#even if her hair was plain you could at least tell that there was a vision there

[miyeosin]

🫠

[sleepymarimo]

𝕨𝕖𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕤

summary: after becoming the greatest swordsman and learning of his bloodline, the next logical step for zoro would be to return to wano and marry into the kozuki family, right? if only you didn't look so good as a bridesmaid... pairing: zoro x afab!reader cw: mdni, vaginal sex, drunk sex, infidelity, cursing, mutual pining an: this idea has been in my head for a while, so... enjoy!

It's the day of the wedding.

Well, his wedding.

After being the world's greatest swordsman for a few years, Zoro had decided that he had wanted to return to Wano. He never explained why, barking at whoever asked him that it was none of their damn business. The crumpled up paper you'd found in the corner of the training room, which contained details about his lineage, gave you an idea of why he was adamant on returning.

The swordsman was someone you admired very much, from his sometimes frustrating temper to his unshakable will. After sailing together for so long, it was difficult to not develop feelings for him. You liked to think that the two of you were relatively close or at the very least that he tolerated your presence more than others. He never strayed too far from you and even shared his sake with you on occasion, his annoyed grumbles doing little to hide how much he enjoyed providing for you- even if it was just a sip from his bottle.

Your outlooks on life might have been different, but there was a lot to learn from one another. This learning was often done on warm nights aboard the Sunny after a few bottles of sake and a playful spar. Even when there were no conversations happening, you'd enjoy the comfortable silence and the sense of security he brought to you.

Yet, ever since he had achieved his goal of becoming the greatest swordsman, you had to admit that he seemed… different. He of course was as brash as ever, always ready to stand by the crew and act as a protector when necessary, but he seemed to be itching for something. He was lost, plain and simple.

Your mind, ever tumbling with thoughts, wonders what the green haired samurai's goal was in returning to Wano. To reconnect with his roots? To stay? You doubted he would, but the thought still made your stomach drop.

Now, a few weeks later, here you are at the wedding celebration of Zoro and soon-to-be-wife, Hiyori.

Celebration is an understatement, as the whole thing could be confused for a festival. An entire courtyard full of seats, all open to the people of Wano. Its extravagant and lavish, with vendors and performers ensuring that the party would last well into the night. The tables are piled high with a plethora of food and sake. Hiyori had wanted a grand ceremony and it was definitely something, though the large crowd and the unavoidable spotlight didn't seem like something Zoro would enjoy. After the bachelor party, which involved the guys drinking until they couldn't stand, Brook spilled to you and the girls that Zoro hadn't even been the one to propose. Allegedly, he was just going with whatever his teal-haired partner wanted, and she was happy to take over as long as she had the samurai by her side.

The whole thing didn't quite sit right with you, something gnawing at your chest. Jealousy? Worry? You weren't exactly comfortable bringing it up with anyone else, but judging by the knowing looks that Robin sent your way or how Luffy would gaze off to the side and pucker his lips at the mention of the wedding, you could tell that you weren't alone in your thoughts. While you would ask Zoro yourself, the way he responded to Luffy's meddling a couple of days ago has you hesitant to do so.

"But Zoro!" Luffy had whined, wrapping his limbs around the swordsman with a pout. "What about-" Zoro's words were spoken through clenched teeth, one of his calloused hands tightening into the fabric of Luffy's red kimono. "I dare you to keep talking."

Currently, you're chatting it up with Nami and Robin in the bride's quarters. The three of you are in the bridal party, getting ready for the celebration that is soon to be underway. As per Hiyori's request, the bridesmaids are fitted into navy blue kimonos that are woven from the softest material you've ever felt. Your hair is neatly styled and your makeup light as you help the other girls get ready for the wedding. Your chest tightens every time your eyes glance over at Hiyori, her radiant beauty and cheerful demeanor causing your confidence to waver.

The whole thing has you craving some alone time before you go out there and watch your vice captain be wed, so you stand from your mat and give Nami and Robin a small, slightly forced smile. "Hey, I'm gonna take a quick walk. D'you guys remember where that nice koi pond was at?"

Something flashes in Robin's eyes and she sits up a little straighter, giving you one of those smiles that you've come associate with trouble. She gives you directions, but they're a little all over the place and have you questioning every turn. You'd been wandering around the halls for a while now, sure that you were lost as you murmured some curses to yourself.

You're about to turn back altogether when you pick up on a familiar energy. It's Zoro's, of course it is, but there's something different about it. The closer you get to the groom's quarters, the more you pick up on the underlying currents of unease than emanate from his aura. Worry grows in your chest, as such levels of doubt and anxiety weren't usually present in the swordsman. The fact that he isn't even bothering to conceal these emotions is even more concerning, since you knew he had a very good grip on his haki.

One of your hands comes up to lightly knock on the sliding wooden door. You give a small greeting, telling him that it's you.

Zoro, who had been staring blankly at the wall with a bottle of sake in his hand, snapped out of his daze when he heard your voice. He quickly straightened up, his usual irritation returning to his face as he roped in the tendrils of unease that he had unintentionally let slip loose.

"What the hell do you want?" He grumbled, his voice a bit hoarse from the tension. He didn't bother to open the door, expecting you to understand that he wanted to be alone.

“Zoro…” You sigh, your tone laced with caution as you stand behind the door and make it clear that you won't budge until he confirms that he is alright.

"Seriously, I'm fine.” He replied, his voice strained. "Just leave me alone. I'll be out in a minute." His tone was defensive. Though he tried to hide it, he couldn't deny that the weight of the wedding and everything that came with it was overwhelming him. The anxiety and doubts were gnawing at him more than he cared to admit.

Before he could ask you to go away again, he felt a knot forming in his chest. He sighed, realizing that shutting you out wouldn't solve anything. You of all people could ground him, could be there for him when he was feeling things he had no idea how to process. It was a trait of yours he envied, your ability to show people warmth and empathy without a second thought. He needed that, needed you, needed every bit of you.

He finally slid open the door and revealed himself, looking disheveled and restless. His bandana on his arm was slightly askew, and the collar of his ceremonial kimono was tugged open, the belt loose. His green hair seemed even messier than usual, disheveled.

"What the fu-" Your eyes widen and you quickly enter the room, sliding the door closed behind you. The sight of him makes you raise your hands up to help, but they remain suspended in the air as you ponder where to even begin with him. The smell of sake is strong, his posture tense and his eyes slightly blown from the copious amounts of alcohol that's in his system.

“I don’t- Zoro, what’s going on?” You ask, your head tilting.

A light sigh tumbles past your lips as you tug his kimono closed, scrambling to soothe out any wrinkles and make him slightly more presentable. Where were the rest of the groomsmen? Grumbles are all you hear from him and it doesn’t make the process any easier. After you attempt to smoothen out his hair, he scowls and ruffles it up again.

“This whole damn ceremony.” He growls, shaking off your hands and turning on his heel as he walks to the table to open up another bottle. “It’s not-“

A long sigh is heard from him, the sound rumbling in his chest. He takes a long swig from the bottle, wiping away the excess sake from his lips using the back of his hand. He shakes his head and turns back to meet your gaze, taking a few steps forward until he’s in front of you. When he speaks, his tone is stern but forced, like he’s putting in effort to remain calm. “I’m not sure this is what I want.”

His admission leaves you momentarily stunned as you try to make sense of his words. Your hands fidget at your sides, your voice laced with concern. “The wedding? Hiyori?” His state ignites something within you, an overwhelming urge to comfort him in any way you can. "I thought you wanted to come back to Wano."

“Both.” He confesses, spitting out the word like it was made of poison. “And I did. I’m just, damn it, I don’t know! I'm already the greatest swordsman, so I should be out here and doing all this domestic shit, right? Coming back to Wano like my ancestors would've wanted? Marrying into the damn Kozuki family?"

The pieces slowly come together. A swordsman who has accomplished his dream and is unsure of what goal to chase next. On paper, it sounded ideal, like a fantasy that only one in a million could achieve. Yet, Zoro is restless and unable to feel at ease. He's taken to following expectations in a bid to fill the small gap of emptiness that came with establishing himself as the strongest swordsman, a title he fought for almost his whole life. Now that he had completed it, he struggled to find purpose, to find a use for himself other than being a fighter.

His frustration is clear, from the way his jaw tenses to the rigidity of his stance. He’s itching to release his emotional tension, his body twitching in anticipation. It's like watching a caged animal. You’re silent for a moment and sense that he has more to say. He huffs and stares down at you with an almost unreadable expression, the distant sounds of the celebration barely audible through the wooden door.

His mouth opens, before he quickly closes it and clenches his teeth together, looking away. Red tinges his cheeks, from the alcohol or something else, you cannot tell.

“Can I try something?” He asks with only a slight slur, stepping closer. His voice is low and gravelly, his eye shining with a drunken determination that hides something you can't pinpoint just yet. “To see if I’m doing the right thing? With the right person?”

You release a breath that you don’t even know you’re holding, nodding slightly. You’re unsure of what to expect, but there was nothing you wouldn’t do for your crew, especially Zoro.

“Yeah.” You affirm, your voice a bit more timid than you would’ve wanted as you feel the heat radiating from his body into yours.

He grunts in acknowledgment, his eye assessing each and every one of your movements. For a few seconds, he doesn’t do anything. As you’re about to open your mouth, he brings a hand up and places it at the nape of your neck.

You don’t even have time to ask him what he is doing before he brings his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter closed, nails digging into your palms as they tighten in response to the sensation.

It was wrong, wasn’t it? Here he was in his groom’s attire, his own wedding ceremony about to be underway. You should be pulling away, stopping him from betraying the woman he was set to marry within the hour.

Yet, when his tongue swipes across your lower lip, you part them without question. He groans. His other hand finds purchase on your hip, rubbing circles on the sensitive flesh there using his thumb. The sake from his tongue fills your tastebuds as he eagerly explores your mouth, drinking in the taste of you as if it were his own brand of liquor.

You couldn't resist him even if you tried, your hands sliding under the collar of his kimono and gliding along the skin of his shoulders and chest. He melts under your touch and takes this as a sign to bring you closer to him, eliciting a gasp from your lips when you feel his already half-hard cock rutting against your tummy.

A string of saliva tethers you two together when you finally pull away, your face hot as he stares down at you with a possessive affection. His gaze shifts from your eyes to the rest of your form, your figure accentuated by the kimono that hugs you.

The effort he puts in is minimal as he wraps his arms around you and raises you off the ground, your hands tightening on his shoulders, though he wouldn't dare drop you. He lays you on one of the soft mats which adorn the groom's quarters, kneeling between your legs and lazily grinding his hips against yours. The sensation has your back arching and your panties dampening.

"Least Hiyori can do one thing right." He drunkenly groans as he continues to grind his dick against your clothed slit, his hands firmly gripping your thighs as he looks down at you. His words are slightly slurred, the lust in them more than apparent. "Gettin' you all nice n' pretty for me, wrapped up like a fuckin' gift."

You hiss and buck your hips to meet his thrusts against your core, your hands tugging at the collars of your kimono in a bid to find some reprieve from the heat that's coursing through your veins. He gets the idea and doesn't waste another second before sliding the fabric off of your shoulders.

His steel colored eye drinks in every inch of you, his hips jolting forward when his calloused hands cup your breasts and knead the soft flesh. Your whines only increase when his thumbs tease your hardened nipples, sending waves of pleasure right to your core. You catch sight of his tongue swiping across his lip before he leans forward and captures one of the pebbled buds into his mouth.

Your hands tangle into his green hair as you hold him there, his fingers lightly tugging and rolling at one nipple while his tongue swirls greedily around the other. The groan he lets out against your breast is desperate and hungry, his hips continuing to grind against yours. He's completely hard by now, and what you feel against your clothes has you thinking about how full you're going to be.

Its already too much and you swear that you're seeing stars.

Through pants, you manage to grab his free hand in one of yours and guide it towards your aching cunt. As soon as his hand slips past the waistband of your underwear, his fingers become coated in your arousal. They swirl just outside your entrance before coming up and messily rubbing at your clit, making you gasp and clench around nothing. When he finally slides a finger inside, your walls pulse around the sudden intrusion. He shudders, wondering just how good it'll feel around his cock.

He adds another finger, then another, every thrust and curl bringing you closer and closer to the edge. When he hits a particularly sensitive spot, you choke out a low moan. "There, there, there!" You cry, feeling your thighs starting to tense.

A low, guttural noise erupts from his throat at the way your pussy is starting to tighten around his fingers. He tugs on your nipple a little harder, his teeth grazing along the other. The sound of wet slaps echo throughout the room and its downright dirty, only increasing your desire for him. Your pupils are blown when you look down at him, his ceremonial kimono making him look unbearably handsome. He makes for one hell of a groom.

When you gasp, he gives your nipple one last lick before gazing up at your face, eager to see you come undone. "C'mon dollface, give it to me." He gruffly orders, curling his fingers just a little more.

You only babble his name before everything gets hazy. Your walls clamp around him and your hips buck desperately into his fingers. The waves of pleasure cascade down your whole body and in the midst of it all, Zoro leans forward and captures your mouth in his. He eagerly swallows all of your moans and cries, continuing to thrust his fingers into you until he deemed it necessary to stop.

Satisfied by the blissed out look on your face, he tugs off his hakama and frees his cock from its confines. He gives it a stroke or two to relieve some of the tension, before he aids you in shedding the rest of your kimono.

He settles once more between your thighs. His eye is fixed on the wetness pooling in your core, his hand lazily guiding the head of his cock up and down your slit.

“Been thinkin’ about this pussy for way too long.” He growls, positioning himself in front of your entrance.

His tone has you whining, your hips gyrating in a way that has his tip slipping into your cunt. The action has him groaning, his patience finally snapping as he buries himself inside of you to the hilt.

The stretch is mind blowing, your hands coming up to his biceps and squeezing the taut muscles in an attempt to ground yourself. Your body reacts to the sudden fullness by clenching tightly around him, the spasms only serving to heighten his pleasure. The grip he has on your hips strengthens and you’re sure it’ll bruise.

In his drunken state he wastes no time, his hips hammering into yours with utter desire. His breaths are heavy as he stares down at you, enamored by how your mouth hangs open and how you cling to him so desperately.

Your back arches, hips angling in a way that has jolts of pleasure running up your spine.

“H-hah! Zoro!” You babble, your whole body hot with delight. His biceps feel like steel under your palms, the sensation making your head feel even lighter.

Your pleas spur him further and he tugs your body closer until your thighs rest snugly atop of his. He releases his grip on your hips, placing his forearms on either side of your head as his thrusts become short and forceful. The muscles in your legs tense at the new angle and you mewl.

The tip of his cock pounds into your cervix, making you let out a choked moan as the pain and pleasure mingle into one glorious sensation. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you bury your head into his neck. With a light head, you plant sloppy, open mouthed kisses onto the sensitive flesh there in an attempt to return a fraction of the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Fuck!” A groan tears out of his throat and you can feel the vibration from his chest. “Takin’ me so well.”

A particularly sharp thrust has your breath hitching and your eyelids fluttering, your head falling back slightly. His cheek is pressed against yours, his skin cool and clammy from the thin layer of sweat that has formed on his body.

Your eyes lose focus and you pant helplessly. His earrings dangle in front of your face, the metal pieces clinking together in a rhythmic melody that rings louder than the wedding bells banging in the distance. “S-S’good!” You stammer, your grip on him tightening.

Another curse or two spills from his lips, his words grunted through clenched teeth. “Yeah? That right?” He smirks, absolutely reveling in your pleasured state, his core tightening as your body clamps around him in the most delicious way. You have him close, too close, and he doesn’t want this to be over just yet.

His cheeks are colored red when he sits up and pulls out of you. A whine falls from your mouth, pleading with him as you buck your hips for any sort of touch. Your thighs hang over his, while his frame towers over you. “M’not done with you, yet.” He roughly reassures while he brings a hand up to your thigh and rubs gentle circles.

He starts to run his other hand up and down his length, positioning the head of his cock right up against your puffy clit as he jerks himself off to the sight of you. Every stroke of his hand has your hips bucking in pleasure as his tip hits and swirls against you, the clitoral stimulation sending you spiraling. There’s not much to do other than writhe and babble praises at him as you feel your climax inching closer, his tip leaking precum right onto your wet clit. You feel another orgasm creeping up on you, the coil in your tummy ready to burst.

"C'mon!" You whine, your hips bucking as you look up at him with desire-glazed eyes. "Zoro, please! Wanna cum!"

He doesn't deny you, he never would, so he makes sure to keep hitting that spot until you're arching and mewling for him. The way your eyes screw shut and your mouth falls open has his chest swirling with pride. Just as you get pushed over the edge, he makes his move.

