someone. But who? Her parents never cared for her talent. Her friends might think it’s cool the first few drawings but after that? Who knows. 

Someone knocks on her door and slowly opens it. And for some reason, Y/N’s mind instantly runs to Eddie.

But it’s her sister who peeks through the crack in the door before sighing in relief and opening it all the way.

“Phew, you’re awake. And conscious.”

“What happened?”

“You stomped home and shut yourself in your room which is what you usually do now, but whenever we called you for lunch and dinner you didn’t answer so we checked in on you to see a drawing demon possessed you.”

Y/N looks around her desk.

“Are mom and dad mad?”

“Nah. They were weirded out at first but then they were just glad you weren’t crying or sleeping.”

“Oh,” Y/N replies, not sure if her parents' reaction is a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Is everything okay? You’ve been acting really weird.”

Y/N glares at her sister. So much for the, now short lived, joy of drawing. 

“It’s nothing.” Her sister would never understand.

“Is it because mom and dad won’t let you date? Just do it in secret. They won’t know the difference.”

“That was me trying to date him in secret,” Y/N offhandedly admits to herself. “Guess I’m no good at it.”

“It sucks, but you’ll get over it and then next thing you’ll know, you’ll have moved on to the next guy.”

Y/N shakes her head. “I don’t want to move into the next guy. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. You of all people should know that it’s not about which boy I date, but about not getting to date period.”

“You get better about hiding the more you do it.” Her sister shrugs. 

“I don’t want to have to hide or lie about it. I hate doing that. I always feel horrible after.”

What Y/N wants is for her parents to be cool with her dating like her other friends' parents are. Y/N doesn’t want to feel like a bad daughter for falling in love. 

Before her sister can respond, her mom calls out from downstairs.

“Is Y/N awake?”

“Yes,” her sister yells out.

“Come down, lunch is getting cold.”

Y/N’s sister raises her eyebrows before turning around and heading down stairs. 

Y/N sullenly follows suit, trudging down the stairs. As she walks into the kitchen, she sees her family sitting at the table. Her mom's eyes light up when she sees Y/N.

Y/N begrudgingly takes a seat. 

“Good afternoon sleeping beauty,” her mom teasingly greets. The words make Y/N cringe, but she musters a half smile.

“How are you feeling?”

Y/N shoves a fork into her food, “Fine”.

Y/N’s mom pointedly looks at her dad. 

“We’re going to go to the grocery store after this, want to come? We can get your favorite cereal,” her mom excitedly offers. 

What is Y/N, five years old?

“No thanks, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been up in your room an awful lot. Maybe it’ll do you good to go outside. Get some fresh air.”

Y/N shakes her head, “What’s the point? It’s not like I’m allowed to do anything fun right?”

“Drop the attitude Y/N,” her dad scolds. 

“Y/N, you can’t be mad forever. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to have fun after high school.”

For a moment, Y/N thought she was in the clear. She thought things would get better again. But it turns out drawing was just the bandaid on a bullet wound. 

The next day at school, Y/N’s mood slightly improves, only if she’s scribbling in her sketchbook. 

Eddie notices her pulling it out in class and he could just cry. He’s so proud of her for getting into drawing again. He wishes he could say something to her or ask to see one of her drawings, but he knows there’s a line that’d be crossed if he did. 

Later that day, Michelle and the rest of Y/N’s friends decide to finally talk to Eddie.

“You’re Eddie Munson, right?” Michelle asks as she approaches Eddie at his table at lunch.

“Who’s asking,” Eddie defensively replies.

“I’m Michelle, a friend of Y/N’s,” Michelle says and Eddie’s eyes soften. “We need to talk.”

Michelle leads him over to their lunch table where Y/N is undoubtedly gone again.

As Eddie sits down, the other girls stare at him, some confusingly, others surprisingly.

“What’s going on with Y/N. Is she okay?”

Michelle looks at him cautiously, “We could ask you the same thing Munson?”

“What are you talking about?” Eddie asks in confusion.

“We know something’s wrong with Y/N and we know you have something to do with it.”

“Uh, I’d say it’s more her parents fault than anything.”

The girls look at each other confused. Eddie furrows his own eyebrows in confusion.

“What do you mean?” Michelle asks.

“I mean, I know I’m kind of at fault for not being careful enough, but I just didn’t think her parents were going to find out, you know.”

“Y/N’s parents found out about you?!”

“Yeah,” Eddie responds looking at them curiously, “Did she not tell you?”

“Y/N hasn’t said a word to us since that weekend,” Michelle says. “Any idea why that is?”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, “ I mean, I know why she’s avoiding me, but I don’t know why she would avoid you guys. She was grounded for a while and her parents wouldn’t let her go out or use the phone, but I’m pretty sure she could still talk to you at school.”

The girls look at each other in shock.

“Eddie, what exactly happened between you and Y/N that weekend,” Michelle asks. And Eddie tells the girls everything. 

He tells them about how it all started with a simple chemistry assignment. That they’d seen each other practically every day after school. How she wanted to see him again, even though she was afraid of being caught. How much they’d grown to like each other, especially after that day at the lake.

But when he brought her home only thirty minutes past curfew, her parents absolutely flipped out. Her mom was outside waiting for her and saw Eddie. He had no idea what happened after that.

But when she’d called him later that night, she was crying. She’d sounded so heartbroken. And the following Monday at school, she called it off. And he hasn’t heard from her since.

“We need to go find Y/N right now,” Michelle declares as she stands up. 

“And do what Michelle, interrogate her? It’s obvious she wants to be left alone.”

“She’s been left alone long enough. She needs us. All of us,” Michelle adds, looking pointedly at Eddie.

“And you, why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you do anything? You left her to deal with all that alone?” Michelle asks Eddie.

Eddie stands up and scowls, “Listen princess, you don’t know a thing about me, okay?”

Michelle and the other girls look at him with wide eyes and slack jaws.

“And I didn’t… I didn’t leave her to deal with it alone. I wanted to deal with it together, but she wouldn’t let me. She kept… pushing me away,” he mutters the last words through gritted teeth. He looks up at her, and she sees the pain and torment in his eyes.

Michelle looks at him with pity. She doesn’t know Eddie well, but it comes as a shock to see his tough guy persona facade crackling right in front of her very eyes. 

She sits back down and takes a deep breath. Eddie sits down with her. 

“Guys, what are we going to do?”

“Michelle’s right, maybe we should go talk to her, see what’s going on. Let her know we’re here for her.” One girl says.

“I don’t think it should be all of us though. I think she might get freaked out. You said she didn’t even want us to know right?” Another girl adds and Michelle nods.

“Maybe you should talk to her, Michelle. I think if it’s just you, she might be willing to open up.”

The lines in her forehead crease and she contemplates. “I don’t even know where to find her. I’ve seen her hide out in the library a few times and even then she always avoids me.”

“If she’s not there, she might be in the woods just past the school,” Eddie suggests. 

“I think she has honor society meetings on Wednesdays too,” one girl adds.

“That’s today,” Michelle exclaims. “Okay, I know just what to do.”

“Wait,” Eddie juts his hand out.

“What?” Michelle asks.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow and straighten. He blinks and opens his mouth, “I…” 

The girls all look at him as he searches his brain for the right words to say. 

“If you see Y/N, could you tell her that… I would let the whole world know I love Prince if it meant we could be together.”

***

For the rest of the school day, Michelle is lost in thought, planning out just what she’ll say to Y/N. A small part of her is worried the plan won’t work, but a bigger more determined part knows it will. 

She knows Y/N tends to retreat inward when times get tough. That she hates letting it show when she has a moment of weakness, but that was usually over a bad test grade or minor problem she was having with someone in honor society. It’s never gotten this bad before. 

Michelle waits for Y/N outside the honor society meeting room, nervously checking her watch. To her luck, Y/N is one of the last few to leave the room. 

When Y/N walks out of the room, she doesn’t notice Michelle at first. Michelle stands straight and calls Y/N’s name. Y/N stops, like a deer frozen in headlights. 

Michelle walks up to her and nervously smiles, “Hey.”

“Hi,” Y/N squeaks. 

“Can we talk?” Michelle asks. Y/N looks at her nervously. “I was thinking we could go for a drive? I can give you a ride home too, so you don’t have to walk in the cold.”

Now that is an offer Y/N can’t refuse. But she still blinks nervously. “Ok.”

The two walk to the front of the school. “How was honor society today?”

“It was alright. We’re getting ready for winter formal.”

“Oh, that’s exciting,” Michelle says, “and stressful?”

“Exciting, yes,” Y/N laughs, “Stressful? Should be, but I just don’t have it in me to care anymore.”

��What?” Michelle asks in amused surprise. “Y/N, not caring about something school related? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

Y/N weakly laughs. “It’s exhausting to care so much”

“Yeah, I hear that one” Michelle says as they get into her car. 

They continue to make small talk as Michelle pulls into the parking lot of the public park by their houses. It’s the park they used to go to all the time as kids. 

Michelle parks the car and looks over at Y/N.

“Hey girl, is everything okay? You’ve been really distant. The girls and I are starting to get worried about you.”

“Oh, haha, that?” Y/N laughs nervously, “sorry about that. I was just really caught up in college application season, you know? I just wanted to put all my time and effort into having the perfect application for U Chicago and didn’t want anything to distract me from it.”

Michelle sees through Y/N instantly. She knows there’s some truth in her explanation, but it’s not enough to explain the emotional distance too. But before she fully interrogates her, she decides to ease her way in. 

“So how do you feel about your application? Have you submitted it yet?”

“Yeah, I submitted it over the weekend. I, um, I feel pretty good about it. I know I did the best I could. Just sort of worried it still won’t be…”

“Good enough?”

Y/N presses her lips together and nods. 

“Y/N if U Chicago can’t see what a superstar you are, it is their loss, you hear me?”

Y/N smiles meekly, letting out a breathy laugh. 

“Seriously. They’d be so lucky to have you as a student. You’re the smartest, most hardworking and talented person I know.”

“Thanks Michelle,” Y/N softly smiles. “It’s all just really nerve-wracking.”

“I know, but we all believe in you. You need to believe in yourself too, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m… trying,” Y/N smiles weakly.

Michelle looks down at the sketchbook in Y/N’s lap and smiles up at her. 

“You’re drawing again?”

Y/N’s eyes widen, “Oh, um, yeah.”

“That’s awesome!” Michelle compliments, looking Y/N sincerely in the eye.

Y/N smiles shyly and looks away, “Yeah, um, now that I don’t have to worry about college applications that much anymore, I have more time for, um, this.”

“That’s really great. I’m happy you’re drawing again. I know how much you missed it.”

Y/N winces and smiles. “Yeah.”

Michelle leans over and peeks at the pages between Y/N’s fingers “Can I see one?” 

Y/N’s head shoots up and her eyes grow to the size of golf balls. She clutches the sketchbook to her chest and tenses her shoulders.

Michelle nervously laughs and leans back, “I mean, if you ever wanted to, I’d love to see what you’ve drawn.”

Y/N loosens her grip and looks down. In a dream world, no one would ever bear witness to her creations. To live inside her mind this way would be too invasive. But at the same time, what’s the use of creating something if it isn’t meant to be shared with the world. As scary as the world is, her best friend might be a good start.  

She opens the book slowly and flips through the pages to find one she knows Michelle will like. 

It’s a picture of all the girls together at Starcourt mall. The day they went to see Footloose together. She even drew the movie poster in the corner. 

She puts the book on display for Michelle and shs grabs the ends.

“Y/N,” Michelle squeaks, eyes widened in awe. “I love it.”

“Portraits and faces aren’t really my forte, but it’s a bit easier to draw things from memory.”

“No, no it’s perfect. The girls would love it too.”

Y/N frowns and Michelle tenses. “I mean, if you ever wanted to show them.”

Y/N presses her lips together.

“Y/N, I miss you Y/N. We all do. Why don’t you come sit with us at lunch anymore?”

Y/N opens her mouth to reply but nothing comes out. 

“Did we do something to upset you?” Michelle asks cautiously.

“No, no,” Y/N shakes her head. “I’m just… I’ve just been busy, is all.”

“Y/N,” Michelle scolds. 

“I-I am.” Y/N shrugs.

Michelle takes a deep breath in, “I know you’ve been busy with college applications and everything, butThis… This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain member of the Hellfire Club, would it?”

Y/N eyes nearly pop out of her head as every muscle in her body tenses. “What?” She mutters between gritted teeth.

“I noticed you started avoiding us after that weekend you said you were going out with him. Did something happen?”

“Um, no, no. Nothing happened,” Y/N says nervously.

Michelle cocks an eyebrow, “Y/N, did Eddie do anything to… hurt you?”

“What?! No! No… Quite the opposite actually.”

“Oh, so what happened?”

“What happened?”

“Yeah, what happened with you and Eddie that weekend?”

“Um, it was… I just realized he wasn’t the right guy for me,” Y/N replies as she looks down and fidgets with the corners of her sketchbook.

Michelle glares at Y/N. Y/N peers up at Michelle.

“What?” Y/N asks innocently. 

“Why are you lying?”

“I-I’m no—“

“Bullshit Y/N. I know what happened. Eddie told us everything.”

Y/N gasps, “You talked to Eddie?” 

Michelle nods. 

Y/N grows teary eyed imagining Eddie tell her friends about the moments they shared together in his trailer, at the diner, at the lake, in the back of his van.

“He told you… Everything?”

Michelle grabs Y/N’s hand and squeezes, “Everything.”

Y/N wiggles her hand out of Michelle’s grasp and brings both to cover her face. She hangs her head in her hands and starts sobbing. 

“Y/N,” Michelle says endearingly. She wraps her arms around her and hugs her tightly. Y/N leans into her touch and continues to sob. Her teardrops run down her cheeks as her palms squish them flat. 

“I know, I know. It’s okay,” Michelle comfortingly hums as she strokes Y/N’s hair. 

She’s never seen Y/N like this before. She knows Y/N hates crying in front of others, so it must be something bad enough to make her act like this. 

When some of her sobs soften, Michelle says, “Y/N I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to, but you were so brave for putting yourself out there. It took a lot of courage.”

Y/N sniffles and sobs even harder. “It was so hard. It hurts so much.”

“I know, I know. It took a lot of guts. I’m proud of you for even trying.”

Y/N sheds a few more tears before moving her hands away and looking at Michelle. 

“Really?”

Michelle smiles at Y/N’s puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks. 

“Of course! I know how you are. And I know how your parents are. For someone who hardly ever listens to their heart, I’m glad you did this time. I know it must’ve been scary, but not a lot of people have the courage to follow their heart and do what makes you happy, especially when no one else understands.”

Y/N raises her eyebrows. Michelle places a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, “You deserve to be happy Y/N, even if it’s the school freak causing it ”

Y/N looks away and laughs. She mutters, “it doesn’t feel that way. My parents made sure of that.”

“Have you tried talking to them?”

Y/N glares at Michelle, “Not since the night it happened. They made it pretty clear they won’t budge on their stance.”

“Things are different now, right? Maybe that night they were just caught up in the heat of the moment. Maybe it’d be different if you tried talking to them now.”

“And what would I say? Hey mom, dad, can I please have a boyfriend? Pretty, please? All my friends have one.”

“No,” Michelle rolls her eyes and chuckles, “I’m just saying, let your parents know where you’re coming from. You’re a great daughter. They have every reason to trust you. And they should trust they raised a responsible girl.”

“Michelle,” Y/N shakes her head. “There’s no way I can do that. My parents aren’t like the parents you see on tv or in movies. I can’t just negotiate things with them. What they say is law and I have to abide by that if I want to make it out of there alive.”

Michelle frowns, “What if we were there with you?”

“Huh,” Y/N wipes her cheek.

“What if the girls and I were there with you while you talked to your parents? For moral support. And evidence of how great of a person you are to support your case.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “you still have 4 years till you go to law school Miche, you don’t need to practice your lawyer skills on me.”

Michelle rolls her eyes and smiles. “It’s not like that, I’m simply exercising my human right to support my friends. So what if the scales of justice propel my life?”

Y/N laughs. “Thanks, but, in all honesty, I don’t think it’d be worth it. We’d all be wasting our time. My parents tell my sister and I time and time again that they’re not one of our friends. I doubt they’d care what you all have to say.”

Michelle searches Y/N’s eyes. She won’t take no for an answer. If not this way, then she'll find another, but she has to know. “If you knew there was a chance they might listen to what you have to say, and that you could convince them, would you want that?”

“What do you mean?”

“For arguments sake, let’s just say you could somehow convince your parents to let you date Eddie and actually change their minds about the whole thing.”

“Okay?”

“Would you want that to happen? To be able to change their minds?”

Without hesitation Y/N says, “Of course.”

Michelle grabs her hand and pauses for a moment before asking, “Do you miss Eddie?”

Y/N peers up at Michelle before looking down at her lap, brows furrowed. “I’m trying really hard not to.”

“I think he is too.”

“What,” Y/N eagerly looks at Michelle.

“Yeah. That boy has a real soft spot for you.”

Y/N scrunches her nose, “I don’t know about that.”

“He wanted me to tell you he really did love Purple Rain. Wouldn’t have pegged him for a Prince fan, personally.”

Y/N sniffles and laughs, “I guess that’s kind of my doing. We don’t really like the same music, but Prince became the one thing we could agree on.”

Michelle smiles at her.

“He learned to play a few songs for me too. It was really sweet,” Y/N sighs happily before her features turn down again. “Anytime I listen to his music, I think of Eddie and it makes me really sad.”

Michelle sighs. Y/N, who’s always been so strong, has never looked more weak and defeated. 

Y/N might have lost hope, but Michelle hasn’t. She knows they can find a way to make things right. But for now, she doesn’t exactly know what that way is.

***

For the rest of the week, Y/N carries on like usual. She starts making brief appearances at lunch, but she usually comes up with some excuse to leave early.

When Y/N’s gone, Michelle tells the girls what happened when she talked to Y/N. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but we are going to make sure Y/N’s parents let her date Eddie.”

“How exactly are we going to do that?” One girl asks.

“I don’t know,” Michelle slumps in her seat. “I really think they’d hear Y/N out if one of us was there too. Especially if all of us are there. She needs our moral support and there’s strength in numbers.”

“Wouldn’t her parents just think we’re ambushing them?” Another girl asks.

“Maybe,” Michelle contemplates, “But maybe it wouldn’t be a complete ambush if Y/N didn’t know.”

“What?”Another girl asks. “Wouldn’t that be worse to just walk up to their door like, surprise! Now will you please give us ten minutes to convince you why our best friend should have a boyfriend?”

“Not exactly. But I think if we showed up and really talked to them, we could find common ground saying how we’ve been concerned about Y/N from the way she’s been acting and wanted to check on her. We heard what’s happened with Eddie and wanted to let you know how great of a guy he is for her.” Michelle explains.

“Shouldn’t Eddie be here for this conversation then?” One girl asks.

“I don’t know, should he?” Another chimes in.

“Yeah, he probably should. I mean, we are trying to get them back together right?”

“Yeah, let me go get him,” Michelle says. She walks over to Eddie’s table and summons him back to theirs.

“Here’s the deal Eddie, I talked to Y/N and she’s doing a lot better, but she’s still really broken up by this whole situation. So, I propose we all go to her house and talk to her parents to see if we can convince them to let you two date.”

“What? Are you out of your mind?” Eddie scowls. “No way. It’s a miracle I left her house in one piece that night.”

“Eddie, don’t tell me you’re scared of Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N?”

“I’m not… scared. I just know what I’m up against. I know her parents don’t like me and don’t want us to be together.”

“Well, I can’t guarantee they’ll like you any more after this, but if you want to date their daughter, they’ll at least need to respect you.”

Eddie sneers. In what world could any of this possibly work?

“And we’ll be right there with you. They like us, so you’ll get like ten points by association.”