Without much warning other than a low growl, he folds you in half until your thighs hug your chest and your ankles rest on his shoulders. His hands are secured under your knees, ensuring that you won't wriggle out of his hold. In this position, your pussy is presented to him beautifully and he sinks into you as you cum.

Your walls are still spasming, clenching when he pries you open with his cock. The gasp that leaves your mouth is akin to a sob as he brutally hammers into you, chasing his own high. The overstimulation is too much and you try desperately to wriggle from his hold, but its useless.

Yet, when your eyes catch a glimpse at his expression, his lustful gaze and reddened cheeks, you can't help but let him crack your knees open a little wider.

"Atta girl." He praises with a half smirk, his thrusts becoming short and erratic.

His grip on your knees tightens and he throws his head back, utterly consumed by how your plush walls are squeezing him. When his breath hitches and he grunts out you name, its not long after that you feel a hotness in your core. His cum coats your insides in bursts, the thick, white ropes pooling all around. Everything sounds more wet, more raw, as he continues to shallowly thrust into you, riding out his orgasm.

He finally lets your legs go and they tremble as they settle back down around his hips. When he collapses onto you, his skin is hot against yours. He rasps out some breaths, his back slowly falling and rising. You can feel his heart beating strongly against your chest, the sensation grounding you.

His body atop of yours serves as a sort of anchor, your thighs twitching as his hips continue to gently rock against yours. He takes a few deep breaths, his head turning to the side to catch a glimpse at you. Lazily, his nose nuzzles your temple.

“Fuckin’ marry me, woman.” He grumbles, his tone stern as his eyelids flutter closed. "You're the one I want.”

Of course, you can't say no.

In your post-coital haze, you can't help but wonder what mess is going to come from this, but Zoro has always had a way of calming your ever-racing mind. So instead, you sigh, running a hand through his slightly dampened hair as a corner of your lips quirk up into a half smile. "Can we still have cake?"

He snorts in an attempt to hide his laugh, saying nothing as he flips you onto him and gives your ass a slap.

[netherfeildren]

Kiss, Kiss, Kill, Kill!

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is a long haul truck driver. One day he finds a pretty girl in a diner and decides he’d like to keep her. 

Murder and sex ensue!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Graphic depictions of violence; Murder; Blood; Gore; Threat of SA; Impotence; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Loss of virginity; Virginity kink; Breeding kink; Spit kink; Rough sex; Pussy slapping; Dark!Joel; Mean!Joel (also kinda crazy and pathetic); Obsessive behavior; Possessive behavior; Discussions of suicidal ideations; Unreliable narrators; Alcoholism; Consensual non consent kind of (But not previously discussed - they're both into it tho); Use of misogynistic language; Grief

A/N: Hi :) Another one just bc I have no self control. 

Parts of the narrative read a little disjointed and/or confusing. This is intentional. I was kind of trying something weird out here, I guess.

Word Count: 9.7K

Read on AO3

The first time Joel sees you, it’s a Thursday. His least hated day of the week, but not his favorite, for he doesn’t really have any favorite things anymore. Your eyes’d stunned him at that first look. They sparkled as if dusted with frost – speared him with an intensity that burned. 

But no… that was a lie, and Joel is trying not to be such a liar anymore. He does have one favorite thing now. This middle-of-nowhere diner, this place where’d he’d found you. 

The first time he’d actually talked to you, you’d interrupted his own stubborn, sour silence with a silence of your own. Different, agonizing, compared to your usual persistent fishing for his attention. 

“What’re you doin’ out here in this wasteland, sweetheart?” Because you look sweet as that cherry pie you’re always trying to push on him. 

“Been here my whole life.” It’s verging on evening, the sky gone to melancholy, and there’s a young girl with dark hair weeping on the shoulder of an older woman in the booth over. He wants to snap at her, demand to know what the fuck she could possibly have to cry over? He’s sure she mustn’t have a dead daughter like him, and so there really seems to be no reason for tears. 

“No plans to leave?”

You shake your head, hum a little, set the coffee pot down on the edge of the table to pop a hip out and think on your answer. “Guess you could say I’m a little bit weak or scared, don’t know.”

“Doubt that,” a surprised laugh forced out of him. Entirely improbable, he knows this just by looking at you. “You’ve got eyes that seem as if they’ve never held fear within them in your entire life.” And he makes you laugh at that, head thrown back, throat rippling. The sound like the tolling of the bell indicating the start of the rest of his life. 

When you’re done gifting him your laughter, you ask, “What about you? Why are you here?”

“My daughter died.” Plain. 

Your eyes seem to shutter or flicker, something like a chimera about them, “When?”

“Two years ago.” He watches the crying girl and the old woman get up to go. And then the two of you are alone. You move to sit in the booth across from him. He’d been coming in here to see you for more than half that time since, and now, the first time the two of you are having an actual conversation, and this is what he’s decided to open with. But really, it’s the only story he has to tell anymore. He watches you watch him for a long moment, as though you’re searching for something within him, or mulling over what it is you want to say to him, the shift of your jaw from side to side as you chew on your words. He feels easily frightened now – fragile – and yet vibrantly malignant, at the same time. A juxtaposition on two opposite ends of the spectrum of good and not so good, or perhaps, verging on very, terribly bad, in the grocery store line of human morality. Two Joel’s at the start and end of the queue who could not seem to come to terms with one another. Enemies – they were enemies of each other. A Joel who’d once had a daughter, and a Joel who now did not. A Joel who’d pulled a trigger at his own temple, and one who’d never even considered such a thing. He draws his finger along the line of scar tissue at his temple.

For a long time he’d wanted to tear a hole in his world and escape, but he was no master of inventiveness. On the contrary, he found his attempt rather miserly – had short changed himself at the last moment and flinched. But perhaps, it had been for this reason – for you, to find you. He wishes he could peer inside your mind, crack open your skull and read everything you’re hiding away from him inside there. A violent thought, but you make him feel slightly violent, or – no, that’s not it – for Joel is already a violent man. It’s more that you pull a specific hue of violence out of him, incite it, like he needs to move, to howl, to claw at something, at you, scream and scream and scream to keep your undivided attention on him forever. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say finally, voice quiet. “How old was she?”

His loss. That was a funny way of putting it. It had never felt like a loss. The word was too small. Four letters was not enough to describe what it really was. There was no word for what it felt like. An emaciation of his very self until he simply ceased to exist. Something that had sucked his soul, his heart, his brain out of his body, but they didnt feel lost. They felt destroyed, decimated, or like they had never existed. Sometimes the feeling left him confused, disoriented – this strange purgatory he’d been relegated to, it was like it had never happened in his mind sometimes, or like it had happened to a different man. Like that life with that beautiful little girl with the green eyes who’d had a father who loved her, who’d then died, had happened to someone else. Someone who wasn’t Joel. Like a war that had raged and raged for centuries, and now nothing was left in its wake. Only that terribly fraught reminder of a violence too grotesque for a human mind to conceive. 

How could he miss something, wish for something so, so, so fucking desperately he’d peel his very skin from his body himself to get it back, but also feel like it didn’t belong to him anymore? Like it had never happened to him, like he remembered it out of his own body? A dream that belonged to someone else, and Joel’d only been told of it second hand. His mind was fractured now, he knew this. He wasn't right – broken or glued together the wrong way. His bones didn’t fit in his joints the way they were supposed to anymore. He was all wrong and ugly and fucked. 

“She was twelve.”

“My whole family’s dead,” you say it almost casually, with a half shrug of your shoulders. “Is that why you started driving? To get away?”

He’s been a long haul truck driver for going on two years now. Started just after Sarah – needed to get away, to get lost. He didn’t enjoy it – he does not enjoy it. Not because the work is bad or boring or what have you, but because he doesn’t enjoy anything anymore. But it’s productive and pays well and… well, he does appreciate the solitude. There is that, at least. He’d been on the route from New Mexico to Washington for several months now, and it was fine. Occasionally, he’d head up to the Dakotas – not so fine, longer, harder trek, but he managed it. He preferred this one, preferred the darkness of the north west corner of the country. He never went further south than New Mexico, though. Absolutely never into Texas. He’d never go back there again. 

“Sure… to get away.” He couldn’t be there anymore afterwards, had nothing left. “My neighbor, Anna, she’s got a teenager, Ellie. Sweet kid. Weird kid,” he laughs fondly, remembering the two of them. “The kid was friends with my daughter, Sarah. And after everything– well, after everything, Anna made sure they both stuck around. Didn’t let me shut myself away the way I wanted to,” ill-shaven recluse, confused, fractured, “They’re good people. You’d like them, I think. They’re… they’re my friends.” They were another reason he kept doing the driving, he liked to send money back to Anna and Ellie. He knew they didn’t need it, didn’t want it, but he had to. He needed to feel like he was still taking care of someone, contributing to someone’s well being. It was just part of who he was. 

“I’m sure I would.”

He watches your silent enrapture as you listen to him tell you of his pseudo life. After a while he’d realized that was all he’d started doing, making his way back to you, to this diner where you work. A sad place for ugly men to stop in on a pause from their interminable journeys and lay eyes on an angel. He hadn’t even really realized that’s what he was purposely doing or that it’d become a pattern. He just needed something to see at the end of the tunnel, a light to look towards when he was lost in the darkness. That’s what you are, a single flickering light in the abyss of darkness he exists in now. 

You’re small – tiny compared to Joel’s own hulking size. He thinks he could break you, easily, if he isn’t careful, if he so felt like it. And you were – you are so fucking pretty. He thinks of you so often. Almost as often as he thinks of his dead daughter which might seem wrong or strange, but it’s really nothing more than the two opposite ends of a spectrum of perfect beauty that he’s known within his lifetime that now he cannot reach either end of. Sarah – dead, forever out of reach. And you. Too perfect for consideration, too beautiful and good for these monstrous hands of his. The thing he’s become in his grief is not worthy of a gorgeous creature like you. His existence post Sarah’s death had become some sort of apocalyptic dysphoria where the only monster here was Joel. But he does like to watch, and he does like to think of you. To come to your diner and sit and watch you serve coffee to your customers – the scum that muddles through here isn’t worthy of laying eyes on you – men like him. Sometimes, when he sits here silently, pretending to ignore you and not be entirely beguiled by you, he feels as if he has a purpose again, like the money for Anna and Ellie, getting to inconspicuously watch over you, make sure no one gives you a hard time gives him purpose. And when he goes, even though he never really wants to, he takes you with him in his mind through the long stretches of his hauls. When there are nothing but ghosts to keep him company. When thoughts of Sarah and that dead life become too overwhelming, he calls you to mind, plans his routes to make his way back to you. 

You’re also fucking persistent – not giving him the chance to wallow away in his silence and brooding. He was rude at first, gruff and unresponsive and wouldn’t ever acknowledge your queries of, How’s it going today, and, Oh, back again I see. Sometimes he wanted to snap and just spit the truth at you, ‘course, I’m fuckin’ back, I’m here to see you, I’m obsessed with you. And rounds and rounds of, Can I get you another cup of coffee? The same as usual? You’d memorized his order. Pestered and pestered and pestered for his name until he’d finally ceded it to you, and, How ‘bout some cherry pie this time? After a while you’d gotten sick of his recalcitrant bullshit and just dropped off the piece of pie, slipping it onto the edge of the table and sliding away without a word or a half look back at him. He’d eaten the whole damn thing, savored it, and caught your sassy, little smirk after he’d finished. He’d wanted to bend you over the counter and spank your ass until you cried after that. He bets you’d taste as sweet as that pie, that if he slapped your cunt enough times he could get it red as a cherry. He bets you’d like that – that you’d like it a little rough, a little dirty, a little mean. You might look like an angel, but Joel’s seen the way you look at him, the way you follow him with your eyes, leaning against the counter, chin cupped in your small palm watching him eat his eggs and drink his coffee. 

You want him. 

But Joel is frightened – frightened and cowardly and not right, and as much as you look like an angel, he also worries you might have the ability to entice him into very, very bad things – to provoke him into depravity, even. There is a part of him, large or small given the day and the mood and the weather that he walks in here on, that has the rotten half of his mind whispering at the not-so-rotten half that he wants to defile and debase you, and that he’s pretty sure you’d like it if he did. He wants to fuck you full of his come and then watch it leak out of your used, gaping hole. Then he wants to lick you clean, kiss it all better so that he can do it all over again.

The first few times he’d stopped at your diner, he’d pretended he hadn’t even noticed you, would lie to himself in his mind and tell himself that he had no interest in a little thing like you. He had no interest in women, in making connections, in having conversations. Occasionally… well– no, not occasionally. Twice, it had happened twice now, when the urge had struck, the itch had become too persistent, and his hand not enough, he’d gotten a hooker. The first time he’d shut down completely, lost his hard on and not been able to finish. The second time… he’d finished. He might’ve even made the woman come, he hadn’t bothered to ask, but he thought he might have. Then he’d gone back to his truck and cried great heaving sobs. Like he’d said… not right, he wasn’t right anymore. Couldn’t even fuck a whore without blubbering like a baby. He’d wondered if perhaps his grief had made him impotent. That’d be funny. That type of funny thing that is also a humiliation… you know the sort?

But after a while, the lie had become too much of a farce, even for his own mind. He knew, from that first moment he’d walked in, and you’d spun around, a bright smile and chirpy, little voice telling him to sit anywhere you’d like, be right with you, mister, that he’d taken notice. More than notice. He’d put you in his pocket that day and had carried you with him in some way since. Like a stone chosen off the beach, washed up by the tide and deposited in the sand just for him to come across, or maybe like a fucking infection, like the plague, for he did not want this. He did not want to think of you. He did not want to think of anyone or anything. He wanted to be alone and without anything or anyone for the rest of his life. If he did not have anyone, if he remained alone, then he could never again experience that loss which was not truly a loss, but something much worse and devastating, and even, perhaps, a little hilarious, in that way that a hilarious thing can also sometimes be humiliating and shameful… there it is. A loss that is not a loss for it is a thing so devastating it becomes something else entirely. A humiliation to one’s very existence, a decimation, emaciation, all the things, all the things, and nothing at the same time.

His mind was wont to ramblings, on occasion now. Perhaps, incoherence, was the better word. Anxiety, as well, panic, tears. Couldn’t even fuck a hooker without weeping, howling, a few sobs. 

He had wandered so far, and sometimes he thought, I want to go home, but of course, that home no longer existed. It had been put in the ground two years ago and lost forever. The dissatisfaction of constant ennui. He could, perhaps, return to the geographical place, but nothing familiar would remain. He couldn’t live with the memory, he couldn’t live away from it. It was like it had simply ceased to exist that day that she’d died, and every moment since that moment was just a series of moments filled with a yearning for some place that no longer existed. He didn’t think he’d ever again feel at home anywhere.

And yet…

He turns back to look at you. 

“How did they die? Your family.”

“Home invasion – murdered. He never found me, hid in the boiler closet.”

“Little rabbit.”

“Hmm,” a huff of a laugh, “Maybe. Someone once said I was lucky. Pretty fucked up, no?”

“Do you feel lucky?”

“Never. Angry – that I’d been left behind.”

“Yeah…”

“Alone.”

“Are you alone?”

You turn back to him. Inspect him. He watches the slant of your eyes take in his hair, his face, wrinkled, haggard, his chest, his arms – he feels a flush flare beneath his ribs, then back up to his eyes. He wonders if you’ve ever been fucked before. You’re young – but he can’t imagine how you wouldn’t have been. He thinks he’d do anything in this moment to get between your thighs, but also, he hopes you haven’t, hopes you could be all his, only his, his his. Mine. 

He hopes he won’t cry if he gets the chance. 

“Entirely,” you say finally. 

“I had– have– ” shakes his head, “I have, I guess, a brother. Tommy. But the last time I saw him… I was horrible.” They seldom saw each other now – lie – they never saw each other now. Truth, Joel. We’re telling the truth now. 

You laugh lightly, shrug, “Happens.”

“Sure…”

“What’d you do to him?”

“Ah, just couldn’t get a handle on myself after everything. Things got bad enough eventually, and we fought… a lot. Violently. I was violent. One morning I got out of hand, terrible – one of my biggest regrets. We hurt each other with our words and our fists, and in that way only two people who know each other too well can. He cracked my ribs, gave me half his orange in the evening, afterwards – said our apologies. He was gone the next day. Haven’t heard from him since. I just got to be too much for him,” he says again, needs to reiterate it, make sure you understand that he is too much and too dark, too unmanageable – ugly. That you should not be sat here with him. That he has a violence within him, and that you should probably run as fast and as far as you can, but that he cannot promise he will not follow. “I had…” he is ashamed of this part, surprising for he sometimes wonders if he still possesses the heart to feel shame, “I had a problem with drink for a while – not anymore, though,” he says quickly. “I promise, not anymore.” He should not be promising you anything. “I got control of it – knew it was making it all worse rather than better. Felt like I was trapped underwater with my damn ghosts – that … What's that thing called when – when sick people get like – like trapped inside themselves or somethin’? You ever heard’a that?”