Eddie shakes his head. He can at least pretend to entertain the thought that talking to her parents could work. “Okay, so what do I have to do?”

“You need to come with us, be presentable and on your best behavior, and help us convince Y/N’s parents to let her date you.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “What? You want me to grovel to her parents? No way.”

“Eddie c’mon.”

“No, not happening. Why should I be the one to kiss their asses? Why should I have to change myself for their approval? I swore to myself I’d never do that shit again.”

“Eddie, we’re not asking you to change yourself. It’s obvious Y/N likes you just the way you are. We’re not messing with that. We just need to show her parents… your good side.”

“My good side?”

“Yeah. Show them what a gentleman you are. That you’re gonna take care of their daughter and treat her with respect. That you’ll be a good influence on her.”

Eddie scowls in disgust. “What else? Do you want me in a monkey suit too? Cut my hair to a suitable non-Beatle length?”

“Eddie, work with us, okay? We’re on the same team.”

Eddie sighs and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Look, let’s try a little role play. I’ll be her parents and you just answer as yourself.”

“Not the kind of role play I’d willingly get into but okay.”

“Eddie.”

“I was talking about D&D,” Eddie snickers. 

Michelle rolls her eyes, “Okay, Eddie, is it. What are your intentions with our daughter?”

“To corrupt her. Stray her away from the path of God. Convert her into a super senior freak like me,” he answers confidently and smiles crazily with his tongue hanging out. 

Michelle smacks his arm, “Eddie, I know you think you’re being funny right now, but this is serious. Do you want to be with Y/N yes or no?”

Eddie sighs and looks away, muttering, “Yes.”

“Okay, let’s try this again. Eddie, what are your intentions with our daughter?”

Eddie closes his eyes and breathes in. He opens them and looks straight into Michelle’s eyes. “I want to date your daughter. I know she isn’t normally allowed, but I care about her a lot and want to have an honest conversation about why I should.”

“Ooh,” the girls all coo. 

Michelle raises her brows and nods, “Okay, that’s a start.”

“Ugh,” Eddie sneers. “I feel like I’m in court, pleading my case.”

“In a way, you are Munson. Her parents are the judge and we’re all witnesses. But lucky for you, I’m your attorney.”

“What?” Eddie asks with disdain. 

“I want to be a lawyer when I’m older. I’ve been able to argue my way out of pretty much anything since I was 5.”

“Where were you the night we got caught?” Eddie rolls his eyes. 

Michelle shakes her head. “Okay, let’s try another one. Eddie, our darling Y/N is a stellar student on the way to becoming a freshman at the University of Chicago. How are you doing in school? What are your plans after graduation?”

Eddie begins sweating, throat growing dry. “I don’t know what to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know the answer to that question isn’t something they want to hear.”

“Here we’ll workshop it. Just give me the real answer and we’ll work on the wording together.”

“Um, this is my third senior year and I don’t even know if I’ll graduate so I haven’t even thought that far enough?”

“Yikes, okay—“

Eddie rubs a palm over his face, “See! This is stupid there’s no way they’re gonna say yes to this,” Eddie comments as he points to his face.

“Eddie, get a grip, okay,” Michelle orders as she grabs his shoulders and shakes him. “It’s really starting to piss me off how hopeless you and Y/N are being about this.”

Eddie scoffs, “I hate this. I never care what anyone thinks about me. But for Y/N… for some reason, I do. It was enough of a miracle for her to like me. And I normally wouldn’t care what her parents think either, but it means enough to her for me to.”

Michelle looks at him understandingly.

“And her parents… I barely met her mom so not enough to get a real impression. But from what Y/N’s told me… I’m terrified. I mean, you've met her parents right? How are you not afraid of them?”

“Well for one, I know how to kiss ass to get what I want. But two, I’m not really afraid of anyone. If someone doesn’t like me that’s their problem. And if they make it my problem, I know I can just change their minds. It’s really not that hard. Just takes a little work.”

“For you, maybe,” Eddie spits. 

“That’s what I keep trying to tell you Eddie. I’m here to help you and Y/N. We only have a fighting chance if we all combine our strengths together.”

Eddie humphs knowing Michelle is right. 

“So what should I say?”

“Well, you can admit that academics aren’t your strong suit in the way Y/N’s are. It sounds nice and it’s the truth. Then just tell them what other things you’re good at.”

“Um, so I could just say… Can you repeat the question?”

“Sure. What are you like in school Eddie? Any big plans after graduation?”

“Um, school is… okay… but not exactly where I shine. I leave that all to Y/N,” Eddie laughs nervously. 

“That’s good,” one girl encourages. 

“She’s right, that was good,” Michelle says. “Go on.”

“I, um, play guitar. I’ve been playing for as long as I can remember. I used to play for the school band, but stopped so I could form my own band. We, um, have a gig at a small venue just outside town every Tuesday.”

“That’s good. What about life after graduation?”

“Um, as for after graduation. I… won’t be going to college. I plan to start working. I used to, um… help my dad work on cars when I was younger. I still do it sometimes with my Uncle so I think I’ll probably try to become a mechanic.”

The girls look at him and contemplate his answer. 

Eddie nervously looks across their faces, “How was that? Was that… good?”

Michelle looks off into space, “Yeah, I’m just trying to think if there’s anything they might find an issue with but no I think that answer was good.”

Eddie nods. 

“And just so you know, humility goes a long way with them. Having confidence is good, but if you get cocky with them they’re gonna hate it. The nervous ums and stuff will help.”

Eddie quirks his eyebrow. “Remind me to hire you when you pass the bar.”

Michelle mocks salutes, “Will do Munson.”

“So, what else do you think they’ll ask?”

“Well they’ll probably just try to get to know you. Know what their daughter is getting into. They might ask you about your interests and hobbies or your family and friends.”

Eddie sharply inhales.

“Listen, you don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to, but give them enough. They’ll want to know what Y/N’s getting herself into and trust that she’ll be okay.”

“No pressure right?” Eddie uncomfortably jokes.

“Eddie, the most important question you’ll need to answer is: why should we let you date our daughter?”

Eddie gulps. His forehead creases as he tries to find the right words.

“Because… I really like her. And… she’s a great girl.” Eddie winces and shrugs

Michelle furrows her eyebrows and leans forward, “Eddie, dig deep. Is that really all you’ve got?”

“No, I'm just… I don’t know what to say, man. I’m not good with words.”

“Well you better find them. This is your only shot at getting Y/N back and I’d hate to see you blow it.”

Eddie scowls at Michelle. She’s annoying, but she’s right. What other choice does he have? If he can’t change Y/N’s mind, maybe he can change her parent’s minds. 

Will they be reasonable people? Who the hell knows. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t even try.

“Fine, let me try again,” He sys through partially gritted teeth. Michelle gives him a small encouraging smile. She takes a beat and repeats the question, “So Eddie, why should we let you date our daughter?”

Eddie takes a deep breath in. He furrows his eyebrows in concentration. 

“Well Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N,” he cringes at the formality, “Dating Y/N is an honor I’m not quite sure I even deserve. Believe me, I don’t take it for granted one second that a beautiful girl like her, as smart as she is, even likes someone like me. Does Y/N deserve a guy like me? Probably not. She deserves the damn world. And I’ll do everything I can to give it to her.”

The girls all widen their eyes and say their “aw’s”

Eddie flinches, “And, um, I promise to take care of her. To respect her. To listen to her. To support her. Whatever she needs, I want to give that to her and more.”

Michelle nods, “That’s it.”

***

The next day drones on as usual, till Y/N stays after school for tutoring. After her session with a boy on the basketball team is over, she clears up her desk and packs her things in her bag.

“Good work Travis, I’ll see you next week,” she waves him off as he leaves his desk and exits the classroom. 

She exits the classroom soon after and makes her way down the empty hall. She turns into a different hallway and nears the drama room. She slows down her pace to a stop before the closed door. She takes a deep breath in and edges closer to the small window on the door, only to find an empty room with the light turned odd. She lets a breath out and sullenly walks toward the front of the school.

She opens the doors and tightens her jacket to her chest as a blast of cold air hits her in the face. She grits her teeth, bracing for the cold, and nearly chokes on the scent of cigarette smoke nearby. 

As she approaches the parking lot, a cloud of smoke presents the nearby offender, no doubt leaning against the pillar. She cranes her head in an attempt to see who it might be, but the view is blocked. 

She shrugs it off and continues to walk, not caring enough to investigate further. She has to get home and out of this wretched cold. November is off to quite a frigid start.

“Y/N?” A voice undoubtedly coming from the smoker calls out to her.

Y/N freezes in her tracks. She should just ignore him and keep walking, but her body won’t let her. 

“Y/N,” the voice calls out again and Y/N turn over her heels. She finds Eddie leaning against the pillar, one leg bent, foot pressed against the cinderblock. He drops the cigarette in his hand and lowers his foot to stomp it out. His hair shakes and the chain on his jeans jingle in the process. 

Y/N’s throat dries as she nervously watches him, still very frozen in place.

Eddie cautiously walks, no struts, over to her, reeboks stomping against the pavement in the process, and offers her the smallest smile. Even after all this time, just seeing him like this is enough to make her heart skip a beat.

Shut up heart, It’s just Eddie.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers in a raspy voice, peering deep into her eyes.

“Hey,” Y/N squeaks, surprising herself by returning his strong gaze. She hasn’t spoken to Eddie in weeks. 

They stare blankly at each other for a moment before Y/N is the first to break the silence. “What are you doing here?”

“Needed to clear my head,” he shrugs casually.

Y/N cocks an eyebrow up, “On school grounds, when last class let out an hour ago?”

Eddie shrugs painfully, “Yeah.”

Y/N gives him an unconvinced look.

“Was supposed to be at Hellfire, but I cut the meeting short.”

“Oh,” Y/N whispers, “What happened?”

Eddie presses his lips together, “The boys were just… their heads weren’t in the game, you know?”

Not really, but she nods as if she does. The tension in his eyebrows and clenched jaw tell her it wouldn’t be such a good idea to poke the bear.

“What about you?” Eddie asks.

“Tutoring,” Y/N meekly responds. 

Eddie nods and notices the way Y/N tightens her arms crossed over her chest and the slight shivering of her shoulders.

“You headed home?”

Y/N turns over her shoulder and nods at him.

Eddie reaches back and scratches at the back of his neck. “Could I, uh, give you a ride home? If that’s okay?”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Y/N mumbles.

“C’mon, it’s freezing out. Can’t have my local smart pants getting sick on my watch.”

Y/N slightly snorts at his comment and it brings a grin to Eddie’s face.

“Thanks Eddie, but I-”

“C’mon,” He gently grabs her wrist, “You’re off probation right?”

He winks and she surprisingly finds the humor in a joke about the longest month of her life.

Y/N nods and Eddie tugs, leading her to his van. “Your chariot awaits.”

Y/N complies in a stunned silence. As she climbs into the van, the worn seats feel foreign under her skin. They can’t be the same seats she sat in a little over a month ago. 

But much like Hawkins, nothing in this van has changed, only her.

Eddie starts the car and remains stationary to let the vehicle warm up. They sit in a comfortable silence as Eddie tunes the radio to Y/N’s favorite station even though a commercial is on. Y/N refrains from smiling despite the tug she feels at the corner of her mouth. 

Once the van has warmed up, Eddie pulls out of the parking lot and off to Y/N’s house. His rough slender fingers curled around the steering wheel.

The two remain in comfortable silence till they reach a stop light and suddenly, Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time comes on.

Both Eddie and Y/N instantly look at each other when the melancholy rhythm fills their ears. Before the first verse is sung, the light turns green and Eddie’s attention is back on the road while Y/N’s is on her lap. She can feel the blood pumping in her veins along the beat of the song

Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you

Caught up in circles

Confusion is nothing new

Flashback, warm nights

Almost left behind

Suitcase of memories

Time after

Sometimes you picture me

I'm walking too far ahead

You're calling to me, I can't hear

What you've said

Then you say, "go slow"

And I fall behind

The second hand unwinds

But before Cyndi can sing the heartfelt lyrics, “If you're lost you can look and you will find me, time after time,” Y/N lowers the volume to silence. 

She looks up at him, “That song is…”

Eddie nervously laughs, “Yeah, ha, I know.”

He awkwardly looks back onto the road before him.

Y/N’s a bit surprised he even knows the song. She guesses no one can escape the heartfelt words of Cyndi Lauper, but they just ring too close to home, in a car ride with Eddie no less.

In a matter of minutes, Eddie is pulling up to Y/N’s house. She’s simultaneously thankful this carride is almost over and disappointed that this is all the time she’ll get with Eddie.

She looks out the window and glances at the red brick home. This time with a noticeable lack of tension in her shoulders or heart rate that would alarm several doctors. This time, she feels nothing.

She turns over and looks at Eddie who is intently observing her reaction. “Everything okay?”

Y/N nods sullenly. Eddie looks at her, waiting to see what she’ll do next.

Y/N looks out the window again and sees a few of the neighborhood children out riding their bikes. She turns back to Eddie and curves her lips upward slightly.

“Thanks for the ride Eddie.”

Eddie looks at her puzzled, but more relieved than anything that she’s not ardently avoiding him.

“No problem,” he nods, “I’ll always have your back.”

Y/N cocks her head to the side before shaking it and unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“Goodbye Eddie,” she sweetly says as she opens the door.

“Goodbye sweetheart,” Eddie says. Y/N freezes for a slight second, feeling her heart constrict in her chest. She recovers by climbing out of the vehicle and shoving her bag over her back. She closes the door behind her and smiles at Eddie. He nods and waits for her to enter the home. 

She slowly walks to the door. There’s no reason to rush and avoid the risk of being caught. She already has been.

She opens the door to the house and turns over her shoulder to see Eddie wave and drive off. 

She steps inside, embracing the welcomed heat. 

“Hey honey, how was school?” Her mom calls from the kitchen. For a second, her brain is on red alert, worried that her mom might’ve seen Eddie’s car. But as quickly as the thought enters her head, it leaves. What’s the worst that could happen? She gets grounded again? Her parents put some restraining order on Eddie?

“Hey mom. School was fine,” Y/N neutrally responds. 

“Learn anything exciting?”

“Not really,” Y/N responds truthfully before excusing herself to go upstairs and work on some homework before dinner.

At the back of her head, she worried her mom might’ve seen Eddie and was just waiting to bring it up later, but as the evening turned into night, nothing ever happened. 

Either she didn’t know or she wasn’t bothered enough to say anything.

***

When Friday night rolled around, Y/N enjoyed the refuge of her own bedroom, as she had for the past several weeks. But this time, she felt more restless than usual.

None of the songs on her tape deck sounded right. None of her drawings were coming out quite right. Even when she went downstairs to rummage through the pantry, none of the snacks appealed to her despite the loud rumbling coming from her stomach. 

She trudged back up the stairs and into her room and decided to do something she hadn’t done in a really long time. She closed the door and turned off all the lights. She walked over to the window and opened the curtain. For a second, she almost hoped to find Eddie down below, throwing rocks at her window once again. 

She brought her desk chair near the window and sat on it. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She sat in silence like that for a few breaths before opening her eyes and gazing out at the stars above her.

A lot of the streetlights were on, so it was hard to see, but the few she could, she decided to count them.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five Six. Seven.

She closed her eyes and pleaded to the stars, asking for answers as to what she should do. 

The ritual began when she was a young girl, praying to God for an A on her test or for her parents to stop fighting. Over the years it turned into harder questions she couldn’t ask anyone else but the stars up above. 

Something about starry skies was more comforting to her spirit than any church could ever be. Oftentimes, they had better answers too. 

But tonight, there was only silence. 

“Please, I need to know,” Y/N pleaded. She rubbed her palms over her face and rested her chin in her hands.

She wished the stars could tell her what to do. She wished they could give her an answer. 

Ever since she’d spoken to Michelle and ran into Eddie, Y/N had been feeling conflicted. Once the heat simmered down and she served her sentence, Y/N kept laying low. School and drawing took up a majority of her time and she thought she would be fine with that. But Michelle and Eddie reminded her just how much she’d missed the people in her life.

She knows that Michelle and her other friends will always be in her corner. Sometimes she needs time alone to figure things out, but they’ll always be there when she comes back. 

But Eddie… She almost lost him forever. Her car ride with him confirmed just how big that almost was, but she knows they’re on thin ice. 

She looks out to the stars, hoping for an answer. They glimmer against the dark night sky, but say little else.

She wants Eddie back in her life, even if she can’t date him which she knows is impossible. But, since her parents don’t seem to be too upset anymore, Y/N’s willing to bet they might tolerate Eddie as a friend. 

She knows it might take some begging and pleading, but she knows she’s earned it. And that Eddie would be worth fighting for. 

But before she does any of that, maybe it would be a good idea to see Eddie and talk to him first. She knows she could call him up, but this is a conversation that needs to be had in person. 

Maybe she could surprise him at the trailer tomorrow. She doesn’t know if it’ll go well, but it’s worth a shot.

***

The next morning Eddie and Y/N’s friends meet up at Michelle’s house. 

“Glad you could finally show up,” Michelle greets Eddie as she lets him through the front door. “Even though you smell like an ashtray.”

Eddie huffs as he follows Michelle, “Excuse me for wanting to calm my jangled nerves.”

Michelle leads him to her room where the rest of the girls are hanging out. “Relax Eddie, we have your back. And with a few adjustments, you’ll be ready to go.”

Eddie cocks his eyebrow and looks over at the other girls milling about the room.

“Take a seat,” Michelle gestures toward her bed. Eddie cautiously sits at the edge and looks up at the other girls in confusion.

“Good to know you have a pair of pants without holes in them,” one of the girls quips as another starts working on his hair. 

“Is it that hard to believe,” Eddie asks sarcastically. 

“Little bit,” she winks and smiles. Eddie nervously chuckles and lets out a small sigh of relief. 

“I’m not crazy about the Black Sabbath shirt though,” Michelle complains as one of the girls gently combs through Eddie’s hair.

“This is all I have. Sorry I can’t be Tom Cruise.”

“Well, you don’t need to be Tommy Lee either.”

Eddie scoffs and narrows his eyes, “You insult me.”

“Stop moving,” the girl doing his hair orders. She brings a hand to block his face and sprays water along his locks before combing through and applying a gel. 

“And this jacket situation has got to go,” one of the girls comments as she glares at his leather jacket and jean vest. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, “Cmon, it’s the only jacket I have. It’s a part of me.”

“Keep still,” The girl doing his hair orders as she scrunches at the damp locks, creating a more defined curl to his tresses.

“Not to worry, you can still be you even without your metal uniform. I bet there’s a jacket my brother left behind that you can borrow.”

“Huh?”

“He’s off at Indiana State, so what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Eddie shrugs as Michelle rummages through the coat closet down the hall.

“At least it covers your tattoos. Y/N’s parents… aren’t the most fond of those,” one of the other girls comments.

Michelle walks over with a maroon cable knit sweater and cream colored carpenter jacket.

“When your hair is done, put these on.”

Eddie reaches out and touches the knit fabric, masking a look of disgust in his face, “I feel like I should be on the cast of Happy Days.”

“Take off your shoes too.”

“What?”

“Take off your shoes.”

“Why?”

“So we can clean them. Muddy Reeboks are very punk rock but that won’t impress Y/N’s parents.”

“Punk? Please, you insult me,” Eddie snarls. “There’s a very big difference between punk and metal.”

“Why don’t you tell that to Y/N’s parents,” one of the girls sarcastically snickers.

“Why don’t you bite me,” Eddie snarls.

“Eddie,” Michelle gasps.

“And you,” Michelle looks pointedly at the girl, “Knock it off.”

“Girls, could I have a moment alone with Eddie,” Michelle pleads.

“Fine, okay,” the girls grumble. 

“I’m done with your hair Eddie. I kept it natural, but a little more defined at the curls. They’re gonna love it, and so will Y/N,” the last girl to leave pats Eddie on the shoulder and smiles.