-

“Locked-in syndrome.”

“Yeah– yeah. I read about that once or heard it somewhere – that’s what it felt like when I was drinkin’ – fuckin’ terrible. Let it go after a while… but by that time… Tommy was gone, done with me. I was – dunno… like some sort of demon or somethin’ – somethin’ bad.” He huffs a small, derisive laugh, looks at you with that ridiculously charming, crooked half smile. 

That laugh sparks a kindling of anger inside of you for him. This is a broken, angry, creature of a man, you think. Something fractured – not whole, and he must be handled with care and gentleness. “How could he just leave you?

“Didn't give him a choice. Sometimes people deserve to be left.”

“I wouldn’t have.” That sobers him, wipes the smile right off his handsome face. You think of the invisible giants hurting this man in some unimaginable fashion; of the endless tenderness coiled up inside of him and how the crushing of that tenderness – the death of it – has given way to what may be considered madness. Because after all these months of watching him, of him watching you, you can see it, recognize that tenderness for what it is, but also the madness, for it is impossible to ignore if you’re really looking. Soft marrow at the center of a hard man. 

“I did other things… worse things.”

“Try me.”

“I tried to kill myself.”

You whistle, long and low. You actually had not been expecting that one, at least, not the admittance of it, “You’re just full of truths,” for looking at him – the sort of man he’s built as, the thought that he could be felled by anything, even his own hand, is a little hard to believe. 

“Feels like a sort of confessional in this–”

“Shithole–”

“Diner–”

Your voices overlap. You both laugh. You think you quite like the sound of your voices intermingling one on top of the other. 

“What happened?”

“Flinched–”

“I flinch all the time.”

“Have you ever thought about killing yourself?”

You hum, tilt your head side to side on your neck as if you’re letting the thought slide from ear to ear within your skull. “Perhaps only the peripheral idea of it, but never with much imagination or dedication. I don’t think I have that much to kill myself over, you know?”

“Your family?”

“Not really – it’s sort of become just this… this thing that happened once. I don’t feel much ownership over it anymore. Don’t know why, exactly.”

“Sure, that’s how I feel about it sometimes too. That belongs to a different man now – like– like some actor or a facsimile, and I just look in on it as if from a distance. Enjoy the sight of someone else's suffering…” He shakes his head, “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, no, I understand. Something to do in the way that a tragedy can be compelling to watch. You can let go, let go of your awareness of yourself and experience it in a way you’d never do so in the present moment.”

“A dissociation.”

“Yes. Why would you want to go and relive the basest parts of yourself all alone, over and over again? Not likely.”

“But it was me.”

“A dissociation,” you repeat, smile. 

“Yeah,” he pauses, turns the coffee cup round and round with the slow spin of his wrist as if to dissolve the remains of the grounds you know the shitty machine has left deposited at the bottom. There is a small dusting of golden brown hair covering his wrist and disappearing up his forearm beneath his flannel. You want to taste it, follow the trail to places unknown. “Not so well adjusted, us two,” And he laughs then. A real laugh. He lets you have a real laugh of his, and it is powerful – special. 

“Well… no.” Of course not. “I don’t think either of us could ever claim that.”

“Bet you’ve never been bad a single day in your life, have you?”

You cock your head, let your eyes slide from him to peer out the dark window. His lonely semi is parked under the single flare of light out there. The evening has sunk into a deep blue, the hue of mourning, of melancholy, and the pavement is wet with evening rainfall.

You'd heard that some trucks had spaces behind the seats where truckers could put a bed, have a place to rest. You wonder if he’ll take you back there and fuck you in his little bunk. And honesty is a fickle thing when discussing a topic like this, isn't it? There’s a depravity about him, and you can’t tell if the truth or the lie would placate him – incite him – more. To be similar in such a way as that which he’s imagining. A little bit of both, then. After all, intent holds weight – imagination, desire, it has a mass to it that can, if enough pressure is exerted upon it, be transformed into something else. 

“Not yet,” you tell him, sliding your gaze back to meet his, “Haven’t had a chance – but there’s still time.”

-

“What would you like to do?” He wants to take a bite out of that soft flesh you’re encased in, draw blood.

“Something depraved?” You’re taunting him – trying to provoke. It makes him slightly angry, but also hard. You should know what it is you’re toying with here. 

He frowns at you, at the lilting song of your words trying to beguile him into doing whatever it is you think you want him to do to you. “What is it that you think you want here? You don’t know what I was, how I lived. Shouldn’t be sat here with me, little girl,” he scoffs. “I was– was not– I don’t fucking know, not a man. I’m not, I’m not. Not a person anymore, just this thing that continues to exist. I should not have been expected to survive. This should mean something to you too. You also have no one. You’re alone too. You’re alone in the world. You know what it feels like to only live in the winter.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, and then you say: “I think I’ve come to quite like the winter.” And at that he knows he’s taking you for himself, whether you agree in the end or not. You’re going to be his. 

But he knows he must also let this roiling anger, this depraved hunger settle before he lays hands on you. Like this, in this state, he’d be too rough, break you, nothing compunctious about him or his jaggedness. He excuses himself for a smoke, your only response simply more of that inciting silence – more thoughts of cracked skulls and a cherry red cunt and tears after failed trysts with someone who doesn’t even know his name. He’s fucking embarrassing. What would Tommy say if he knew Joel couldn’t even get it up for a paid fuck anymore? He’d laugh in his face, never let him live it down. He misses his brother very much. He misses lots of things. 

He’s sucking on his Red under the awning of the diner’s entrance, imagining what it’ll be like to suck on your little clit, when he hears them. 

“She’s usually out about midnight. We’ll snag her then.” Grating, guttural voice.

“But I get to fuck ‘er first. This was my idea so I go first.”

“Yeah, whatever. S’only happenin’ ‘cause of me. Too fuckin’ stupid to see the plan through after all these months of watchin’ ‘er.”

“Fuck off.” Silence, and then almost with giddy elation: “We gonna kill her too?” Something cold and terrifying settles within Joel. 

A beat, “Should we?”

“Dunno, man. Might be fun, huh? Never done it before.”

“She’s fuckin’ pretty,” the voice draws the vowel out in a high pitched, sacharine whine. “Got the face of an angel.” Joel’s angel, his, his, only his.

He’s got his Bowie in a sheath on the back of his belt. Perhaps, this would be a useful exercise in release. After he’s dispelled his excess energy he can come back and touch you, take you. 

“Can’t wait to taste that cunt.” His cunt.

“Seen her tits, man? Fucking round and bouncy. Wanna make ‘em bleed.” And there’s only one avenue of consequence after that. After all, this is not the first time Joel’s done this. 

His most well kept secret.

Sometimes, when the itch cannot be eased, abated, by his hand or a fuck or a drink or any of the other readily available vices, he turns to this. Only when the straits were dire. Only when he saw no other recourse. Only after his daughter was dead and in the ground and his brother gone away from him

. 

But sometimes… sometimes it’s just fun. Sometimes it’s useful for a man to do that thing that he really feels he wants to do, if only to enjoy himself, if only to let go of some of that suffocating tension. If only to keep vermin like this away from an angel like you. 

“We’ll chill in the woods for a while, wait the little thing out, yeah?” Joel edges his way towards the edge of the building closer to them, peeks a lone eye around the corner. Two men, middle aged. Not a problem. Not for a man like him. 

He waits for them to make their way to the edge of the tree-line, watches them disappear into the gloom. He looks back into the diner through the murky windows. The warm glow of the overhead lamps washing you in a hue of golden light that brings out all the warm goodness in you he’ll take for himself once he’s snuffed out this issue. 

No one’s going to touch you but him. No one’s going to hurt you but him. 

As he rounds the corner of the diner there’s a piece of metal pipe propped up against the building by the dumpsters. Very nice. 

He goes after them. 

At the edge of the tree-line, under a swaying, low hanging branch, there is a tiny unfledged bird, helplessly twitching its way towards death in a puddle. He pauses to watch its struggle, gathers his skin about him, tightens his seams – prepares to gorge. He watches the inch by inch pilgrimage towards its last breath, then stillness. He feels so much older than his years, like he’s lived a thousand terrible years, watched a thousand terrible deaths. But there is a buoyancy about him, as well. Filled with a saccharine sweet fizz of sticky anticipation. He’s going to taste your cunt after this is done.

 He moves into the gloom. He’s going to kill them for you, and his cock is hard at the thought.

Stepping beneath the canopy of the trees, into that cold, damp darkness, he sees the absolute truth of the world. On the heels of two men who’d do you harm, he knows that he’d failed to save someone he cared about once, he’d not be bested by failure a second time. Darkness implacable, the crushing black vacuum of their overheard words buzzing in his head like flies, of the harm they’d do you. Two hunted animals moving away from a creature much darker than they could even imagine, scurrying on borrowed time. What most moves him is that the things they’d do to you are not so dissimilar to the things he plans to do to you, as well. The only difference being that after he’s done defiling you, he’ll keep you for himself, with all the care and gentleness a little thing like you so deserves. 

-

You press your ear to the cracked open door leading to the back of the building. It’s not the first time those two’ve talked their filth regarding you. The murdering is new, though. You’d not thought they were smart or inventive enough to come up with an actual kill plot. Rape enough of a hardball for minds as shallow and small as those two’ve got. 

You’d never really considered them much of a threat. Or maybe you’d just never really cared enough to pay them much attention. But as you watch the broad, rippling expanse of Joel’s muscled back stalk after them, his pause at the tree-line to look down at something on the ground, you think he must be more in the vein of taking a stupid man’s shit talk to heart than you’ve ever been. 

He has a thick, forearms-length of steel pipe gripped in his huge fist, and there’s a wicked looking knife strapped to his belt on the back of his hip. 

Interesting. 

You look back at the empty diner, the lonely parking lot beyond the glass of the windows, only Joel’s semi still taking up residence on the wet pavement. You turn back to follow after the three men. 

One you want, two you’re interested to see what fate awaits them.

For some reason, when you step outside, you’re expecting there to be snow on the ground, but there is none.  

You move across the pavement towards the forest-line, and the pilgrimage towards the verdant darkness feels very much like your one-way ticket out of this forlornness you’ve been trapped in your whole life. You’ve been stuck in this small town for so long, for too long. One man had already tried to forcibly evict you, had taken your entire family with him, maybe this one, maybe Joel, would do so in a way you’d more likely enjoy. 

There’s been a steady, faint drizzle all day long, and the puddles of rain look like holes in the dark pavement, apertures into some other realm that glide past underground. You wonder if you stepped through if you’d disappear below into some other place. You wonder if he’d be able to find you even in that unknown other. 

You cross the line into darkness. 

The familiar terror of silence – you don’t seem to find it here. There is only the sound of your rushing blood, the cadence of his voice rumbling through your psyche, firing your neurons up into a frenzy. There is a twisting heat low in your pelvis, dampness between your thighs. What’s he going to do? Why’s he going to do it?Is it for me? Is it for me? It’s for you.

You let out a low whistle between your teeth and move beyond the trees. There is a giddiness about the darkness of the wood – the motley of shadows, the aroma of mushroom rot. 

The familiar terror of silence. Perhaps, that is what they are experiencing now. The great horror of being set upon by a beast more terrifying than anything they could have ever conjured up on their own. 

That infinite tenderness from before, that acute madness – it coalesces in the gap in the trees as you come upon the three men. 

Joel has already started on the first. He murders almost tenderly. With great care, but infused with an aroma of agitated frenzy that seems flavored in the same notes of erotic buzzing that hums beneath your own skin. There is blood and viscera splattered on his face and clothes, in his hair. That great hunting knife embedded in the throat of the first man. The body lays facing you now, eyes open, shocked at his own death. Funny. Perhaps, that’s how they would have liked you to have ended up once they were through with you. 

Oh, how the tune changes when the monster is on your side. 

What are you? Be a creature. Be a creature. Be a creature!

You take Joel in. Thick, massive frame. You love his hair, it was one of the first things you’d noticed, thick dark curls streaked with the silver veins of his age and experience. Something that promised of care and knowledge and patience. His patchy beard with the heart shaped gap in it, you’re going to write your name into that space. His powerful arms, muscles coiled tight, his shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders as he brings the steel pipe up above his head, pauses to look down at his next victim. 

“We won’t bother her anymore, never again – p– please, please, I swear,” the man on the ground begs and cries. There are tears and snot bubbling down his ruddy, pocketed face. 

Joel is silent and terrifying and glorious above him, and then a small nod: “That’s alright… I believe you.” The metal comes down in a whistling arc, makes contact. 

Flesh and blood splatter, the sound of it is pulpy and wet and vindicating. He starts with the man’s knees, then his head, caved in like the shell of an egg, the yolk spilling out like vermilion drool. 

He heaves silently above the man that would have done you harm. Makes the threat go away. 

You step forward, cunt pulsing and wet and eager for him. When he’s gotten his fill of bludgeoning he turns slowly back towards you, as if he’d known the entire time that you’d been stood there watching. 

And the look on his face, it makes something electrifying and sticky buzz up your spine and ooze down your veins. You shift back on your heels

He shakes his head, his eyes are huge, pupils blown wide. “Don’t run,” he says slowly. If you hadn’t just watched him murder two men in cold blood – no, in your defense, he saved you, he protected you, fizzy heart full of satisfaction – you’d say he almost looks a little doe eyed. 

A hollow pounding begins in his heart, as if it had remained silent for the past two years and was only now taking notice of its own silence. His cock, hard enough to burst, angry and throbbing beneath the confines of his blood soaked jeans. Fuck this scum laying on the ground beside him, look at what he has infront of him. Nothing else matters but you. A goddamned angel. Damned for he’s found you now and nothing good can come of this. He takes a step towards you, and you match him with one backwards, away from him, his blood starts to howl in his veins. Different to the humming frenzy that had filled him as he did his murdering. This is hot and viscous and ravenous, and he knows he’ll get to keep his catch once he’s gorged himself on it. He knows he’ll get to keep you once he’s caught you. 

You take two more nervous little, quick steps away from him. Your eyes are slightly manic, face flushed, frame jittery, excited. A rabbit that knows it’s about to be caught. He watches the pause of your limbs as they fill with coiled energy, getting ready to make the bound and leap towards escape. He lunges, goes in for the kill, teeth bared, talons  brandished. 

Faster than you can even comprehend, he lunges, takes you to the ground with one massive, powerful shoulder to the vulnerable, soft of your belly, one huge paw cradled at the back of your skull to protect you from the hard ground. Your spine hits the cold, wet earth, the breath knocked out of you. You think you let out an animal noise, high pitched and supplicant. A thing that knows it’s been caught and is soon to be devoured. Your limbs scramble against the dirt, heels digging into the ground for purchase, you feel the loss of one of your shoes, as you try to get away or to crawl closer, who can be sure. A spider caught in the web or a larger, hungrier arachnid. He sets the huge heaviness of his muscular weight over your much smaller frame, one strong hand caged around the column of your throat, the other pushing your chest into the earth as he shoves his hips into the cradle of your own, forcing your thighs apart and your skirt to pool at your waist. You feel the stretch of the center plaque of your tights as his wide breadth settles between your legs, making room to take you for himself. You bring your own hands up to the wrist holding your throat and dig your nails into the skin there. You can feel the light smattering of hair covering his forearm beneath your soft palms, the cold, wet dirt beneath you, the searing stretch of the inner muscles of your thighs spread wide for him, the damp of the air surrounding the two of you. He leans forwards, pressing you down into the ground, and you have the fleeting thought that you want to transfuse yourself into the earth, into him. 

He pauses then to look down at you, appreciating the gloriousness of his catch. “Caught ya.” And he’s filled with an exuberance, a sort of victory. Look at what he’s snared – all for himself. 

You try and struggle again, if only to see the flare of annoyance in his eyes. It makes your cunt tight and achy. Even more than it already is. There’s a part of you that thinks you want him slightly angry – rough or mean. That you might like it even more if it hurts. Be kind enough to be cruel about it, you want to beg him. He leans forward to press his nose to your cheek, drags the cold vermillioned flush of it along your jaw, down the line of your throat, bites harsh and painful at your collarbone then over the peak of your breast. 

“Are you a virgin?” He whispers into your skin. It sounds very much like a threat. 

“Yes.”

“Saved this cunt all for me.” And it is not a question. Yes, you moan anyways. Let him know. Let him know that this defiling is a gift you’re granting him. He sits up on his haunches between your thighs, his hands sliding down to press on your lower belly and digs his fingers into the center of your tights and pulls, ripping a hold in them for his pillaging. You try and press your knees shut at the feel of the frigid air on your sensitive inner thighs, dig your nails into the ground above your head to try and drag yourself away from him. 

He digs his own fingers harshly into your flesh, his nails biting painfully into the soft skin of your thighs and ass and brings you back towards him. There’ll be streaks of pain left in his wake after this. Bad little rabbit. He smacks the inside of your thigh, watches the smooth flesh ripple for him. You let out a warbled, angry screech, little nails still trying to claw yourself away from him. He laughs then, a little mean, condescending. “Fight harder, little baby. This is pretty pathetic.” He rips your thighs apart, keep your fuckin’ legs open for me, his hands slick with the blood of his victims slide up the back of your thighs, anchoring his palms beneath the damp creases of your knees to press you open and wide for him, slaps your cunt, hard, over the soaking gusset of your panties. 

“Who the fuck’re you wearin’ this tiny little thong for?” he growls. It’s white lace, with a sweet, little pink bow adorning the front. “Me? Wrapped yourself up all nice and pretty for me?” Your little foot sneaks up under his armpit and tries to push with, what he’s sure is all your valiant might, at his chest, trying to unseat him from his conquering position above you, but he takes your ankle in a vice like grip, bites harshly into the meat of your calf so that an animal squeal of pain is clawed out of your throat at the same time that he slots his fingers under the damp center of your panties. “Sing as loud as you want, sweetheart. No one’s gonna hear you out here.” He can feel the soaking wet seam of your cunt against the backs of his knuckles, and he rips them clean off you. The sound of the last remaining barrier of protection of your cunt against his ravaging being decimated has you going shock still – prey that knows it’s caught and has decided to give up. Good, this is how he wants you. Your big, wet eyes look up at him as he flings the lace towards the still steaming dead bodies. That’s all they’ll get of you. The rest is only his. Mine, mine, fucking mine. 

You let your arms go limp above your head, soft and pliant and ready for ravaging, melting into the earth.

He presses your knees back and up, letting the red blossom of your wet cunt bloom for him. It’s slick and swollen, and he knows when he shoves his cock inside it’ll be burning hot. “Look at this gorgeous virgin pussy, baby. All for me. Only for me…” he murmurs, hypnotized, mesmerized. He drags the back of his knuckles over your slit, uses his thumbs to spread your lips apart, admires the swollen nub of your clit. You’re just as hungry for him as he is for you. Messy, eager little whore. He moves to undo his belt and free his aching length. Huge and brutish, thick veins pulsing just beneath the thin skin. He’s going to split you in half, break you, mold you in his image. 

He spits right onto your soaked folds, watches the thick glob of saliva slide down to mingle with your own leaking slick. He’s not even going to make you come first. Little virgin cunt and he’s not going to even bother getting you ready – just gonna shove the whole, unforgiving length of himself inside of you. Force you to take it. He fists his thick fist around himself, jacks his cock once, twice, squeezing at the bulbous head so that a trickle of precum seeps out of the slit. He presses his head to your clit, slides down to give you a small threat of pressure at your opening. When he looks back up at your face your eyes flutter shut, a look of pure contented submission washing over the gorgeous planes of you. 

“Not gonna be gentle, baby. Don’t got it in me.” He notches the fat head at the slick mouth of your entrance and crams his cock inside of you in one go, meets that thin barrier that says you still belong to yourself and rips through it. Mine now. No reprieve, no respite. And God, the feel of it, cleaved in half, scorching hot, filled to the brim and never deep enough. He is a rabid, snarling beast of a man as he hits the very end of you, grinds his cockhead at the mouth of your womb. You let out a warbled, pained moan, little fingers coming up to claw at his throat and chest with kitten-strength, down to dig into his thick thighs as he pins you down, and you tilt your hips to let him in deeper or escape him, he doesn't know. He doesn't care. He pulls his hips back and forces himself back in, too thick cock wedged into the too tight space. “Christ, goddamn tight fuckin’ pussy – made for me,” he grits through bared teeth.

He fucks you raw and cruel, and he needs you to just lay limp and still and take it.

And you do. And he does not cry this time. 

He sets a brutal pace, throbs deep in your belly at every pause as he grinds at your cervix. It must be painful for you, perhaps, but the flush in your cheeks, the fever in your eyes, the ripple of your cunt around his driving length tells him you also like it. “What a good girl, taking my big cock,” he coos. You preen, tilt your hips this time in supplication he’s sure, hitch your feet higher along his sides. There are tears running back down your temples and into your hairline. His cock makes you cry. If he could, he’d split your throat and drink, he would. But he cannot, so he’ll split your cunt instead. He thrusts into the hilt, complete negligence for care, for gentleness lost in the dark wood, for the desperate necessity of feeling your virgins blood coating his cock. Your protestations lost to the louder song for more, for harder, for deeper

Joel, Joel, Joel. 

He’s going to listen to you sing his name for the rest of his life. 

He feels unhinged, a thread picked at too many times, spun loose, unraveled and frayed. That edge that separates good and evil – his bloody fingers clamp down hard on the edge of your jaw, forces you to open for him, and he spits into your mouth – direct, dirty … warm. “Lemme see…” he rumbles, and you stick your tongue out for his inspection. Once he nods, pleased and smug and conquering, you close and rub the slick of his saliva onto the roof of your mouth with your tongue, savor the taste of him. This was the taste that you’d longed for… that which teaches you what that professed edge really is. Is he good, is he evil – he’d just killed two men, you’d watched him, cunt wet at the sight of it. Albeit to protect you… sure – but does it even matter? You swallow his spit down. Probably not. 

He is huge and life altering inside of you. Your virginity scoured away on his invading length. 

He leans forward, hand clamped around your jaw to pierce you with his manic gaze, like his cock pierces your cunt. He smells like the forest and sweat and power. “Little fuckin’ tease,” he grits, “Bringing me cherry pie like that all the time – fuckin’ provoking me. You just wanted me to pop your cherry for you. Didn’t you, little girl?” All you can do is nod dumbly and take what he gives you. He hooks one of your knees over his elbow, the other propped over his shoulder, foot bobbing limply at each slam of his hips. He has you bent entirely in half, cunt splayed wide open for him to fuck down into the deep, devastating end of you. Your vision goes blurry, black stars streaking across the back of your eyelids. All you see is him. Perhaps he’s all that exists now. Maybe you’re just as dead as the two bodies laying beside the two of you. You wonder peripherally what the sight of the four of you must look like. Joel’s hulking form fucking you like an animal into the dirt. You open your eyes to look up at him, there’s blood splatter across his face, in his hair. His skin is burning hot against yours. You think that perhaps you’ll have scorch marks in the shape of his fingers in your skin after he’s done with you. Two dead, brutalized bodies cooling beside the place where the two of you are fucking. 

“Can feel ya tightening up, baby. Gonna come all over my cock.”

He does something to change the angle, and it fucking hurts. “Too much,” you beg, try to push him back weakly, but your cunt pulls sharp and tight, and then your muscles are rippling around him, womb contracting painfully as your orgasms blinds you with its sudden intensity. 

“Don’t care,” he growls back. “Do not fucking push me away.” No, he must not care. Prey doesn’t decide how it’s felled, after all. 

He pulls out and back then, suddenly, slaps your cunt harshly, once, twice. You mewl, high and shocked, writhing around in the dirt. He grabs you by the hips and flips you so fast you’re left disoriented, pulling your ass up, up, up. 

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he croons, bends to bite down on the meat of your asscheek, and then notches back at your gaping, fluttering hole, orgasm still running through you, and pushes back in. You’re soaking wet, slick and fucked open by him and the taking is much easier this time. You feel his thumb press down on your asshole, “Gonna take this too. Gonna have every part of you, every piece. Gonna swallow you whole.” All you do is arch your back further, cheek smushed into the dirt, fingers digging into the cool earth for purchase, for salvation.

The sight of you stretched around his thick base, so slick he feels you dripping down his balls and further below, into the bloody earth. There’s a red tinge of your own blood coating his skin, and he’s going to come. He’s going to fill you up with his spend and fuck it deep into you until it takes. Until no matter how far you want to run, he’ll be with you, always. He lets his head fall back on his neck and stares up at the dark canopy of the trees, groans low and deep.“You’re gonna be my little hole now,” he promises, presses one large palm into the small of your back to deepen the angle and fuck down into you. “Gonna take you with me and fill you up whenever I feel like it. My gorgeous little cumslut.” The ramming of his hips starts to grow sloppy and stuttered, close to the edge now. Victory is so, so near. 

You start to claw at the dirt and wiggle again. Little knees chafed raw and scrambling against the hard ground trying to get away. He slaps your ass hard, hopes there’ll be the print of his hand to appreciate later. 

“Not inside, not inside – not – no birth control,” you stutter, beg.

“I’m not fuckin’ pulling out.” He twists a cruel and unyielding hand into the back of your hair and presses your face harshly into the ground. Your eyes pinch and tears seep and mingle into the blood and dirt beneath you. “Gonna pump you raw and full. You don’t gotta worry about anythin’ anymore, baby. Gonna take care of you,” he grits and you press yourself harder back into him. There is an existential seesaw inside of you – a volleying of your wants – you want him to hurt you, to force you, to take care of you and keep you, all at the same time.

“Promise – promise me you won’t leave me,” you cry and beg because really, that’s all you want. All you’ve ever wanted. For someone to stay, for someone to never leave, no matter what.

“I promise – fuckin’ swear.” And you go loose and passive again at that – his to do with as he will. Nothing else really matters after all that.

He senses the change. The loosening of your muscles into capitulation. He stops his thrusting and grinds, strums at your clit. “Oh fuck, you want me to fill you up? And what happens if I do? What happens if it takes? Want me to get you fuckin’ pregnant?” Starts to fuck into you again, “I think you do.”

Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.

“You’re mine. Fucking mine.” He says it again and again and again, yes, yes, yes, lets himself fall forward, anchored above you with one strong arm as he presses as deep as he can physically go and starts to fill your pulsing cunt with his come, the heat of his spend inciting you to roll into one more throbbing orgasm. He brings his face down close to yours, open your eyes, little thing, lemme see you. The fluttering of your lashes, sweaty, dirt-streaked face, and you are seraphic, the wet crimson heat of your blood pounding beneath the delicate membrane of your skin. Gorgeous, perfect, conquered and his. 

“Fucked full’a me now,” he whispers, presses a soft kiss to the tender skin of your eyelid. You nuzzle into him, and then look up at him with the warmest, most vibrant gaze he’s ever seen. Fucking pleased and sated. 

“They wanted me, but only you get to have me now,” you whisper. “How does that make you feel?” Provoking, provoking again. 

“Like I fucking own you.” He grinds his still spitting cock further, feels the pull of your muscles milk him deeper. 

He lets his weight fall partially over you, too heavy for the full mass of himself. You are, after all, a delicate thing, and he must remember to handle you with care, occasionally. He feels the pulsing and quivering of your cunt around his softening cock, and the two of you settle to lay there in the dirt, bodies still dead, virginity scoured and stolen, and stare at each other. 

“Have you ever been in love?” you whisper, dragging the tip of one little finger, whisper soft, over the arch of his brow, the slope of his nose.

“I feel a little in love with ya right now,” he confesses, and you press that finger against the seam of his mouth, begging for entrance, and then inside, against the flat of his tongue to inspect the wet gleam of it. It’ll be inside of you soon enough, you should take a look at that which you’ll be writhing against in due time. 

“Good. That was my plan all along.” Smug, conniving little creature. 

-

Once it’s full dark, he packs you into his truck, buckles your seatbelt for you, tucks a blanket around your dirty knees and drives off as if he hadn’t just murdered two men and taken your virginity with their blood still hot on his skin. He goes for miles and miles, eventually finds a dark, secluded spot to park the truck for the night. He takes you into the back bunk and fucks you like you’d wanted him to, on your side, one leg slung over his shoulder, hand gripping the lush of your ass to pull you onto his impaling cock, watches your ass bounce against his thrusts. A demanded play with it, lemme see ya push it back in, as he watches himself drip out of your messy hole. Eats your cunt until you cry. Afterwards, the two of you lay, naked and damp, facing each other, tracing the lines of one another in the quiet dark. 

Sometimes he’s worried he’s blood hungry – or pain hungry. Starving for something he doesn’t have a name for. But he thinks that, perhaps, he can use your name to fill in the blank space now. He’d always felt as if his devotion was a punishment to the receiver. After all, everyone Joel has ever loved has left him. But as he looks at you, there’s something in your eyes that tells him that perhaps, you’ll remain. Perhaps, he can compel you to, force you to. Perhaps, he can anchor you to himself, and in turn, give you everything. 

“Are you a ghost?” he asks.

“No. Are you?”

“Sometimes I think I am.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re like a fuckin’ angel or somethin’. What were you doin’ out here in this wasteland?” He asks you again.

“Maybe I was waiting for you.” This answer he likes.

He’s quiet for a long time after that – taking you in, cataloging you, memorizing you. His fingers ghosting over your face, your hair, strumming the fan of your lashes. Later he asks: How do you remember the memory of someone else? How do you keep them when they’ve gone somewhere entirely unreachable?

“Because you love them,” you tell him.

“That’s enough?”

“Of course. Will you ever forget that you loved her?”

“Never.”

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[toriangeli]

Just pointing something out. I used to be a reenactor of 18th century shit, and I don't pretend to know everything, but here is some knowledge.

Take a peek at Armand here.

So it is true that prior to the invention of the cotton gin in 1793 and shortly after, undergarments like shirts were made of linen. This is accurate in the photo--linen just drapes and wrinkles very distinctively. However, shirts like this weren't dyed. Back then, a shirt was an undergarment, and the most you would usually see of it would be the collar and cuffs, if even that. Keeping it undyed made washing much easier because the fabric could be bleached. Those with money could purchase nice, crisp, bleached white linen, while the working class had to settle for unbleached. The natural color of linen kind of a warm grey to a light taupe.

So why is Armand's shirt brown?

Because that's how fuckin' dirty it is.

Then you look at the unwashed hair, the sheen to the skin, the bags under his eyes. His unbuttoned cuffs. The fact that he is, for 1794, in his underwear. And

This is where he and his coven live. See how filthy the vampire on the left is? She isn't just in her underwear like Armand, but her unfitted jacket is quite plain apart from a narrow stripe. Her head is covered with a kerchief instead of a cap, retaining the expectation of the age that women ought to cover their heads, but without any frills. Compared with Armand, though, it's got elements to it that aren't 100% necessary. The kerchief makes sense, though, because this is (at least in the books) a Christianity-based cult and the necessity of women wearing caps came from the New Testament. She's good at this ascetic thing, but Armand is more dedicated to it. That, or there's just a higher standard for female modesty in the cult, but that seems a bit...human. Vampires are more egalitarian, and Armand would absolutely try to be more Catholic than the Pope, so to speak. Especially since he has to set an example.

See how crisp and white Lestat's shirt is? He's wearing everything he's supposed to, barring perhaps a fitted coat and neck stock. The coat he's wearing is an outer garment to protect against the cold, not what would usually go over a waistcoat, as if he was in a very casual setting (like his own home) and hastily threw on his coat to deal with an emergency. His waistcoat is the correct length for the time. Upping the saturation suggests the coat is dark red, which is Lestat's favorite color in the books (shocking, I know).

The squalor and misery is what Armand has been brainwashed to believe he deserves. He has become a zealot for suffering.

Then this clean motherfucker waltzes in and tells him he never had to live like this.

Fuckin' ouch.

[ddarker-dreams]

Entanglement.

Yan Kafka x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, unwanted kissing, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 1k.

“You’re still refusing to wear the clothes I gifted you, dearest?” 

A dulcet voice smoother than the finest silk coos from behind. 

You don’t deviate from your original task. Just outside the window, the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space looms. A mere panel of specialized glass is the only barrier between you and infinite nothingness. The concept used to frighten you, to a paralyzing extent. It got to the point your oh-so-benevolent captor had to make adjustments. Using some technology you’re unacquainted with, the dark canvas morphed into a familiar, more palpable set piece: the scenery of your home planet. 

You’ve since overcome this hurdle and no longer require the mirage’s services. 

Space isn’t what you fear anymore. No, it’s the woman with the future in her eyes who holds that distinction. 

“It isn’t to my taste.” 

“I know,” she agrees. Her perfume is near stupefying when it invades your senses. “It's to mine.” 

Kafka is either aggravatingly unassuming or laser-sharp with her intentions. You’re never given time to adjust to her fickle ways, the second you think you might understand her, she reveals just enough that you’re right back where you started. 