Eddie’s shoulders relax and he smiles back at her as she leaves the room.

Michelle pulls the chair from her desk and sets it in front of Eddie. She takes a seat and tries to look Eddie in the eye despite his avoidant gaze.

“Eddie,” Michelle calls out to him. Eddie looks at her from the corner of his eye. “Look, it’s just us, okay?”

Eddie sighs exasperatedly. “What?”

“Eddie, relax okay. I know you’re nervous but–”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Then what are you Eddie? ‘Cause you’re acting really weird.”

Eddie widens his eyes and furrows his eyebrows. He turns away and reaches to scratch the back of his neck, “I don’t know man. Just feels weird.”

“What feels weird?”

“All of it. Feels like I’m about to take a test or something. I mean, this isn’t me. Changing my hair?”

“Well, your hair doesn’t look that different, just a little neater.”

“Changing my clothes?”

Michelle gazes at the sweater and jacket laid out next to him.

“Changing myself?”

Michelle’s eyes turn down.

“I know, we’re asking a lot of you. But we wouldn’t be asking this if we knew it wouldn’t make Y/N happy… We’re on your side.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows and nods.

“What’s wrong Eddie?”

Eddie shakes his head, “I mean we’re doing all this, but what’s the point? What if I’m still not good enough for them?”

Or good enough for her.

Michelle sighs and pats his knee. “Eddie, look, I don’t know you that well, but what I do know is that you’re a fighter.”

“Bullshit,” Eddie laughs. 

“I’m no fighter. See this guy?” Eddie points to himself. “Textbook runner. When the going gets tough I… always seem to run.”

Michelle takes a cold hard look at him. “What are you running from?”

“What?”

“You said you’re a runner right? So what exactly are you running from?”

Eddie shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“There’s gotta be something.”

Eddie stares at her blankly.

“I mean, do you even want us to do this anymore?”

Eddie nods and looks at her, in a way she can’t decipher.

“So, what is it Eddie?”

Eddie can’t tell her he runs away because he’s scared. He’s afraid to fight because he’s afraid he’ll lose. That the voice of his old man still looms in his head telling him so.

“What have you got to lose?” Michelle asks.

Eddie thinks about it for a moment. He supposes there’s nothing to lose at this point. The worst her parents could say is no, again. That he’d spend another excruciating day without Y/N.

“Look, you gotta promise this stays between us, alright?”

Michelle nods and takes a finger to make a cross motion over her chest. “Cross my heart.”

“You flap your lips about this to anyone and your ass is grass you hear that?”

Michelle stifles a laugh, sensing the seriousness in Eddie’s tone. “Okay.”

“I know what people in this no good town think of me. I know it’s not great. And as much as I hate to admit, it’s a lot harder to let it roll off my back than I’d like.”

Michelle nods in understanding.

“I want Y/N’s parents to… accept me. It’s stupid and ridiculous, but I do. But I don’t want it to come at the cost of conformity.”

“Eddie, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You’re a surprisingly likable person. In all your dorky metal loving glory.”

Eddie chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“I think that’s why Y/N probably likes you so much. You’re someone who isn’t afraid to be themselves. And I think she is, but you show her how not to be.”

Eddie’s eyes soften at the surprising observation.

“When you’re not so guarded or sarcastic or cocky, you’re not such a bad guy. And I think Y/N’s deserve a chance to see that side of you. They might even surprise you.” Michelle adds.

Eddie thinks about it. He wonders if Y/N’s parents could truly surprise him.

“But besides that, this isn’t all just about you, you know? I mean, I know your ass is on the line, but so is Y/N’s. This is a battle Y/N’s been fighting her parents forever on and she needs our help.”

Eddie purses his lips and furrows his brows. 

“So what do you say, hot shot? Are you just gonna sit there or are you gonna stand up and fight for your girl?” Michelle roars

Eddie's eyes widen. He feels as though a literal fire has been sparked inside him. 

His girl. 

He doesn’t want to be a runner. Not anymore. He wants to be a fighter. If not for him, then for his girl.

“Alright. Okay,” Eddie nods.

“That’s not good enough. I need to hear you say it Eddie.”

“I’m gonna fight.”

“You’re gonna what?”

“I’m gonna fight,” Eddie exclaims.

“Who are you gonna fight for Eddie?”

“For Y/N!”

“And?”

“For us!”

“And?”

“And?”

“Who else are you fighting for?”

“Uh, love?”

“No silly,” Michelle pokes harshly at his chest, “You’re fighting for you too.”

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

Tag list: @dotslabyrinth @aedicn @fancyghosttrashhero-blog @churchmuffins @urallidjits ​​@delusionalbabe @astrolockley @ebueller @im-julessssss @kimmi-kat @protecteddiemunson4vr @littlestarfighter03 

[bigfan-fanfic]

Windows Through the Past (HOF!Reader x Cullen Rutherford)

Requested by @iliumheightnights for  Another fic request! Cullen reuniting with his long time crush the HOF. Now the hero is a super powerful mage capable of fighting entire armies himself and he's been invited to help the inquisition for a mission?

"I believe the Commander is quite well-acquainted with this ally," Leliana smirks, still not revealing her plan, and Cullen has just about had enough of it.

She gives a giggle behind her hand once more before she states that she has invited the Hero of Ferelden himself to join the Inquisition's march on Suledin Keep.

Cullen is absolutely stunned.

And not all in anticipation of seeing the Hero again.

He had been stationed in Kinloch Hold, where the Hero had spent most of their years before the Fifth Blight took hold.

And had a quite awful experience with abominations as the Circle broke and demons ran rampant, capturing and tormenting him, using the image of the Hero himself to toy with his mind and heart.

He hadn't been kind, last he saw the Hero. And couldn't imagine that anything that Warden Amell may have heard would change that.

After all, he had acted with, shall we say, less than graceful manners at the uprising among the mages in the Gallows, and only when presented with the city's destruction did he take a stand against Meredith.

Cullen immediately resolves not to engage with the Hero. After all, he was trying to be more sensitive of the feelings of the mages serving in the Inquisition, and did not want to bring up any traumatic memories.

But then Leliana states (with an infuriatingly offhand tone) that Amell was actually quite looking forward to seeing Cullen, and now the poor man can't think at all.

It causes him no small amount of stress, puzzling over why Amell would wish to see him, and he comes to the conclusion that it's to enact justice for his crimes.

He can't even bring himself to argue this theoretical point, and resolves not to resist. He'll even alter the guard patrols to make sure Amell has a clear escape.

The Hero of Ferelden shall be his judge and executioner, a hand of the Maker given flesh.

Amell was rather stoic, last time he recalled seeing them. A side effect of the Harrowing, a temporary disorientation. But now, ten years later, the mage seemed... well, downright peppy.

Amell has decimated armies in fire, wiped out a darkspawn horde in a whirl of wind and ice, and summoned a rain of holy light, but now he - you - seem so... soft. Happy.

Cullen smiles despite himself. "You look well, Warden Commander."

"There's no need to be formal, Cullen. I've known you since your hair was still curly." you tease, and Cullen actually laughs.

"My apologies. We have not seen each other in so long, and our parting was... under unfortunate circumstances."

"I understand. I was glad to hear you were with the Inquisition."

"May I ask why?"

You tilt your head and sit. "Well... after Kinloch. I heard about you and Kirkwall. It wasn't great, what I heard."

Cullen nods. "It wasn't great living there, either."

"I feared you had lost your way, but seeing you here... working with mages once more - free mages at that! - I knew the man I once saw was still there."

"The man you once-"

"You weren't very subtle, Cullen. I know how you felt about me in Kinloch."

Cullen blushes. "My deepest apologies. I had never meant to-"

You raise a hand. "I liked you too, but... you were my jailer, Cullen, no matter how handsome and kind you were. I hoped, that after the Blight, you might come to see the truth."

He winces. "I fear I am not the man you seek yet. I... the Inquisitor asked me my view of the Circles, and I responded that I see their necessity. For teaching, for ensuring abominations do not occur."

But you are patient. Far more than Cullen deserves. "And yet you saw in the Gallows, in Kinloch, that the Circle as it is does not do that. I agree that the Circles should still exist as places of instruction and learning, but not as prisons. Not to rip children from their parents. Did you know I had a brother, Cullen?"

"N-"

"Neither did I. That I had a mother that wished to see me and a father that never got to. That Irving was tricking young mages into pursuing blood magic. That the templar order, the Chantry, wanted us all turned into Tranquil."

Cullen would've denied it if it were anyone else. But you have lived it, as he had. You say it so concisely that Cullen cannot refute it. Not now that he has seen red lyrium, seen how easily the Templars fell.

"I struggle, sometimes... knowing that the world after this Inquisition will be far different. I am trying... but I have done so much ill towards the mages. I still fear the power of magic even as I know the wrongs the Circles and the Templars have done."

You grin at him. "The Cullen I had known would not even be questioning it. You have far to travel, Cullen, but you are on the road I hoped you would be."

He looks at you and the words tumble out before he can bid them stop. "Would you ever be able to consider me something other than a jailer? I would pledge myself to you in an instant if you desired it of me."

Immediately Cullen winces in horror, ashamed of his outburst, of asking this of you considering your history together, but you simply tilt your head.

"How about we simply see what the new world after the Inquisition holds? Continue on your path, and I shall endeavor to help you see the signposts. And perhaps someday I might see you as a companion."

Cullen nods. "Then let us proceed with the battle plans, Ser. We must hasten the new dawn."

[draculasfavoritewife]

Was Blind, But Now I See

Summary: An eventful night planetside turns into something far deeper than your usual passionate embrace.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Sexual tension in every direction. Much angst. Possessive! Din. Reader might have a bit of a gambling problem. I use several long paragraphs to describe how beautiful I find Din Djarin. Religious trauma, Din being a bit of a soft dom here and there, implied smut at the end.

Din Djarin is truly at his best when he has someone to claim as HIS, and I really think we need to see more of that *I have spoken* Also, although my fics are not necessarily fully canon-compliant, this piece does take place pre-season-3 because he is still an apostate, for anyone who was wondering :)

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

You idly swirl your half-empty glass and wonder if it would be worth the pointed glare from your partner to ask him again if he wants a taste.