Gloved fingers hover over your wrist, causing your hair to stand on end. As if she’s playing a glissando on the piano, her fingers slowly creep up, from your forearm to your bare shoulder. Presently, you’re wearing one of the few garments you were allowed to bring. It’s a plain, white dress that she longs to stain with her own palette. 

Her arms envelop your midsection from behind. She nuzzles her nose into your neck, swaying you back and forth while she hums a haunting ballad. Can she hear the skipping of your heart? Does she consider it just another instrument to compose her hedonistic harmonies? 

“Are the stars truly that interesting?” she murmurs against your skin. “Surely, they aren’t prettier than I am, hm?” 

“Maybe. At least they understand the concept of personal space.” 

“Oh, I do as well. I just choose to ignore it when it comes to you.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t.” 

You can feel her smile.

“You’d be lonely without me. Maddeningly so.” 

“Insanity is tempting if you’re the alternative.” 

She laughs, the sound low and husky, belying any offense taken, if you had the hubris to think anything you said could hurt her. Before you can register anything, she twirls you around. In this new, uncomfortable intimate position, you’re forced to look her in the eye. There’s no quality of hers that unsettles you more. They draw you in and devour you like a black hole, picking apart actions you haven’t even committed yet. 

It reminds you, similar to the path she walks, that nothing you do will ever amount to any meaningful change in your circumstances. 

Kafka settles her gloved pointer finger and thumb on your chin, tilting your head up. Whatever she’s thinking is as unknowable as the universe itself. Her fondness for you is an illness without a cure — even she must know how sick it is. Something tells you that if a remedy for it ever existed, she’d refuse to take it, and would instead crush the vial before your eyes. 

“What a beauty you are,” she praises through lidded eyes. “There is no greater joy than knowing you feel every second we’re apart, just as I do.” 

Irate, you try moving your head away, but this causes her grip to tighten. Never enough to hurt — it’s only meant to warn. 

“I take it you don’t like the cosmetics I brought back, either?” 

Kafka delights in asking questions she already knows the answers to. If she had anything resembling a hobby, you suppose that would be it. 

The skin beneath her eyes crinkled with amusement at your abrupt vow of silence. You fight off a shiver at the look. It’s all-consuming, dangerous in a way that rouses your primal instincts. She leans down close enough that you can feel her breath fan against your face. Her head tilts in a deliberate show of faux curiosity. 

“Is your tongue frozen? Should I think of a way to warm it up?” 

The hand that isn’t holding your head in place toys with the strap of your dress. 

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. You know when to surrender in a losing game. 

“... No.” 

“No?” She repeats, mimicking the inflection of your voice. “Ah, well, that’s a shame.” 

You almost sigh in relief when her hand retreats. She reaches into a pocket on the inside of her coat and pulls out a tube of lipstick. She applies the roseate pigment, maintaining smoldering eye contact with you all the while.

After what feels like an eternity, she descends upon you, her lips seeking yours in a fit of scathing passion. You freeze up at the unexpected boldness. She takes advantage of your reverie, interlocking your lips in a languid motion. There’s no urgency to the kiss, she takes her time with you, just how she likes it. 

Her hand presses against your back, urging your chest to arch into hers. It isn’t until her hand starts venturing down that you return to your senses. In a fit of panic, you raise your hands to push her away. The defiance gets you nowhere — she catches your wrists with ease and holds them in place. 

Fortunately, she pulls back, although she doesn’t relinquish her grip. 

“I knew this color would look good on you,” Kafka sighs, almost wistful. Then, she raises your wrist and presses a lingering kiss against your pulse point. It leaves a smudged lipstick stain behind. “That leaves the issue of the outfit. Hm, what to do, what to do…” 

As if hit with an epiphany, her eyes light up in microscopic supernovas. “I know. If you need my help applying makeup, then why should getting dressed be any different? Why, you should’ve said so sooner.” 

Indignant, you seethe, “That isn’t…! Fine, I’ll put it on myself. Just— just turn around, okay?” 

“Of course. Anything for my sweet, shy girl.” 

Surprisingly, Kafka acquiesces. She pivots on her heel and covers her eyes with her hands. A teasing gesture, if you had to guess. 

Just when you believe you’re regained a semblance of control over the situation, she throws in a comment that snuffs out this fledgling hope. 

“I’ll give you to the count of a ten before I come and help you myself.” 

[muddyorbsblr]

would've could've should've pt2

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: You and Loki attend an alumni event at your college, hiding in plain sight while on a mission to retrieve information about HYDRA experiments within campus; you cross paths with someone from your past.

Word Count: 6.5k [pace yourself; keep water on standby]

Warnings (spoilers ahead but also you need these): 18+ | heavy themes (retraumatizing; emotional trauma from past relationship; past relationship with severe power imbalance; past relationship involving severely predatory behavior; implied dubcon mentioned in memories); mentions of human experimentation involving drug-induced mental and emotional subjugation; angst; Tony's a-hole tendencies; language [let me know if I missed anything and I'll change it immediately]

Things to be aware of: established relationship; keep the song this is titled after in mind especially "I damn sure never would've danced with the devil at 19"

There'd been a tension between you and Loki ever since that movie night gone wrong where his brother let slip that he was frustrated in his current relationship. At least where physical contact was concerned, or lack thereof. Thor even went so far as to insinuate that Loki doubted his girlfriend even loved him if she wasn't even willing to share her body with him.

The unease was driving the god to the brink of madness, every part of him shaking with the urge to pull you into a room and beg you to tell him what he could do to make things better. He would do just about anything for you, and it pained him to realize that you didn't actually know that.

Perhaps with this new mission that you two were being sent off to, you two could have some much needed time together away from all the noise. And especially away from his brother that thought he knew what was best for him. Thor didn't know a damned thing.

You were best for him. He just needed to be leagues better in showing you that so you could know it as well as he did.

And even though the destination wasn't all that romantic, the god still had a good few tricks up his sleeve that could help him make do with what he had.

"Y/N, quick question about lodging arrangements for your mission with Laufeyson." Loki immediately tuned out all of the other noise around him to listen in on your conversation with the worker from Operations & Logistics. One of the perks he'd found from his Jotun heritage: the enhanced senses that allowed him to eavesdrop even from across the rather spacious room.

"I don't care about the view, Kristy, just stick us wherever," you spoke around the cookie you were munching on.

"Oh, no it's not about the view. You two are booked for a suite, so you'll have a fantastic view of the Hills regardless. Maybe even the Hollywood sign!" She bounded in her spot slightly, clearly excited as she imagined what you'd be seeing from the suite's balcony.

Meanwhile the raven-haired god was already losing himself in the image of sharing some champagne with you, your features illuminated by the city lights. Perhaps stealing multiple kisses through the night.

"I was wondering about the uhh…bedroom arrangements? You want one bedroom or two?"

He was about to speak up, nearly shouting that you only needed a single room with a single bed before you answered, not a single part of you betraying your image of calm consideration. "Two." A pit formed in his stomach as your eyes didn't even dart to steal a glance at him.

"You sure about that, jellybean?" Stark butted in, looking up from his seat at a nearby table with his daughter. "You're supposed to be masquerading as a couple all happy in love and shit."

"Uh huh, sure. In public."

"Alright then. Scenario." He leaned forward on his seat, pointing his writing instrument at you. "Say someone sees you while you're out on the streets, takes an interest in getting photographs of you. You're in Los Angeles, paparazzi's a dime a dozen and some of them know how much pictures of Avengers sell, especially if they look like they're dating. Say our hypothetical pap friend has a telephoto lens that can see into your suite and sees you going into separate rooms. What then?"

You didn't even take a moment to think it over. Instead shrugging and answering him in a perfectly laid back tone, "Couples fight. Paint a smile for the cameras and sleep in separate beds. That's Hollywood, baby."

Loki's pulse thundered in his ears, almost dulling out the way that Stark turned back to his daughter and told her, "You do not ever go to your Auntie Y/N for relationship advice, are we clear?" The little girl only answered her father with a little salute.

Was that what was happening? The tension that ran thick between you two whenever you were so much as in the same breathing space together? Were you fighting?

"Two rooms it is then," the Logistics worker spoke again, tapping away at her tablet before giving both you and Stark a thumbs up, confirming that the reservation had been made.

"Hey, Reindeer Games, jellybean, word of advice? You know, from a friend or colleague or whatever you wanna call me?"

"You're my friend, Stark, I'm Morgan's godmother for fuck's sake," you shot back at the same time that Loki said, "Well an annoyance would be the term I'd use, but go ahead."

"Try to have fun? You're going to your college reunion, Y/N. I'm sure you have some familiar faces you wanna say hi to, reminisce about your random acts of debauchery and dance with like you're 19 again at the club with your fake IDs trying to score some alcohol from the bartender that pretends those cards are legit?" He then turned his focus to Loki. "And you. Try to get some. Unless of course you're still miserably attached to Little Miss Prim and Prissy with a fifty foot pole because she doesn't wanna do the naked tango with you."

"What's a tango?" the smaller Stark queried, looking up from her workbook.

"It's a dance, baby," you answered her, smirking into your drink before you took a sip.

"Naked dancing, Auntie Y/N? I'm confused." The Logistics worker decided to take her leave at this moment, scurrying out of the room with a little nod toward everyone present.

"I know you are, baby." You walked over to her, ruffling her hair before placing a kiss on the top of the little girl's head. "Ask your parents about naked tangos. I'm not gonna be the one to talk to you about the birds and the bees."

"Birds and bees can dance with each other? But isn't a bee too small for a bird?"

"All excellent questions, sweetie." You gave Stark a mischievous look that would have done the god proud had it not been for the knots still sitting heavy in his stomach. "Good luck, Tony. And for the record? I wasn't a party girl in college. Some of us actually had to bury our noses in books and study our way to our degree. We can't all be genius billionaire playboy philanthropists."

"Ah, come on, jellybean, there had to be something you did for fun in college." The way you froze for a fraction of a second didn't go unnoticed by the god, but it seemed to slip past Stark and his daughter all too easily. "Just remember that this shouldn't just be a mission for you, you're gonna be among your old friends. Take a second to...I don't know, mingle. Catch up."

"Stark? The only reason I even agreed to go to the reunion is because of the mission. Our intel found evidence suggesting that HYDRA took over and repurposed a building in my old college and they might be housing volatile maybe even catastrophic kinds of compounds in there, and we're just going for a recon mission. In and out. The only purpose I'd have for mingling is wanting to see who in campus might be involved in the shady shit."

"Fine, whatever floats your boat, Y/L/N. At least go say hi to your old professors, though. Might make their entire year being able to brag to their incoming classes that they once mentored an Avenger back in the day."

For some reason those words from Stark had you freezing up even more, trying to mask it by nodding a little too vigorously before taking a swift leave to the kitchen area, setting your mug down. Loki took that as his opportunity to perhaps have a moment with you before you went off to your apartment for the night. He made his way to you, speaking just barely above a whisper. "Darling, I'm so sorry you had to hear that barb from Stark." His arms ached to simply reach over and pull you into an embrace, the only thing stopping him being the reminder that you both had agreed to keep your current entanglement with one another more private.

But he wanted more than anything to ignore that reminder completely. Especially after looking upon your features and seeing a blank stare of what he horrifyingly recognized as defeat in your eyes.

"It's fine, Mischief," you answered him, your voice monotonous and almost completely devoid of emotion. "He doesn't know he was talking about me. Serves me right anyway. Prim and prissy might as well be tattooed on my forehead."

The god's skin bristled with irritation hearing you repeat the billionaire's words as if you were already accepting of the new unwelcome moniker. "I should have a word with him. Tell him his remarks have the most undesired effect on you. He'll stop, I'm sure of it. Once he knows that it's you. Even be remorseful."

"You tell him and everyone will know," you deadpanned, your face remaining stoic as ever. "He'll tell everyone before the night's over and suddenly what's private isn't so private anymore. Is that what you want?"

He stood silent, staring at you with your blank expression that you'd given him since that disastrous night where Thor made the idiotic remarks that so efficiently drove a wedge between you two. A wedge he somehow didn't know how to dislodge. "I…I simply want for us to be okay."

His heart splintered seeing you give him something between a grimace and a small smile, shrugging before answering in the same flat tone, "Then we're okay."

Then why does it feel as if you're pushing me farther and farther away with every passing day? he wanted to ask you, the words weighing heavy on his tongue as he watched you walk away, back to your apartment. Why does it feel like I've lost you?

The level of guardedness you displayed ever since you stepped foot on your old campus put Loki on high alert. You always exhibited a calculated caution in missions, but this seemed beyond that. There was nothing in your stance that implied your readiness to fight and defend yourself, but rather there was a fear.

A readiness to run. To disappear.

Your shivering in his hold did nothing to convince him of any other explanation. Being here elicited a fear in you that he couldn't comprehend. As if there were ghosts from your past lurking in the shadowy corners of the dimly lit gymnasium.

"Oh my gosh, is that…Y/N?" a high-pitched voice shrieked over the thumping stereo, coming from a rather bubbly looking woman that was bounding toward you, arms outstretched with a wide beaming grin on her face. "I haven't seen you since graduation! Our old profs just can't stop talking about you and how proud they are that they taught an Avenger, they're hoping they get to see you tonight. Get a picture or two." She then turned her attention to Loki, jaw on the floor when he saw his arm gently wrapped around you. "Are you two--?!"

"Ohh! Uhm…no." You worked your way out of Loki's hold to give the woman a friendly embrace before turning back to face him. "Loki, this is Bianca, we shared a good number of classes together. Bianca, this is Loki, my uhh--" Your voice caught in your throat trying to find a word to describe the god.

I'm yours, little mortal. Plain and simple, he wanted to tell you, regardless of present company.

"We work together," you told her, the words worsening the sinking feeling that he had in his stomach. "Work's been a little slow lately so Stark assigned me to show him around and expose him to what a former college girl's life is like."

"College girl? You?" The woman burst into a fit of giggles. "Y/N you were many things when we roamed these halls, but you were more a mini professor than anything. I never once even saw you step foot at a frat party or a club…you were always just hanging out with--"

"You know what, you're absolutely right," you cut her off, your voice louder than normal even with the thumping music surrounding you all. "Loki, maybe you'd be better suited to learn from my old friends. Go off with Bianca, she and the other girls can't possibly steer you wrong."

The god's blood ran cold as your words hit him. He felt as if you were steering him away from you for more than just this moment. As if your sentiment held a poorly veiled secondary sentiment, pushing him away from you so that he could pursue someone else with your blessing.

He did his best to put on a casual smile, to politely decline your offering of your old campus friend. "I accompanied you to learn from you, little mortal," he spoke over the music, reaching for your hand and lacing his fingers between yours. "I wish to stay with you. You cannot rid yourself of me that easily."

"I'm not ridding myself of you, Mischief," you shot back, your friend's eyes darting rapidly between the two of you before slowly stepping away. "It's more of the other way around. We both know that I'm holding you back, so here's your exit--"

"I don't want an exit, Y/N, I want you," he insisted through gritted teeth, fighting every urge to lead you both into a more secluded corner so you could talk this out without having to shout just so you could hear each other. "I wish to be with you, regardless of--"

"Well as I live and breathe, that's a face I didn't think I'd see again." Your eyes widened hearing the voice of the man that approached you next, your pulse beating so furiously that Loki could see it pumping against your neck.

This was definitely not one of your former classmates. The man was middle-aged, his hair obviously colored to mask the silver that was peeking through at the roots as well as his eyebrows. He did what he could to dress himself in line with what was considered stylish but so clearly missed the mark. And emphasizing his age further was the clearly decades younger woman he had as his companion, looking as if she belonged in his classroom rather than in his bedroom.

"Prof--Professor Richardson," you stammered, the breathy almost fearful tone in your voice immediately putting the god on high alert. "Bianca m-mentioned you and the other guys were here tonight."

"Oh, come on Y/N it's been years since you had yourself folded into those awkward armchairs, there's no need to be so formal with me. Please, call me Simon. In fact, I should probably be a touch more formal with you, considering that one of my favorite students is now my favorite Avenger." His eyes quickly darted to the god's. "No offense, dude. You're pretty great, too. There's just something about those spandex suits, you know?"

You gripped Loki's hand tighter for a fraction of a second as the man's eyes roamed your form unabashedly, the spiteful jealousy from his companion written all over her face.

He didn't wait for you to introduce him again as someone you simply 'worked with', choosing to speak up to hopefully soothe your very obvious unease. "I must agree with you there, Y/N quite a remarkable agent." He extended his hand out toward your professor. "I'm Loki. Y/N's boyfriend."

Your breath caught in your throat in a strangled sound at the word, looking up at the god with wide eyes before trying to compose yourself again. Before you could speak, however, Simon did.

"Well if she's as remarkable a girlfriend as she was a student, then you have yourself a real catch right here. You're quite the lucky man--god, I mean." The woman next to him cleared her throat conspicuously loudly, the tail end of it sounding more like a muffled shriek, calling Simon's attention to her. He eyed her with a bit of irritation before turning back to you. "Oh where are my manners? This is Deena. I'm her thesis advisor for her graduating year."

"Oh…that's…" You were quite clearly struggling to form words. You addressed the student instead, your eyes quickly darting to the way she gripped her professor's arm so tightly before looking back at her. "Wow. You're quite the lucky young lady. Professor Richardson mentioned back then that he rarely took on the role of advisor. I'm sure your proposal was nothing short of remarkable."

The student offered you a tight smile in response, opening her mouth to speak before your former professor perked up again. "In all these years, nobody still quite measures up to you, though, Miss Y/L/N. Oh, sorry. Agent Y/L/N." He shifted his gaze to address the god once more. "It was a bleak day when I had to give her her final grade for her final course with me."

He reached his hand out toward you which you took with a slight tremor in your fingers. Loki way too easily heard the gasp that slipped out of you when Simon took your hand in both of his, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your fingers.

"I hope to see you around some more while you're in town, Y/N." The way he rolled the syllables of your name, like he was savoring a taste on his tongue, didn't sight right with the Asgardian. He was the only one that could speak your name like that. At least…he hoped he still could.

"Yeah…s-sure," you mumbled, jerking your hand out of the professor's hand, subtly wiping the back of it on your skirt when you smoothed your hands over your dress. "En--Enjoy the rest of your night, Simon. Deena." You nodded your head at both of them before walking away abruptly, inadvertently towing Loki behind you.

As you put more distance between you and your former professor, the god heard a muffled sentiment from Simon to his companion. "Of course not, sweet thing, you know you're the only one for me."

There weren't many things that could catch the god off guard, but hearing those words from your former professor sent a slight chill down his spine, the confirmation of his initial suspicions written in black and white. Making him wonder now what your true history with the man that put both of you at a state of unease was.

"Darling, are you alright?" He held you closer to him as the crowd became denser, too many people surrounding you and pushing against you as you moved. "You're cold."

"I'm fine." He could barely hear you over the speakers. "I just need some air, I can barely hear myself think in here."

He didn't need to be told twice; this type of environment wasn't agreeable with him, either. Once you'd both stepped through the doors of the gymnasium and the air no longer tasted of alcohol and sweat, he pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"What was that for?" you breathed out, the dazed tone of your voice making him hold you just a touch tighter.

He hadn't the full picture of what had your fight or flight kicking in to an extent he'd never seen on you before, but he held faith that when you were ready, you would tell him. For now, he would do what he could to at least ease your discomfort.

"Can I not simply wish to hold you, my love?"

You briefly wrapped your arms around him, returning his embrace before you took a step away from him, smoothing your hands over your dress once more. "Come on. I wanna find the lab and be done with this mission. Get back to New York sooner rather than later and all that."

His heart splintered even worse in his chest, his suspicion that your stepping away from him was more than simply physical now. That the last fortnight that he'd spent sleeping in his own apartment devoid of the simplest pleasure of having you in his arms as he slept through the night would be how he'd be spending the rest of his nights moving forward. He was at a loss for what he could do to somehow amend your relationship moving forward short of locking you both in a room and offering an ultimatum.

Tell him how he could fix the rift that was caused by Thor's callous words, or tell him that what he feared had finally found its way into your reality. Tell him that there was nothing he could do to mend the damage and that things were truly over between you.

"As you wish, little mortal."

You led him through a search that was guised as an inebriated tour through your alma mater, going through each building with information that you'd either gathered there from firsthand experience from your college years, or from information you amassed looking through testimonials of various alumni.

"Ooh! Come on, I wanna show you something that might just make you proud." You made an entire performance of stumbling toward the god and reaching for his hand, guiding him with carefully choreographed steps backwards with a few planned near slip-ups where you seemed to trip on air and almost fall bum first onto the floor before catching yourself at the last second.

"Don't you know well enough by now, darling, that you constantly impress me?" he shot back at you with a chuckle, fighting every urge to lose himself in the ruse you were both putting on. He wanted more than anything to have this be akin to those films that your fellow teammates were so fond of watching, where the couple would find an empty classroom and proceed to kiss and paw at each other like animals in heat.

He'd found those scenarios so trite before, but he found himself admitting that he was more than open to the idea if the opportunity presented itself with you. He would be willing to do just about anything with you at his side.

"Come on, Mischief," you sing-songed, giggling your way to the heart of one of the buildings dedicated for the science-centric curriculum. "I'm taking to to the lab where we used to brew our own beer. Mix our own booze. You're gonna love it, it's like we were witches brewing potions in here--"

You play-acted your way to stumbling through the double doors of the laboratory, only to be met with resistance and the visual of a thick chain wrapped around the door handles. Immediately you righted your stance, the god signaling to you that he'd taken care of the security cameras. He'd chosen to feed them footage of the two of you indulging in one of those slightly risqué scenarios in the corridor.

With a wave of his hand, the chains materialized on the floor by Loki's feet, and you pushed the doors open to reveal exactly what you'd been looking for. The tables were littered with documents and notes that were watermarked with HYDRA's sigil, each designated work station housing its own compound that when put in the wrong hands, could be utilized in the most sadistic manners.

You went on to look into the filing cabinets that held more research reports while he rounded the table that held the compound surrounded by the most amount of notes scribbled on to the logo-branded papers. He felt the bile rising steadily up his throat at the findings.

Subjects that are exposed to this compound even in its aerated form will feel an intense emotional attachment to the closest set of pheromones within their vicinity, enslaving them to the holder for an indeterminate amount of time. Potency strengthens if the compound is ingested. Theoretically catastrophic potency if somehow introduced directly into subject's bloodstream. Effects inconclusive if holder severs the emotional attachment before the compound has had a chance to be flushed from subject's system, but theoretically, the more potent the remaining dosage that is yet to be metabolized, the more catastrophic the aftermath.

"Darling, they might be experimenting on these students," Loki said grimly, rushing over to you the moment he spotted how much paler your knuckles became from how hard you were gripping the countertop. "What's wrong?"

"There are reports dating back to before you even got to Earth," you told him, the shakiness of your tone at its worst as you tried to speak through the tears bubbling up inside you. "Back to when I was still here."

He thumbed through the report that you were perusing and had to fight every urge to set fire to the entire operation and lay waste to the names that he'd found on the user tests. The most frequent one being the man that he had the displeasure of meeting earlier, Simon Richardson. "These other names, were they your other professors?" You only nodded. He didn't know whether to be relieved or even more horrified realizing that the subject names were kept confidential, hidden under monikers such as "Subject 12-29-A", "Subject 12-29-B" and so forth.

"I think the first number's the year. 12 is 2012. And the second number might be a batch number." You took a few deep breaths before straightening your stance and looking for the nearest computer, fiddling with the comms bracelet that Shuri had equipped you with before you left New York. "Shuri, are you there?"

"I am here, I am here. How is the college party? I have never actually been to one since--"

"Since you're so smart you should probably be teaching these classes, I know I know." A bit of your liveliness came back speaking with the young genius. Loki could even hear a slight smile in your voice. "Could you pull off a remote duplication? I wanna get these experimentation reports to you guys so that we can already start on next moves before Laufeyson and I even get back to New York."

"Does the sun rise in the East, my friend?" The Wakandan princess began to laugh from her end of the call, the sound filling the room. "Put your bracelet near the device and let me do my magic." You did as she instructed, holding your wrist near the computer's power source and a few short moments later, she spoke again. "All done. We will see you when you get back."

"Thanks, Shuri. We'll wrap it up here. I'll see you guys in the morning."

As you shut off your comms and both of you proceeded to place things back exactly where you found them, ensuring that you lessened your chances of HYDRA suspecting anyone had rifled through their research, there was yet another thought that led to a pit forming in Loki's stomach.

What if one of the test subjects in those reports was you?

Loki laid awake, restless, in bed since you both got back to your suite, doing his best to somehow induce slumber upon himself so that he wouldn't have to fight against his mind wandering back to those reports, wondering if one of the subjects that was detailed within those pages could be referring to you. As well as fighting against the parts of him that feared you were pushing him away, forcing his hand into letting you go even if that was the last thing he would ever wish to do.

He had to make a note to give that oaf Thor a swift stab for so thoroughly jeopardizing what could have possibly been the best thing to happen to him. He was more than content with you, he was happy. He could picture what a future with you would be like.

And yes, it would be nice if your relationship would have a physical aspect to it, but that was no dealbreaker for the god. He didn't need it right this second, and for you, he would wait until you reached that level of comfort with him. At your own pace.

He would wait. Even if it meant he waited forever.

Yet here you both were now, sleeping in separate beds in separate rooms all because you believed that he would be better off with someone who had no compunctions on disrobing with him at a moment's notice. He could already feel you slipping away despite how desperately he tried to hold on to you.

The sound of your unrest had him sitting up on his bed, a series of whimpers and cries being heard from your bedroom. What got him darting out and bursting through your door, however, was your scream of "Please no I've been good to you! Why would you do this to me?!"

In a heartbeat he was by your side, cradling you against his chest and trying to wake you from your nightmare. "Shh shh, little mortal, you're safe, please wake up."

"I never told a soul I don't even look at you when there's other people please don't leave me," you kept whimpering, your words hitting the god like bullets straight to his heart. Were you having a nightmare about him?

"I'm here, my love, please. I'm not going anywhere just please wake up," he pleaded desperately, rubbing his hand up and down your back as he pressed multiple kisses to your templed. "I'm here I'll never leave you. Please darling, I love you."

You finally began to breathe a bit slower in his arms, moving so that you were looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Loki?"

Had he been on his feet, the sight of you so distraught would have brought the god to his knees. "Oh my sweet mortal." He cupped your face, wiping your tears away before he pressed a kiss between your brows. He wordlessly maneuvered you into his arms so that he could carry you out of bed and into the kitchen area, fetching you a glass of water.

"I can't--" You sounded as if you were trying to speak through a lump in your throat, more tears falling from your eyes. "I can't talk about--"

"No, darling, it's alright." He placed his hands on your shoulders, trying to guide you into evening out your breaths. "You don't need to tell me anything you're not ready to."

"I want to," you insisted, keeping your eyes glued to the floor, refusing to meet his gaze. "I just--I can't bring myself to say the words, but I need you to know…why. Why I can't--" You cut off with a squeak, gripping the sides of your stool so tightly he feared the metal would start hurting you, so he took them into his hands instead. "Why I can't be with you…physically."

"Darling, please I've told you I don't need--"

"No, you should know. I…I need you to know. I just can't…articulate the words." You started breathing the same way that you would when you would run with the rest of the team, as if your body was compensating for lack of oxygen the best it could. Or as if you were preparing yourself for something particularly uncomfortable. "But I can show you."

"Y/N what are you--"

"I want you to look into my memories. I want you to see. And understand what I can't tell you with words."

He framed your face with his hands, urging you to look at him before he followed through with your request. "Are you absolutely certain, my love?" You just stared at him with your red-rimmed tear-stricken eyes, the surrender and pain in them breaking his heart more than your stoic monotonous attitude from the past weeks ever could. He pressed another kiss to your forehead. "Alright."

He pulled up a seat close to yours, bracing himself for what he would find once he entered your memories. He was terrifyingly right to have done so, because the moment he was hit with the torrents of memories, he would have been brought to his knees had he been upright.

You're such a bright young lady. Such a shame that your peers refuse to see that. How about we grab a cup of coffee? Enjoy it in the faculty area? It'll be way more comfortable than sitting on the floor for the next three hours.

I was supposed to have dinner with some of the other professors but the weather in their area has them stuck at home. Would you like to join me instead? It'd be a shame for the reservation to go to waste.

Loki had to fight back the urge to retch as the visual of Simon Richardson leaning in to kiss you hit him next. And the distant attitude that he extended to you the following day on campus as you crossed paths in the hallway.

It won't be wise for us to be seen together or else people are going to start suspecting something going on. I'll get into trouble, just because we love each other. Of course I love you, silly sweet thing, you're the only one I've ever felt this way for.

He saw multiple occurrences of the professor dropping your hand the second someone even unfamiliar to either of you rounded the corner, a guilt eating away at him as he realized he'd done the same thing with you. He simply didn't want you to have to be exposed to the judgment from the team for being involved with him.

Nobody can know. It has to be our little secret. You understand, don't you? How about we go away somewhere for the weekend? Just you and me? Somewhere where we can actually be a couple. Do couple things. We could walk around and hold hands without being scared of getting caught. I could kiss you whenever and wherever. We could just be…us.

Loki wanted more than anything to look away from the memories of your first night with Richardson. From the way that he was so careless with your body, so ignorant of your pleasure and yet he mumbled empty sentiments of love all throughout the night, insisting that he loved you despite his eyes staying empty. Calculating.

And just a few short weeks after that, and a few more nights spent at his place, you went to campus one morning. And he'd begun to go out for coffee with another student. Someone from the batch of freshmen that had just come in. Your messages went unanswered, your calls were met with the generic voice message prompt.

He discarded you once he had what he desired from you, and foolishly concluded that he could do better.

As if there was anyone better.

When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurred from his own tears, the guilt steadily wearing him down as your explanation hit him as if they were bricks being catapulted his way. Was this the reason you were so hesitant to share his bed? You were afraid that once he claimed your body, he would replace you with another?

Your words from two weeks ago haunted him. If you want to be with someone else, just promise me you'll tell me and leave me first.

"My love," he choked, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I could never do something so vile. Not to you. Never to you. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," you answered weakly, your sniffles breaking him even more. "You didn't know." You made a motion to move out of his arms, the fear seeping into him again that you were going to completely pull away again, making him hold on to your hands tightly. Desperately. "Come on, we have to get some sleep. We're going back to New York in the morning."

"Do you wish to be alone?" He could barely form the words, desperately pleading silently for you to allow him to stay with you tonight.

"No," you confessed, shifting nervously where you stood. "But I don't want you to feel obligated because of what you saw--"

"I won't leave you." The words came out of him in a rush, his lips quivering as he pressed a kiss to your forehead again, trying to calm himself. Trying his best not to march his way back to campus and personally see to it that that wretched excuse of a man not only paid for what he'd done to you, but ensure that he would never do this to another innocent unsuspecting woman ever again.

Trying to remind himself that his need to ensure that you were alright at this moment was greater than his desire to have Simon Richardson's head on a spike.

"You say that now, but we know that one day you're going to be tired of waiting. You have needs--"

"I need you more. I want you more," he insisted, burying his nose in your hair, your presence keeping him grounded. "I promised you I would spend my days proving my devotion to you. I more than intend to keep this promise. I am yours, precious little mortal." He kissed a path to your ear. "All I want at this moment is to stay with you tonight. Let me hold you. Let me try to fight your night terrors away."

It was as if a weight was lifted off his chest when you wordlessly nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him carry you back to your bedroom.

Loki held you through the night, relieved that you didn't stir in his arms or show any sign that you might have fallen into another nightmare. However, the god was now haunted by a memory of his own. One from the first few days of your relationship.

Darling, I think it best that perhaps…we don't tell the others quite yet that we've become involved. Grant ourselves the privacy that they won't.

His own words echoed in his mind, taunting him of the monumental mistake he'd made asking you to agree to such selfish terms. How he enforced that agreement by committing actions that eerily echoed the very memories that haunted you now.

He remembered the look in your eyes when he uttered those words, asking you to aid him in hiding your relationship away from the rest of the team. When he closed his eyes he could see the crestfallen expression on your face so vividly, making him despise himself for ever causing you to mar your features with that pain you tried to hide from him.

And finally…the realization that gutted him. You never agreed to those terms. All you said in response was "That makes sense".

You simply surrendered.

"I'm so sorry, my darling mortal," he spoke into the darkness, holding you just a fraction tighter, fearing that if he let go even in the slightest, you might slip away from him. "I'll make things better. I will do right by you, I swear it."

A/N: Lemme just…slide a dagger Loki's way real quick. 😤😤

And lemme offer this as my apology for this chapter…

I can promise u that Simon will get what's coming to him in the final part of this story. And I can promise that Loki will in fact make things right with his bb 🥺🥺

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @cabingrlandrandomcrap

[satorubi]

#2 : SLUT CERTIFIED ! — eren yaeger

꒱ ➛ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS : the first taste of sluttry.