"I know what you're thinking," he grumbles from his seat beside you.

Immediately you affect a pose of dramatic injury. "You can't possibly accuse me of --"

"And no, I don't want a taste of your drink," he steamrolls over your protest. "I'm no closer to betraying my creed than I was an hour ago."

"Lucky guess," you smirk.

He snorts, a faint crackling of his vocal modulator. "Hardly."

You swivel around on the bar stool with a stifled groan, gaze flitting over the diverse crowd in the cantina. "Where's your contact?"

"They'll get here when they get here." His voice is even, nearly a drawl. You're not fooled by his apparent relaxed demeanor, though; long hours spent together in silence in the cockpit have clued you in to his minuscule tells. The alert focus of his helmet's visor, the tautness in his spine that means he could spring to his feet in an instant, the way his right hand almost absently brushes past his holster. Tiny things that would escape the eye of most, but you see, and know that he's ready for anything.

He's always ready for anything.

You wish, as you so often do, that there was somewhere he could truly drop his eternal vigilance and be free of his shadows for a time.

"Don't you give me that look."

You shake out of your reverie. "I wasn't even looking at you!"

"You were in your head, and that's worse," he observes matter-of-factly. "This is not the time, nor the place. Go play a round of sabacc if you need a way to pass the time." He jabs a nod in the direction of the corner table, where a motley group is arguing loudly over house rules.

It's very tempting. You haven't hustled a game table in a long time, and you might even come away with a handsome win, if you remember to quit while you're ahead.

"Come watch me?" You lean closer to him. "I promise you a good time, it looks like a real group of nerf herders over there."

"Pass." There's finally a note of something like annoyance in his tone. "We can't both be distracted."

"Alright! I can take a hint." You drain your glass and rise, sauntering away to the table. "I'm not responsible for any brawls, though."

"Sure. Feel like I've heard that one before." The Mandalorian tears his gaze away from your retreating figure and turns his attention back to scanning the crowd. Normally you're as patient as he is, and normally he wouldn't encourage you to indulge your recovering sabacc habit, but whether it's the fault of a recent hunt that ran longer than expected or the rough flight to reach this system, he knows you're both on edge.

After all, whether on the job or with the both of you taking shifts in the pilot's chair through a particularly harrowing debris field, little time has been left for the pair of you to spend together recently.

Though he may not be well-versed in the ways of your adopted culture's kinetic communication, he definitely recognized that look in your eyes. It's the look when you start fantasizing about finally getting him out of all that beskar and into a much more...personal setting.

And he can't have you keep staring at him like that, or he starts thinking about it too.

"It's better this way," he mutters under his breath, consciously avoiding the game table with his searching gaze.

His man had better show up soon.

The group at the card table is finally starting to catch on that you just might know a bit more about sabacc than you said earlier. The heap of credits in front of you has grown substantially in the hour since you joined their circle, and the Nikto across from you is beginning to get agitated.

Still, that's preferable to the Zabrak next to you, who's been making increasingly obvious passes at you with each win you take.

"Come on, Boys, one more round," you urge as you sweep more credits into your pile and begin stacking them neatly. "I swear, it's beginner's luck, I can't possibly keep winning forever."

There's a general grumbling as some leave the table, having had enough for the night.

The Nikto asks in Huttese what could possibly sweeten the deal.

So, high on the rush of winning, you make the ill-advised decision to throw your Corellian Jiang necklace into the pot, and end up somehow losing to the protocol droid.

"That's not possible!" you protest, throwing down your cards. "I had full sabacc! The odds of an Idiot's Array are astronomically low! Something's not adding up."

But the droid adamantly defends itself, so you leave in a huff, more torn up about the loss of the necklace than you'd care to admit. It was the only thing you had left of an old friend during a stint on Corellia a long time ago, and meant a good deal more to you than just its rarity and value.

You find your way back to your seat next to Din and bark at the bartender for a hot caf.

"Kriff. That bad?" he asks, and you could swear you hear the hint of a grin teasing at the edges of his voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You always get a Fire Dancer when you win," he observes. "Caf is your sad drink."

"I've made some bad choices," you lament over the edge of the steaming mug. "But I'll live."

"Glad to hear it." He falls silent again as the Zabrak from the game table approaches to sit on your other side. You strike up a polite conversation, more as something to distract you from your recent losses than anything else. You certainly have no intention of entertaining any extra notions he might have.

Din's already possessive instincts, however, are quickly ratcheting up into overdrive, and it takes you by surprise when his gloved hand suddenly appears on your upper thigh. It's a bold move for him, in public at least, and you can't deny that a slight shiver runs through your entire body at your armored warrior staking his claim in front of another man like this.

The Zabrak, to his credit, looks put off for a brief moment and then tries one last tactic. "What do you say to getting out of this place for a bit, huh? I can always bring you back before it gets too late. The city's beautiful this time of evening."

The hand on your thigh tightens its grip, making your own fingers convulsively curl around the edge of the bar as his dig into your soft flesh. His mere touch is driving you wild; it hits with sudden weight just how long it's been since he's touched you like this.

How utterly unfair that gleaming beskar helmet seems now.

At least HE can hide whatever is going on in his head.

When you gather yourself enough to reply, your voice, thank the Maker, is under control if nothing else. "You'd have to ask my escort," you hum, indicating the Mandalorian, whose focus is now trained on the unwelcome interloper with all the disintegrating intensity of his pulse rifle.

"I don't. Share."

It's his "Try me, pal, I know twenty different ways to kill you" voice, and the crazy part of you wants nothing more than for him to throw you down on this counter and --

Well, better stop that thought quick before it leaves your tongue.

The Zabrak gets the message and sulks away, leaving the pair of you in a tense, brittle quiet spell. His hand is still resting on you, fingers thoughtfully rubbing the crease where your thigh joins your hip.

"This is getting old," he mutters.

You roll your eyes. "Guys like him come to the cantinas to pick up ladies, Mando. It's not personal."

"They should know better."

"They're all dumb as shaaks, Cyare." You toss back the rest of your caf, grimacing now that it's gone cold. "It's not like I walk around wearing a sign that says 'Back off, I'm with Shiny'."

He doesn't answer, but is on his feet now, reaching for your hand. "Come on."

You frown. "Your contact?"

"Can wait. They've kept me waiting too long already. Outside. Now."

Dusk has fallen outside the cantina. The suns have disappeared and the breeze is starting to grow chilly. Shadows lay thick and indigo in the narrow alleyways, and you unconsciously rub your arms against the cooling air, wondering what could possibly have driven your partner to drag you out here.

"Can you see?" he questions.

You scoff. "Maybe. If I squint real hard."

"Good." There's a sharp metallic sound in the gloom, and then suddenly his mouth is attacking your neck, right underneath your jaw, and all your breath comes out in a low whine.

He's merciless, and you're defenseless in his grasp, only the fact that you're biting your tongue keeping you from gasping his real name out loud.

Finally he lets you breathe again, resting his forehead against yours so your noses touch.

"Jate, Mesh'la. You've never stayed so quiet before," he teases softly.

"You've never done that just outside a crowded cantina before!" you huff.

He kisses you, far too briefly, and replaces the helmet. "Think that'll do the trick?" he growls, running his thumb over the love bite he left behind.

It must be a good one, for how thorough he was.

"I imagine the message is clear." You lean into him, pretending for a moment that the hard edges of his beskar are gone and all you can feel is him.

"I'll finish the transaction as quickly as possible," he promises in your ear.

"Good. I might do something desperate if we're stuck in this scughole much longer." You pull away from his embrace.

"If you need something to take your mind off of...us, for a bit, go get your necklace back," he suggests. "That piece of scrap and the Nikto hut'uun were cheating. Slipped the droid a card under the table."

You bang your fist into the wall. "I knew it!"

"I know I technically got thrown out on my ass, but you gotta admit, it was a good end to that disaster." You sweep your hair out of the way and fasten your Jiang pendant around your throat again with satisfaction. Smacking the full bag of credits at your belt, you add, "And I brought income! I'm gonna buy some quality seafood at the next market we hit. The Kid will appreciate that, I'm sure."

Aside from noncommittal grunts of acknowledgement, Din is strangely quiet as you board the ship and prepare everything to take off in the morning. You're not sure exactly what's bothering him -- his deal went through and all seemed well, so it must be an internal problem he's solving. Determined not to let his change in attitude get to you, and knowing you'd ask too much of him for now if you hung around him, you escape to the cockpit and lounge in his chair, staring out at the thousands of stars that are beginning to glow in the darkness beyond.

What killed the mood?

You hear him approach eventually, hauling himself up the ladder behind you. Heavy footsteps ring through the small space as he arrives beside the chair, where he pauses.

"You should have at least turned around to check that it was me." Even the stern reproach sounds halfhearted. Something's eating at him.

"Who else would it have been, Din? The Kid wearing your armor?"

You take his silence as a concession of your point.

When it stretches on, however, you decide to try and make some conversation. Maker knows how long he'll just stand there staring out at the view otherwise. "She look good for takeoff tomorrow? Or do I need to give anything a once-over?" Maybe he's just waiting for his chair back and being too polite about it.

You rise and make to slip past him.

"How long have we been doing this?" he suddenly asks, a solid wall of beskar preventing you from getting anywhere.

"Hell, Din, I don't know. What even is 'this'?" You don't know where the sudden impatience has come from, aren't even sure if you and he are referring to the same thing.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum," he murmurs, one of those multi-talented hands rising to tip your chin up towards his helmet. "That's all I know, ner'kar'ta. Whatever we are...I know that I love you. And have for however long we've been traveling this lonely way together."

You soften, letting him pull you to his chest, wrapping your arms around him. "I love you, Din Djarin. Have for a very long time. And will continue to do so for however long we are given."

There's a slight quiver to his hand now, betrayed as he presses his palm flat against your back. "I was...thinking, tonight."

You remain silent, waiting for him to go on.

"You know most of the story, Cyar'ika. How the Armorer told me I am dar'manda. Grogu has seen...has looked upon my face. Because I wanted him to know that we are...aliit."

"I know." Those had been long nights, the first few after your reunion, when the pain of excommunication was still a freshly bleeding wound. Those nights, kisses tasted like the salt of his silent tears, and more often than not he simply desired to be held by you, for someone who understood to remind him that all was not over. You will always remember those nights, when you wondered in terror if he would finally, truly fall apart if you ever let go.

"I am not bound by the creed until I am redeemed," he muses softly. "And I realized tonight...we are committed to each other. There is no reason for me to wonder if you will leave anymore, is there?"

You shake your head. "I've told you, my love. Even the stars themselves couldn't keep me from finding my way back to you."

He releases a long breath.

"Would you want to see me, if I were to show you?"

Your own breath seems to have met a hitch.

"Din...it's a dream of mine. I've always wanted to see all of you." You tentatively rest your fingertips against the cool surface of the helmet. "But only if you truly want to show me."

"I do, Mesh'la. I want us to finally see each other eye-to-eye. Even for just a moment."

You can only nod in answer. This moment is all at once too sacred and too sacrilegious for anything you could possibly think to say. So instead you draw back, waiting for him to move when he's ready.

His hand slowly pushes the helmet up and back, and for the very first time, you are actually gazing into the face of the man who captured your heart.

Finally, all of the small details you have discovered over time in the dark tie together. The rugged facial hair framing a broad jawline, the slope of his regal nose and the artful curves of his full lips. His hair, thick and tousled by the helmet, is a rich brown, streaked here and there with a strand of silver.

He's beautiful.

But those eyes.

His eyes are the one feature you've never been able to guess at. You have imagined them sparking with anger or softening with affection, but nothing could have prepared you for what lovely eyes they are. Darkest brown, endlessly deep, the eyes of a world-weary and yet somehow still hopeful man. Eyes that overflow with sensitivity and uncertainty, eyes that have unerringly marked a thousand targets for death.

Sharp, sad eyes, that now stare into yours as if seeking out a hidden truth that only you can give him.

He's beautiful.

"You're...crying," he notes with curiosity, a gentle gloved hand brushing the tears from your cheek.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Din Djarin," you whisper, unable to look away from those spellbinding eyes. "Thank you, for letting me finally see you. I love you."

He kisses you, first your lips, then the shining tracks of your tears, ending on the same dark smudge where he marked you as his earlier.

"I've been wanting to, for a long time," he confesses quietly. "You have no idea how much I've struggled with it."

You stretch up to kiss his forehead, reveling in the fact that you have finally done so in the light. "I don't think I've ever loved you more."

He reaches around you, dims the lights in the cockpit until you're both shrouded in shadows again. "Well, I have an idea of how I can make it even better."

You smirk, pushing him down into the pilot's seat. "Oh? Do tell."

He pulls you forward so you're suddenly in his lap. "I haven't forgotten the way you were devouring me with your eyes back there, Mesh'la. I think you and I are long overdue for this."

"So long," you agree, settling into a comfortable position on top of him so you can begin the lengthy process of lovingly divesting him of his armor. Your yearning from earlier has returned in full force, coupled with the glowing intimacy of finally having set eyes on your lover's face.

"I need you, Din. And I'm going to make you pay for not letting me reciprocate in the alley."

"You still mad at me over that?" His raspy chuckle sounds close to your ear as his deft fingers undo the fastenings of your jacket.

"You know me, my hunter." You work his undershirt off, letting your hands trail down his chest and grinning at the startled catch in his throat. "I hold a grudge."

His hand snakes around to rest at the back of your neck, a tender gesture that also swiftly reminds you of his possessiveness and makes your heart skip.

"Well, then," and his voice goes smooth, "allow me to amend for my earlier actions."

You can almost imagine his eyes -- those dark, dark eyes -- sparkling with heated mischief.

"After all, you did behave so nicely for me. I think someone deserves a reward."

Jate = Good

Hut'uun = Coward

Ner'kar'ta = My heart

Dar'manda = Not Mandalorian

Aliit = Family/Clan

[wlwcookierun]

DATING HEADCANONS FOR. . . Black Lemonade Cookie with a quiet, ambivert partner.

@c2rulaenfunkz asked, "hiya! can i request a black lemonade cookie x a quiet, ambivert!reader like the reader tends to have trouble with communicating like catching social queues or being very quiet/shy and being very misleading like blurting things out, apologising lots and just being pretty ackward at first but then increases comfidence over time and seems to act extrovert-like…"

Despite her being a well-renowned performer and masterful guitar player, Black Lemonade Cookie is actually quite introverted. Sure, she enjoys being social and hanging out around friends and fans, but she also needs to take time to recharge on her own.

Her quiet demeanor and chill attitude only brings out her confidence– she knows who she is and what she wants.

Falling for you wasn't hard, just a little surprising. Your shyness had a certain charm to it, and she always reassured you whenever you apologized or messed up in social situations.

She saw a bit of her younger self in you– awkward and unsure of your place in the world– and decided to help you come out of your shell.

She's patient when you stumble over your words or miss cues. She reminds you not to apologize so much– why do it when you've done nothing wrong? There was no shame in mistakes, only a learning opportunity. That's how she saw it as a musician.

Black Lemonade Cookie also has trouble with social cues, so you relate together on that problem. She helps you as best she can, but she fumbles too. You both laugh about it, knowing neither of you are perfect.

As the two of you grew closer, she noticed your confidence begin to burgeon. It was wonderful; you were finally standing up for yourself. You held your head up high, and despite some awkward feelings still lingering, you held your ground.

When she invites you to her shows or backstage, she's pleased by your confidence around others.

The two of you still need time to recharge after harrowing social interactions– Black Lemonade is still an introvert, after all– but it's time happily spent together, recounting the progress you've made and celebrating your newfound extroversion.

When she gives you her jackets or jewelry to wear, she's impressed by the way you keep cool around all her fans, even if you do freak out afterward when you're alone. It's the little things that count!

If you're musically inclined, she guides you through learning the guitar.

"Through this," she says, "you can truly express yourself." If you get really good at guitar, she even lets you join in on a few of her shows as a guest player, showing you off to the crowds of excited fans. Bassist Cookie is more than welcoming toward you, always happy to have another musician with some real talent and spark for playing.

Even if you're not musically inclined, she gives you free tickets and merch, and can't help but feel a bit smug watching you wear her band's merch when you go out.

Interactions with fans are both exciting and exhausting. There are obviously some jealous fans, but others are excited about you and Black Lemonade getting together. When all is said and done, Black Lemonade Cookie praises you for your persistence and growth.

[mikrowrites]

fate goes pt. 6

marc spector x avatar!reader

summary: y/n is reunited with someone she never thought she’d see again; as shait and khonshu fight against ammit, y/n, marc, and steven fight to stop harrow

warnings: angst, fighting, violence, fluff, language, dark themes, death, EPISODE 6 SPOILERS

a/n: the last part! thank you so much for the love for the series! also warning, this deals with someone dying in a hospital, so if that’s a trigger be warned!

“fate goes as ever fate must

fate is the only one that’s just and i trust

fate goes as ever fate must

ashes to ashes

dust to dust” - fate goes, the ninth hour

Y/n pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, humming a gentle lullaby as she sat next to the bed, her other hand grasping that of the patient.

Her internship at the hospital brought her to the hospice wing, where death surrounded her daily. Yet, she knew in her gut that their times were set and she couldn’t change it; instead she could respect the process and the execution of fate.

Y/n had begun to believe in fate as her studies in medicine continued. Science was factual, but fate was sacred. It was unmoving and constant, and perhaps that was a comfort to her in a way.

She continued her humming, gently rubbing herself the patient’s hand as they slumbered. Unlike many other patients, this one had no family photos, no flowers or gifts or get well balloons. Y/n had noticed this and found herself frustrated by the idea of a patient seeing the end of their days alone. So she had sat for hours with them, awaiting their fate.

“You care so much, don’t you child?”

Y/n gasped, the chair screeching across the linoleum as she bolted upwards. The patient’s eyes were open, glowing a golden light, their lips moving with every word. She backed away slightly, her voice quivering. “Who-who are you?”

The patient cocked their head to the side. “You’re a curious one, Y/n L/n. I’ve been watching you for a while now. You care for people so much, yet you don’t fear death. Curious indeed.”

“What do you want from me?” Y/n asked quietly. 

The patient’s head turned to face her, the golden eyes boring into her. “How rude of me. I haven’t introduced myself.”

The gold flickered out, as well as the lights as the room was plunged into darkness. Y/n used her arms to cover herself, as if the room were to implode into her, crushing her. Her breathing was erratic as she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Don’t be scared child. Open your eyes.” 

Y/n slowly lowered her arms, as a hand rested gently under her chin, guiding her gaze upwards. She met the gaze of a seemingly humanoid person, decked in gold and jewels. Below the waist was a serpents tail, the scales shining with every movement as the being cracked a smile. “I am Shait, the god of fate and fortune.”

She was shell shocked, staring up at the god in their splendor. All she could muster out was a quiet peep of: “Hi.”

The god seemed amused, “You are the most unusual being I have ever met, Y/n.”

“Is um, that in a good way or a bad way?” Y/n questioned. 

“A good way, I assure you.” The god responded. “What do you know of the gods of Egypt?”

She shrugged, a little less tense. “Not much, sorry.”

“The gods are very much around and existing in your modern human world, but we do not interfere with earthly events. We instead rely on avatars to carry our will.” Shait explained. “We look for those who exemplify our morals and relish our beliefs. You, Y/n L/n, are who I am looking for. You are kind but resolute. Gentle but passionate. Intelligent and level-headed. You accept the tides of life and how the rivers of fate flow.”

“What does this mean?” Y/n seemed to plead. 

Shait faced Y/n. “Y/n L/n, I want you to be my avatar.”

“Me?” She sputtered, her brain clouded with confusion. “I can’t be the best choice.”