˚◞♡ who ?? : eren yaeger x black fem! reader

˚◞♡ word count : girl…don’t even ask i lost track </3

˚◞♡ chapter warnings : minors DO NOT interact, mentions of female anatomy, fem! reader using she/her pronouns, somewhat bimbo reader ??? mentions of major asshole connie, mentions of player! connie ꒱ i’m sorry ꒱ , use of profanity, oral penetration, body worship, loss of virginity, mentions of reader crying, pet names such as [ mama, baby, angel, love, pretty girl ] detailed, slow-paced smut, a little bit of a cliffhanger bc i LIVE for drama. ˚◞♡ author’s note : we back we back we backkkk !!! hello and welcome to the second chapter :) BUT FIRSTTT !!!! THANK YOU FOR THE POSITIVITY YOUVE GIVEN ME FOR THIS SERIES I LUV U ALL <33 i know i’ve been very absent and i know y’all have been WAITING. i am actually so sorry, but my mental health was calling my name :/ BUT WE ARE DOING BETTER !!! last but not least, excuse any errors, you guys r the best and i hope u enjoy 🤍 reblogs and interactions are always loved and earns u a smooch

eren stayed over that night. not out of fear of waking you, or to avoid alarming you with the sound of your door creaking open, but because he felt pitiful of himself. if he’d left, you’d know something was wrong. he’d rather be petty and silent than obvious and pissy. besides, if he would’ve left, he wouldn’t have been able to wake up to the smell of fresh eggs, grits, and french toast with a simple side of fruits to top it all off.

eren makes his way out of your guest bedroom, nose following the mouth watering scent of food that polluted the air in your home, “goodmorning, rennie,” he hears you announce, still stirring at a pot sitting on your kitchen stove. his eyes wander, looking at the two plates resting on the kitchen island, as well as the two seats that wait for you both to obtain them.

“morning.”

“someone’s grumpy,” you say, watching him untie the bun in his hair and shake it out as if he were a wet dog, “i made some breakfast…if you’re hungry. you don’t have to eat it..but, um..”

“do you have sugar?”

“what-“

“for the grits.”

you awkwardly laugh, a bit put off by his straightforward demeanor, but choosing not to look into it too much. after all, it was 6AM — a sunday too. you didn’t blame him for lacking a bit of a pep in his step.

“o-oh yeah. um, it’s in the pantry, at the top on the left.” eren’s mood was hard for you to abstruse. you couldn’t tell whether he was angry, sleepy, or just being plain old moody, but deep down you’d hoped it was anything other than the first.

“i thought you hated sugar on grits. last time i gave them to you, you said you would never eat my food again,” you jokingly refer, but he only shrugs like before.

“people change.”

you build the courage to start somewhat of a conversation. this was weird. it was like a stranger was just walking around your house. you could usually hear eren making noise before you in the mornings when he chose to stay the night ; showering early, blasting his playlist as loud as he can to wake you, having more of the zoomies than your hyper cat — but now, he just seemed so .. quiet. eerily quiet.

“so, what do you have planned for today?”

he shrugs, “don’t know.”

the answer was simple, but it seemed to have given you more of a worry than a relief, “well, it’s gonna’ be nice out today. i also saw a strawberry field i wanna’ see. ooh! okay so, we can get lunch, go pick the strawberries, and maybe get icecream afte –“

“i have some rules to add.”

rules? oh, rules. the rules you abruptly created out of fear after he’d made you cum with just the simple movement of his fingers, “okay, uh, great. what’d you wanna’ add?” you wait for him to answer, watching him practically inhale the food off of his plate that you’d just placed down only a few minutes ago.

“for starters, we aren’t a couple, so we aren’t doing couple shit,” he begins, and you immediately want him to retract that sentence. you didn’t know why hearing that gave you an intense pain in your heart, but you hated the feeling, “like holdin’ hands, goin’ on dates, etc.”

“but we – we always hold hands, ren.”

“yeah, but you’re with connie. i don’t think that’s appropriate now, do you?”

oh. using your own words against you. how mature of you, eren.

“no, no. you’re right. i um.. i guess i didn’t think about that one.” you couldn’t look at him. you were almost embarrassed to. not only had you been the reasoning for this tension, but you were the one who was behind the master plan. you were the one who asked him to do this. you were the one who blatantly said it was strictly educational.

you were the one who promised yourself you wouldn’t take it further than it needed to go.

eren was just playing the part.

“i’m gonna’ hold off on the nicknames outside of the bedroom too. don’t wanna’ make you uncomfortable so i should leave all that to your boyfriend, don’t you think?” your tongue runs across your lips, unsure exactly what to say. you had no reason to be upset, especially if you were trying to pursue a relationship with connie.

“heard me?” he asks, shoving the last bit of his food into his mouth.

“you’re being a dick.” his ears raise like a hound, a bit taken back by the authoritarian tone of your voice. eren sits and watches you begin to toss the used pots and pans in the sink, not bothering to wash them — which was nothing like you. you’re turned around, back facing him with your hands left to pick at your fingernails.

“how so?”

“you know, eren, i actually think you should get going. i have a lot of errands that i need to get done before our next session so..” eren clears his throat and doesn’t say much else. your words left a bad taste in your mouth and his — you feeling bad and him feeling worse. it wasn’t that you wanted him to leave. if anything, you wanted him to spend the whole day with you, but knowing that the simple physical tendencies were no longer present in your friendship would drive you crazy. you found comfort in one another — whether it was a touch of a hand or a pat on the back, there was nothing else in the world that could bring you the clarity your platonic love resinated.

but that was gone now.

“when you wanna’ start the next —“

“i’ll come over tonight after my last class. that way we can finish this and i’ll be out of your hair soon enough, like you want.” your demure smile said everything you needed to. eren could read you like a book. he’d obviously agitated you with his petty choice of words, but it didn’t make sense of why. you were the one who wanted rules to begin with, and as of right now, eren could already feel a lump beginning to swell in his throat, “alright then. just hit me when you need me,” he forces out, getting up to grab his things.

you don’t reply, you only watch him leave.

“love you.”

your silence was enough to make him head to the door quicker. he waits a moment by the exit, out of your sight, but sticking around to hear you say it back.

but you don’t.

in fact, you don’t say a single word, at least not until he leaves and is already inches away from your home, unable to hear the slight sorrow in your voice as you wipe away a small tear, “love you too, fuckin’ asshole ..”

after eren’s departure, the house was more silent than it was when he was here. yeah, you technically kicked him out, but if you knew the heartache you’d get from it, you easily would’ve chosen the silently petty route just like he did. you were left to contemplate bout what you could’ve said and done differently, what you could’ve accomplished if you’d just been more patient with him. but then again — eren was cold to you this morning. he seemed to have let his emotions get in the pathway, causing him too to make choices he wouldn’t usually make.

and that’s why you felt the need to see connie. the connie who was the root of of the argument that ruined your monring, the connie who you’d grown so fond of. he was also the same the connie who had showed up to your home rather later than expected though. when you texted him a few hours prior to your class ending, he’d said he could be at your doorstep in ten, but ten turned to twenty, and twenty turned into an hour.

and soon, that hour became three.

you assumed he’d probably gotten caught up at work again ; one of the main enemies in your relationship besides eren. his boss seemed to always be holding him back longer, regardless if his shift was scheduled to end hours prior. it made no sense, but like he always said, ‘more money i make, the more i get to treat you like the princess you are’ — but anyway, you couldn’t exactly hate him for it.

how else would he be able to buy you those cute little pandora charms and pretty mini skirts?

you’re drifted from your thoughts as a notification illuminates your screen and you happily skip toward the front entrance of your home without even having to check to see who it is. connie — standing tall at your doorstep with a pretty bouquet of roses resting in his arm. the diamonds in his studded earrings gleaming in your gaze. his hair was buzzed a bit lower than it was the last time you saw him — now dyed with hearted patterns all around.

he looked good, as always.

“hi, pretty girl,” he greets you cheerfully as if he hadn’t just showed up almost three and a half hours late. you sit there with your arms folded, giving him that same glare you always do when he did these things.

“i know i’m late, baby. i’m sorry! y’know how it is. i just got caught up —“

“at work.” he gives you a sad smile, pinching your cheek and puckering his lips for you to give him a kiss. of course you give in, allowing his lips to press against yours in a quick peck ; which eventually leads to him backing you into through your door and shutting it behind him. his lips felt different — swollen almost, like he’d been kissing someone prior.

“new lipgloss, huh? i like the taste.”

before it could get too heated, your manicured hands find their way to his chest, stopping him before he could move any further, “heyhey, not so fast mr. ‘m still kinda mad at you y’know,” you say, running a finger down his shirt all the way to the hem.

connie kisses his teeth, rolling his eyes a bit, “here the fuck we go again,” he walks away before you can even begin to voice the remainder of your frustration.

“don’t be like that. you’re the one who can’t seem to say no to your manager. you don’t have to work overtime every fucking time she asks, y’know.”

here we go again indeed. he’d only gotten here no less than ten minutes ago, and you both could already find yourselves wanting to be apart, “i have bills to pay. working overtime isn’t gonna’ kill anybody.”

“well it’s killing me! i barely see you anymore, con,” your lips form a frown, connie shaking his head in response.

“and what, that’s all my fault? you’re always at school, or studying, or playin’ footsies with eren every weekend. i should be the one doing all the scolding.”

your eyes widen, tears threatening to spill from them as you swallow deeply, “get out.”

damn, yn. second man you’ve kicked out today in a row. look at you doing god’s work.

“what?”

“i said get out. i don’t wanna’ see you.” you don’t even dare to look his way, too angered and confused to do so. connie doesn’t even try to put up a fight. he immediately starts to grab his keys, almost as if he were waiting for those words to leave your mouth.

“y’know what, cool. talk to me when you’re done with your little tantrum. i don’t have the patience for this shit today.” those last few words spit fire straight into your chest. his words hurt, but seeing him walk out of that door and slamming it behind him without a care in the world hurt worse. the only thing playing in your mind was the painful scene over and over again. the tears that you had managed to suppress earlier had begun to resurface, your vision becoming blurry and the lump in your throat swelling harder than it ever has.

connie had never spoken to you like that before — the lack of giving a fuck very present in his tone of voice. you felt horrible, and confused, and almost regretful about letting him into your home to begin with. this wasn’t the man who was treating to dinner on a rooftop after your hard day all those months ago, neither was this the man who gifted you not one, but two promise rings for your birthday, or the man who you couldn’t stop bragging to your mother about.

this was someone else.

there was a tear in your heart, and fighting this alone would only cut it further. it’s funny, it’s like even when you’re angry at eren you can’t help but to think of him. you can’t help but to vision how badly he would’ve beat connie’s tail if he heard the same words you did.

so, you decide to shamefully push your pride to the side, heading to eren’s earlier than expected — and of course, when you arrive at his doorstep with watery eyes and a puffy nose, his disgruntled expression softens within seconds. you didn’t have to say much, or anything at all really. the faint sounds of sniffles coming from you were explanatory enough. no matter what had happened this morning, or what might’ve been said and done — he was still your best friend. at the end of the day, seeing you smile was the only thing that really kept him going in this life. right or wrong, argument or not, he was there, and he always would be.

anytime, any place.

“you wanna’ tell me what, happened? hm,” his soft voice rumbles, a hand burying your face into the warmth of his chest as you let the tears fall and stain eren’s t-shirt, “it was him wasn’t it?”

the two of you hadn’t yet moved inside. you still stand in the middle of your doorway, rocking from side to side as you let eren ramble on with his theories, “hm? what’d he do to you?”

you cut him off, shaking your head from side to side as you wipe your face, “c-connie and i .. w-we had an argument .. “ you hiccup, incapable of even getting the words out. he knew that. that’s why he continues to comfort you, even with the rush of hearing the devil’s name leave your lips and the amount of anger surfacing to the shore in his mind, your waterworks are the most important right now.

but trust, if he could leave and beat connie’s ass to a pulp he would, but to abandon you in this state would be criminal.

“what’s been goin’ on?”

“it’s a long story.”

“i got all night, love.”

eren was right. he did in fact have all night, and you’d taken that opportunity to tell him everything — connie’s lack of attention, his inability to care, the amount of stupidity you’ve felt for the last few weeks ; he listens closely to every detail, only responding with minimal to no noise as connie clouds his consciousness. eren couldn’t fathom how someone as sweet, kind, and genuine as you could be put through such pain like this. all you’ve ever done is give and give and give, and knowing an insensitive bastard could fuck all of that up for you made his blood boil.

“i just don’t get it, y’know. i-i mean he was so sweet to me when i met him. always wanting to be around me, making the effort to see me — i just don’t know w-what changed,” you express, fingers swiping away the tears that stained your puffy cheeks and swollen doe eyes.

he expresses his concern with just a simple huff, chewing on his bottom lip as he waits for you to finish your sentence. eren knew the answer. it was as easy as two plus two, but explaining it to someone as attached to connie as you would be almost impossible to persuade you to believe the truth — which was that he was just no good for you. eren wished — no, he dreamt you didn’t see his constructive criticism as jealousy, but then again, it was easy to portray it that way.

“he’s always been this way, yn — inconsiderate. he’s just gotten better at keeping it hidden longer.”

eren was expecting some sort of defense to come out of your mouth, but you don’t give it to him. instead, you obtain the somber expression of gloom casting over your usual sunny skied face.

as much as he wanted to tell you the blatant truth, eren quickly remembered that the power of words were truly bigger than man, “look, y’know how i feel about the guy, but if you really truly want my advice — from a friend’s perspective, i say you start lookin’ out for you. i know you like him n’ all, but you gotta’ start caring about your well being more. he’s putting you through hell right now and he doesn’t even have the decency to check on you.”

you nod because, well, it was true. eren was completely in the right. it was always about connie and moving on his time, but in reality, a relationship can’t ever even begin to work when both parties aren’t putting forth the effort. like the famous truth, ‘if he wanted to, he would’ but that was the thing with connie. there was no sense of want in this relationship unless it was coming from you. it was a hard pill to swallow, but these past five months with him had been purely carried by your energy and your energy alone.

if anything, it was a miracle he’d been around this long.

“i just don’t understand what i did wrong ..”

his blood boils all over again, a sheer amount of red on his flushed ears as eren can already feel himself becoming angry for the second time tonight. wrong? what you did wrong? how dare he — how dare he make you think so poorly about yourself? was connie insane — seriously, eren had to genuinely think. a woman having to second guess herself in general was horrid, but you? the woman he’s carefully watched sprout into a vivid, forever blooming flower since the small age of 9? the same woman who deserved the world in the palm of her hands?

nah, no way.

“don’t piss me off. for real, don’t.”

“m’ not trying to .. just think maybe i —“

“you really wanna’ sit in front of me and speak ill on yourself like you aren’t one of the most beautiful women i’ve ever laid my eyes on? and m’ not even talkin’ just physically — fuck that. m’ talkin’ spiritually, mentally — you don’t even realize your worth, mama.”

you let out a mix of a laugh and a scoff, “you really think that about me?” eren dramatically throws his head back, and places his hand on his chest, causing you to smile for the first time in a few hours.

“think? you serious? i know what i’m saying. he’d be a fuckin’ imbecile to lose you.” you don’t dare to stop his tangent, especially after hearing what’s to come out of his mouth next, “you’re sweet, you’re intelligent, charismatic, and prettier than you’ll ever begin to know. you’re ...” he stops himself, picking at the black polish on his fingernails, “perfect.”

you both look at one another, both of your eyes meeting at the same point as your breathing patterns become unsteady, the thickness of the air starting to become rather suffocating. eren’s words were delivered with such ease, and it wasn’t even in his usual, corny smooth talking manner. you could tell how much he’d regretted letting that sentence exit his brain though. his head was held downward, a scene of his chest rising and falling as the regret began to evolve into worry.

“you’re so sweet to me. ‘like you have a crush on me or somethin’.” your joke flies right over your head, because well, you knew damn well that would be one of the craziest things reality could throw at you. eren on the other hand, only lets out a forced laugh, playfully shoving your arm.

“mmch. whatever, mutherfucker.”

once your laugh diles down, there’s a comfortable silence in the room before you clear your throat and address the elephant in the room — the elephant that's been sitting quietly in the corner but had been aggressively knocking at the door in your mind over and over again for the last ten hours.

“eren..”

he turns to you again, those pretty eyes finding their focus in yours, “hm?”

“i’m sorry about this morning .. i should’nt have y’know .. kicked you out.”

“nah, it’s nothin.’ i know we just gotta’ get used to this whole thing. i should’ve just respected your rul —“

“but i kissed you back last night,” you interject, “i just…reacted badly, and i- i didn’t know how to respond to that. we’ve never been ...”