“I have seen billions of people on this earth, read their hearts and seen their inner thoughts. You are the best choice. We can allow peace to those who fate commands, and allow for the fortune to bless those who deserve it.” The god spoke. 

“Y/n L/n, will you be my harbinger of fate, my disciple of fortune, and guide to those who pass through the river of life? Will you protect fate with you might and see to the people around you justly, to become my avatar?” 

She thought for a moment, before meeting the gaze of the god. 

“Yes. I will.”

Suddenly she was plunged backwards into darkness, flinging out her arms and crying out as the void swallowed her whole, a warm feeling blossoming in her chest as she felt her retinas burning with a spectacular light. Her body fell backwards down, down, down, her limbs flailing for some kind of control. 

Y/n sat up with a start, gripping the side of the hospital bed as she breathed heavily, gathering her bearings. She gasped, holding out her hands as she watched her veins course with golden light. 

“Go on. Rest your two fingers upon their forehead.” 

She perked up at Shait’s voice in her ears, turning to the patient as Y/n realized the room was filled with the sound of a monitor flatlining. She reached forwards, pressing her index and middle finger onto the patient’s forehead, Y/n’s eyes glowing as suddenly numbers began to appear in her vision, counting like a time clock until they finally clicked into place. 

Y/n stepped backwards, the golden glow dimming before disappearing from her eyes and veins. She exhaled, before wetting her lips. 

“Time of death, 3:25 AM.”

Y/n soared through the night sky of Cairo, her golden feathers gleaming in the moonlight. Her eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

Three large gods grappled slowly with each other, Khonshu and Shait vs Ammit. Y/n was almost in awe watching it, if it weren’t for the fact she needed to find Harrow and end this once and for all. 

Her peripheral caught a glow of purple, Y/n immediately positioning her wings to dive down into the streets, setting her sight on Harrow. She soared down, positioning her body as she rammed her feet forwards, slamming them into the man as she sent him flying. She cast her eyes down to see a figure on the ground before her feet, suddenly her mind reeling in recognition. 

The Moon Knight, Marc Spector, looked up at her in a reverie, the girl fixing him with a smirk as he uttered her name. “Y/n?”

Oh if they weren’t in a war, Shait would be chewing her out on this one. 

Harrow stood angrily, directing a blast of purple light from his cane to her. Y/n turned to him, using her golden wings to shield herself, instead sending the blast back into him. sending the man tumbling back. She glared at Harrow before letting the wings retract, lowering her arms. 

Y/n barely had time to turn before she was met with Marc, his face revealed, racing to her. “Y/n! Y/n, oh baby.” He pulled her into his arms, the woman grasping for him like a lifeline. “Thank god you’re okay.”

“Marc.” She sputtered out, the man pulling away to hold the sides of her head in his hands, taking in every aspect of her. “How’d you get back?”

Suddenly Steven took control, looking her up and down. “Wow, you look amazing! What are you wearing?”

Y/n smiled softly at the man, before they turned, noticing Harrow rising from the ground and his men ready for a fight. Steven turned to her excitedly. “Hey, I’m really jazzed about showing you these new skillsets we have.”

“All right, show me what you’ve got.” she nodded to the men. 

“Yeah?” Steven asked with a gleeful smile.

“Yeah.” Y/n affirmed. 

Both of them dove into action, Steven into a sprint and Y/n soaring forwards, careening into the fight. They both fought against the forces, as their godly counterparts battled above them. 

A while into the fight, Y/n found herself pinned against a car, using one of her wings to shield herself from an onslaught of bullets. She squeezed her eyes shut, the violent clinking of metal invading her hearing until--it didn’t. She looked up to see Marc causing a complete massacre. He cut down man after man, until it was him and Harrow, the man continuing to beat the other avatar down until he was bringing the staff down to his head. “No!” Y/n cried out. 

Suddenly Marc stopped, his body going rigid and the blade of the staff mere millimeters from Harrow’s forehead. The man looked around, seemingly horrified at the scene around him. 

“Marc?” Y/n called, sheathing the wing she was previously using as protection. “What was that?”

“I blacked out.” Marc was confused, his eyebrows furrowing. 

They both suddenly looked up to see Ammit best Khonshu in battle, Shait being thrown to the ground. Y/n’s chest clenched in fear when the god did not rise back up. “Get Harrow. I know how to stop Ammit.” She quickly ordered. 

Marc nodded and grasped Harrow’s shirt in his fist, Y/n leading them as they both soared into the sky, racing to the pyramid to save their gods and their world. 

Once inside, Marc threw Harrow’s body onto a piece of debris, stepping back to Y/n. She sighed, stepping towards them. “The power of the room will help us bind Ammit to Harrow’s body. Quick, grab my hand so we can start the spell.”

The man was quick to grasp her hand, relishing for a moment in the familiarity of their touches intertwined, before he followed her lead in reaching their free hands upwards. Y/n’s body jerked slightly as her arm began to glow purple with a sacred energy, Marc the same. And as though they had practiced it every moment of their lives, they began to chant a spell. 

They stopped when Harrow’s eyes opened wide, a voice not of his own emitting from his lips. “You can never contain me. I’ll never stop.”

Y/n and Marc gasped in relief and release when the spell ended, binding Harrow and Ammit. The woman heaved for her breath, feeling Marc’s hand gently on her back as he also regained the air in his lungs. 

“Finish it. And leave neither of them alive.”

Both looked up to see Khonshu tower over them, Y/n feeling Marc stiffen. She looked over to him as she felt his palm leave the small of her back, the man stepping up to Harrow, hovering above him as he unsheathed a blade. Marc gripped the man’s shirt, reeling his arm back to end the task. “I have to finish this. If not, I’ll never be free.”

Y/n stepped forwards, calling out his name. “Marc!”

Marc turned to look back at her, lowering his arm slightly. She stepped forwards, resting her hands carefully and softly on his limb which tightly grasped his blade. It was then he noticed Shait standing some feet from them, watching idly as their avatar spoke once more. “You have a choice. You are free. This is your chance to determine your fate.”

“The fate is vengeance.” Khonshu chided. “We cannot take the chance that Ammit finds a way out. She will kill again.”

“Now you sound like her.” Marc responded to the god, letting Harrow’s body drop. Y/n lowered her hands away, allowing the man to approach his god. “You want them dead... do it yourself.”

Shait lowered their head in acknowledgment. “Fate goes, Marc Spector.” 

Marc nodded to the god, before turning to Khonshu. “Now release us.”

Khonshu turned, meeting the cold stare of Y/n. The god took note of how the avatar of Shait could pose a threat; whether it be her control of fate and fortune or her fierce, protective love of Marc. He looked to Shait, as if to ask the fate of this outcome. The god simply nodded. 

He turned to Marc. “As you wish.” 

Y/n watched as the control of Khonshu began to wash from Marc, the room building up into a blinding light. Marc caught one last glance of the love of his life before he was thrown into his head once more. 

His eyes flicked open, dim sunlight cracking through the windows as he gathered his surroundings. Marc once more laid in his bed, in his flat in London. He sat up groggily, speaking up. “Steven? You there?”

“Mmmhmm.” Steven tiredly responded, the men taking in the room around them as though it would disappear at any moment. “Can’t believe it worked.”

The man was quickly frightened by a sudden movement next to him, turning to his left. His face softened, Marc taking over the body as he stared down next to him, a slight smile on his face. Y/n turned over in the bed towards him, her eyes fluttering open as a yawn escaped her mouth. “You’re both so loud, five more minutes of sleep please?”

Marc chuckled, leaning forwards and pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead. “Sorry. We’ll make you some breakfast then, yeah?”

Y/n smiled blissfully, her eyes closing as she snuggled up into the blankets. “Sounds amazing.”

He smiled back, before standing from the bed and muttering to Steven. “I can’t believe you live in this fricking mess. Y/n’s gonna whoop your a--”

Suddenly his ankle restraint pulled against the frame, knocking the man over and off his feet, slamming into the ground. He looked up briefly, groaning in pain. Quiet giggles could be heard from the bed behind him, and though he was annoyed and his body hurt like hell, he couldn’t help but crack a smile. 

Looks like Y/n’s fortune-luck-shit didn’t rub off on him. 

Harrow was shoved into the limo, letting out a laugh at the sight before him. “Khonshu. You can’t hurt us.”

Khonshu sat across from him, a pressed white suit clothed him as he sat cross-legged, casual before the trapped goddess. However, it was the person next to Khonshu that Ammit noticed with curiousity. 

She sat next to the god, seemingly human, yes, must be an avatar. Her eyes glowed a shining gold, her veins running like rivers under her skin and coursing with the same glowing hue. She was expressionless, her glowing empty eyes boring holes into Harrow. 

“Yeah. You wanna know something?” Khonshu spoke. “Marc Spector truly believed that after he and I parted ways, we would be done. That I’d be done with her?” He gestured to the girl. 

Harrow rolled his eyes, making the talking motion with his hand annoyedly. Yet something unnerved Ammit as the girl narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Why would I ever need anybody else when he has no idea how troubled he truly is?” Khonshu remarked. “And don’t worry; Y/n isn’t home right now. She won’t know a thing that happens here.”

“Ah... Shait’s doing.” Harrow noted, the girl, Y/n, raising her fist up to knock on the window, as if giving a cue. 

“Meet my... friend,” The girl spoke in a foreign voice. “Jake Lockley.”

The divider in the limo rolled down, revealing Marc Spector. But no, this was not Marc Spector, Ammit saw that clearly. He was different. This man--this was anger, vengeance, and violence incarnate. Jake spoke in a dark tone, the Spanish rolling off his tongue. “Today is your turn to lose.”

Jake raised a gun, giving a sickening smile as Harrow and Ammit begged him to wait, to reason. 

Y/n did not flinch as the gun went off, splattering a minimal painting of blood onto her face. She leaned forwards, her fingertips glowing as she rested them upon the mutilated forehead of the body, her eyes seeming to glow even brighter, her veins like a golden fire. “It is done.” She spoke to Khonshu. 

The limo drove off, with a fate met.