“that close before.” you’re eyes meet his once he finishes your sentence for you. eren’s were low, but still pleading as if he was waiting for the next few words that were scheduled to leave your mouth any moment now. yours were reddened — probably from the enormous amount of tears you’d shed throughout the time of connie’s departure, but also from the fact that you hadn’t blinked in a few seconds, not wanting to miss a single second of the sight of him in front of you.

“i’m still curious, y’know … i haven’t been the best student, but i’m still willing to learn some more.”

“i’ll do whatever you want me to do. just say the word.” his mouth was held open long enough to catch flies, and his steady breaths were morphing into a soft hyperventilation. you don’t say a word. neither does he. you both just send each other that look — the same look that was shared when he was on his knees devouring you not too long ago.

you take usage in his words, “i … i want you to kiss me, eren.” you’re scared to move. not only because of the amount of anxiety running through your body right now, but from eren’s physical reaction. he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“but last night you said –“

“i know what i said.”

he tilts his head, eyes not leaving your lips as the rush of kissing them begins to come back to him. he missed it. he missed it so much, and god, what he would give to feel them again, “lemme’ hear you again.”

“i-i want you to kiss me,” you repeat, and you take notice of the look on his face. his eyebrows were furrowed, nose almost as close to yours as it was the night before, “please kiss me, eren.”

“again,” he instructs, and you do. you keep repeating those words until his nose is brushing against yours, along with your foreheads pressed against one another’s — both too scared to find yourselves as desperate for each other as you were last night. eren hears your whispers, the sound of your sweet voice begging him to kiss you making his heart feel all the more swollen.

“can i?”

instead of answering his question with a sentence, you answer it with the thing you’d been wishing to do for the past twenty four hours — you kiss him, and you kiss him gently. your lips felt like dainty feathers tickling his own as your hands found their way to either side of his face. eren doesn’t question you, because he too was feeling the sparks flying over his head just like the first time. he still had his arms resting on the back of the couch, not yet touching you in fear of crossing the line — although, there were about to be many lines crossed tonight, that was only one many that he needed to be worrying about.

you want to feel him, you want him to feel you, and you start to whimper when you notice him pull away for a split second, but you go quiet when he pulls you into his lap by your waist. you fit so perfectly in his grasp, his hands firmly gripping your love handles while you try your best not to hunch your body against his.

but that was becoming impossible.

his cock was right underneath you, hard and clothed — his deep denim jeans poking at your ass as you sit. you hadn’t yet resumed kissing, but this was far more enjoyable. eren’s hands rest on your thighs and the moment he feels you drag your clothed cunt along his lap, he groans — loudly, too.

the shorts you had on were thin enough for eren to feel your folds rubbing on him, and your missing underwear underneath didn’t do him any justice. he was trying hard – so fucking hard not to completely forget that he needed to take his time with you. there was only one thing stopping eren from pulling his dick out and fucking up into you like his life depended on it, and that was the fact that you were new to all of this.

the same realizations from before boggle his mind again, “please tell me what you want from me, yn. you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy right now.” ashamed, eren shuts his eyes at the sound of his own desperation, yet you were equally as desperate as he was. both of you were fighting the urge from tearing one another apart – your reasoning being the fear of feeling those butterflies tumble around in your tummy again. it was wrong. you weren’t supposed to get those around him. he was just eren – your longtime, bittersweet, lovable bestfriend. you shouldn’t have wanted him in this way.

but you did, and you still do. and there was nothing in sight that could change that.

“i want you inside me..”

that’s when you felt a thump underneath you. you lightly gasp, surprised at the feeling but also aroused. something kicks inside of you, and you kiss him — yet again. eren almost immediately gives in this time, refusing to feed into his hesitation as previous. the kiss is messy and the motion is quick, but your hips – oh those hips, were moving slowly.

“you have no clue what you do to me.”

you nip at his lips again, “show me. what do i do, eren?” you keep winding your hips as you continue to taunt him with your lust filled eyes. your back arches and your globes poke out just a bit, the middle of your shorts pushing against your clit, “i can feel you. you’re so hard.. i-is all of that from me?”

that last line most definitely was your confidence talking, and although those jitters were still present, the power of your body taking over you.

“hold on to me.”

eren abruptly starts to rise up, and with you in his arms, he carries you down the corridor to his bedroom, which is on the right. as soon as you proceed in, you notice the distinct smell of his musk and a tiny candle burning in the corner of his bookshelf. your back touches his black, satin sheets as he lays you on the bed, making you shudder due to their chilly temperature.

eren continues to place small kisses all over your legs. you hadn’t yet seen his face since he laid you down, given how eager he was for his lips to be on your skin again, he was practically swimming in your aura, “you are so beautiful …” he mumbles, kissing your calf and up to your ankle. eren then gathers both of your legs, pulling you forward enough to where your ass was hanging halfway off of the mattress as your upper half lays prettily before him.

there he is, on his knees for you yet again.

“i can’t believe it get to touch you like this,” you close your eyes feeling his lips press against the pudge just above your pussy, too easily flustered to even dare look at him, “in all of your glory … bare just for me to see.” his lashes bat in a daze, a breathy laugh leaving his lips when he sees your hips squirm under his contact. you were so worked up, such an easy button to push — but time, time is what this would take.

“e-eren, you’re teasing …”

“am i? or are you too nervous to tell me what you want so much that you’re willin’ to sit there and let me frustrate you like this?” his pixelated eyes hold a menacing glare with yours, but you’re too busy trying to fix your gaze upon anything other than him. the way he was taunting you during your first time was sickening, stimulatingly sickening.

“i want you …”

“what was that?”

“ ‘want you eren, fuck! just do something already!”

eren releases a chuckle and pats your thigh twice, “that’s my girl.” after he says this he wastes no more time diving in. eren starts off with a wife tongue lick to your cunt, beginning at your ass, then slowly licking his way up to your clit before wrapping both lips around the swollen area. he had yet to tie his hair back, so to your advantage, your hands run through his coffee locks. you pull and scratch, making him grumble against you with pleasure.

you hate to admit that you missed the glee you got from feeling him lick you. but something so wrong felt so fucking right. it didn’t help that eren was practically a god when it came to eating pussy. he was treating you as if you weren’t still new to the feeling, but you loved it. you craved it. you needed it.

“t-that feels so fuckin’ g-good, ren- ohh!” your hips move in sync with his mouth, rubbing your cunt against his face as he follows your path, “waitwait – oh fuck!” you’re losing it, and you’re starting to lose your patience along with that sanity. he was slurping, kissing, licking and penetrating your pussy with his tongue and he had no remorse while doing so.

“awe, baby, you’re so wet … all that from me?” he mocks your previous words with a smirk, and that’s when eren slips a finger in without warning, and to be honest, there was no need to. if anything, you needed to be warning him for the messy orgasm you were tiptoeing around, “you get so tight when i use my hands, don’t you? so cute .. think you’re bout’ to cum for me already.”

“yesss! yes, i wan’ cum. i wanna’ cu-f-fuck,” his fingers tickle your gummy walls along with the impact from the tip of his tongue flicking against your clit — creating the perfect combination for nothing but pure bliss, “don’t make me beg for it, angel. just let go for me. give me all of it ..” his encouragement was doing its damn thing — the knot in your belly starting to untie itself on eren’s behalf. your body begins to convulse, jolting around and twisting all the which of ways he hoped it would.

“b-baby .. eren … i’m fucking c-cummingugh – oh!” eren quickly intertwined his hand in yours as you squeeze his knuckles for support through your life changing orgasm. you were too busy making the flesh on his hand turn pale from how hard you were holding on to notice the pet name that casually came out of you.

“yeah .. yeah, let it go just like that ...”

as he says this, you start to panic when you feel the certain pressure of your bladder being full. his finger is still working your hole, not pulling away for anything or anyone — not even you. eren sees your small hands trying to pry his own away, but he simply stops you by restraining the same hand pushing him, “r-ren, i don’t- i don’t know what’s — please, oh my ..” you babble.

“i know, baby. i know.” he holds eye contact with you, feeling your walls begin to tighten around his fingers yet again. that’s when he moves faster, jabbing his finger in and smoothly adding another to completely rupture you. his hand was cramping, but he could take that on any day if it meant he’d be able to see you fall apart, “you’re there. you’re right there, you feel that?”

eren’s question not only earns a loud whine from you, but it finishes you off completely. so much so that you couldn’t even pronounce a single word. the only thing you could begin to make out was his name, and even then, it was just hoarse whines and sappy gibberish. you don’t see it, but he does. he sees it all — the spurts of your cum covering his hand, the way your chest rose and fell with each unsteady breath, your eyes looking into the back of your skull with your lips parted softly — you were fucking breathtaking.

“good fuckin’ girl,” eren huffs, dragging his fingers from out of your walls. as soon as he does, he gently pets your pussy, soothing the sore area with his hand as he uses the weight of one elbow to lean over and place kisses onto your temple. your body is still coming down from its peak, and your vision was still foggy — but you still needed him. you still craved his touch like you had a sweet tooth.

“you okay? didn’t hurt you did i?”

“n-no. more, ren, i just wan’ more …” your pleading eyes search for his lips, and once you find them, you inch closer by default. eren seals it for you, pressing his plumped ones onto your own. you feel the same fingers that were inside you creep up to your chin, then lips — trails of your wet essence lingering on your skin, “are you sure, yn?”

you bite your lower lip and nod slowly, running your hand up and down his bare chest, “ ‘m sure .. please — i wanna’ feel you.” there’s one more peck shared before he gets up. rising to his 6’4 frame, hovering over your resting body as his hands scramble to remove his belt. one loop after another, your heart rate induces, seeing the v-line that threatened to spill from his pants as he finally reaches the buttons on those suffocating jeans and you’re forced to finally take in his physique while you wait.

you knew eren was built. he always had been, but ever since he’d taken on the job as a mechanic, you could see him gradually grow stronger over time. all of that heavy lifting and damn near bending over backwards to fix outdated and damaged vehicles good as new was a tough job, but he made it look so easy. it wasn’t until now that you could actually get a good look at him. he’d abandoned that coltish, leaned look back in highschool, now carrying the weight of broad shoulders and a barrel chested front. you couldn’t help but to stare, especially with him having abs sharp enough to be a blade.

“stop eye-fuckin’ me. you’re making me nervous,” eren shyly grins as he continues to strip off his clothes. what you weren't anticipating was the sizable cock that was about to emerge from his black hannes boxers in a matter of seconds. you watch as eren’s thumbs gently pull the cloth of the waistband over the broad girth that sits inside of his underwear. when he’s finally freed, you can hear him lightly hiss, and his dick practically springs out like a door hinge against a wall. it was thick, inches galore, and hard as fuck by the looks of it. your eyes follow the blueish greenish veins petruding from the base of him all the way up to the rosey, strained tip. it looked so soft at the touch, so pent up, so … edible.

you watch as he moves over to his nightstand, snagging one of the condoms from it and ripping it open with his teeth. as soon as you see him lower his hands to his cock, you stop him, “can- can i put it on?” he pauses his movements, a bit taken back by your question but not exactly opposed to it — the thought of your soft hands coming into contact with his dick was a vision he’d give anything to see.

“yes-yeah, go for it,” he nods, handing it off, stepping closer into your vicinity to make it easier for you, “do you know how to put it o – aw .. f-fuck waitwaitwait -“ eren didn’t need to finish his sentence, because once your cold fingers wrapped around his base he was in heaven. your grasp was so light, but the feeling of your hand on him felt so heavy. it was taking everything he had not to cum from the act of your touch alone.

you, on the other hand, were in awe, taking the rubber in one hand, holding his frustrated dick in the other while you ease the material around his shape. eren let’s go of a small groan, throwing his head back as his belly pokes forward and back in at the pace of his breathing.

you were amazed.

“oh my god ..”

so amazed that you didn’t mean to say that aloud, “what? what’s wrong?”

“nothing .. you’re just … big.”

he shyly, and nervously laughs, “what, don’t think it’ll fit?” if you were speaking by just the looks of it — no, it didn’t look like it’d fit. you were a virgin for crying out loud, that thing looked like a fucking weapon.

“hmm, m’ a brave girl i’ll be fine. i promise. i would tell you if i wasn’t,” you ease. eren nods, looking down at you as you blink your pretty falsies up at him with a smile on your face, “now hurry before i dry out.”

he shakes his head and laughs at your attempt at humoring the mood, but that laugh fades once you spread your legs for him again. eren looks down at you, looking at your sprawled out figure in awe. you still had your shirt on. no bra, so simple to see your hardened nipples through your baby pink tee. you looked so pretty, so needy, and so ready to take him like this wasn’t your first time around.

“i know you’re excited, but please, yn, tell me if i’m making you uncomfortable or if m’ hurtin you. i don’t care if it’s the smallest touch, please. tell. me.”

“mkay.”

“yn, for real. if you aren’t comfortable, punch me or pinch me or someth —“ ”

the amount of concern in his tone humors you, giggling a bit as you say, “i know, eren. i said okay,” he gives you his eyes once more before beginning to climb on top of you, your thigh being skimmed by the tip of his cock as he places both of his arms on either side of your head. he’s so close now. not on his knees, or beside you, or somewhere in front of you — no, he was right here. face to face so much so that his shaky breaths trickle your nose as he tries his best to keep his breathing steady.

eren balances back on his knees as he grabs ahold of his cock, tugging at it a little so that precum coats his tip and fingers as lubricant. you were already wet, but he needed to make this somewhat easy — he had to, for your sake and his. hurting you just wasn’t something he had on his agenda. so he takes the extra mile to make sure — a glob of saliva falling from his mouth and onto his condom covered base as he strokes it.

“f-fuck …” he moans, swallowing as his thumb runs over the pumping vein just before his tip, and once he’s done prepping himself, he sits his cock directly onto your belly — the tip of it stopping just at your shimmery-pierced bellybutton. he shakes his head from side to side, gassed at the knowledge of knowing how deep he’d be inside of you, “ima’ slide it in, okay?”

you nod at his words, and when you do, you wrap your arms around his neck, “deep breaths. take deep breaths for me.” you hear him, and you do what he tells you, inhaling and exhaling as you feel eren’s cock sit right at your folds, “i’ll give you just the tip for right now, okay ..” a whine gets caught in your throat as he rubs himself in between them, your wetness making a pretty sound that fills his ears with lust. he even taps it on the surface a little bit, a small ‘pat pat’ — testing the waters, seeing just how arroused you’d gotten from him and only him.

“m’ gonna take care of you, i promise.”

“you always do, ren.”

he kisses your temple, then your cheek and nose, “you ready?”

your chest rises and falls with one last deep breath, your head falling back onto the pillow behind you, “ready.”

eren hears your consent and it slowly begins — the first attempt at easing himself past that first barrier with as much care as he could. your body flinches and you whince, and almost immediately eren starts to remove himself from your entrance, but you stop him, “ ‘m okay, ren, ‘m okay. just feels so ..”

“different?”

“yeah .. d-different,” he looks at you for approval again and you give it to him, your eyes dropping down to look in between your legs as you see that you still have so much more to go. this was just the tip, and even then, it still wasn’t all the way in. how difficult would it be to take the full thing? no matter how soft his strokes were or how painless he could try and make the process be, eren was huge — and with a curve too. you’d be lucky if you got out of this without a limp tomorrow morning.

“we can take it slow, okay? don’t strain yourself, just take me slow … ” when his palm touches the side of your face, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, you almost immediately feel a tiny bit of relief. you nod and you sense him once more, his tip piercing your skin and leaving a sting in its wake. it was a painful stretch, no doubt about it. out of every account you've heard of losing your virginity, you can infer that after this point, everything really just depended on that individual person. you’d heard mixed opinions, and you’d always assumed the worst. but honestly, in this moment, you could only come to the conclusion that it all depended on the sensual nature of you and your partner’s relationship.

yes, you were in pain, but you were so drawn to eren that you wanted to push through it. “a-aah- oh my— fuck!” your eyes are shut so tightly that you start to see white spots in the inside of your eyelids. you feel eren’s hand reach down to your clit, trying to steer the uncomfortable stretch away from you by rubbing small, kind circles repeatedly as you huff and let out strangled whines.

“you okay? you wan’ me to stop?”

you shake your head, “nonono — just .. h-hurts ren.” he feels your nails clawing at his forearms. you, on the other hand, not even realizing your fingers were leaving deep crescent marks on his flesh. he didn’t mind it though, not at all. in fact —

“bite me. scratch me — do whatever you need to do, baby ..” eren’s forehead was already beginning to perspire as he spoke, and his hips were carefully advancing to slowly deliver you every inch — although, he was rather heartbroken to witness your reactions, “i just need you to feel good.” your pain was almost too much for him, almost enough to make him want to call this whole thing off, but on your word, he continues. he continues to watch your every move as your eyes sit on the verge of watering whilst his cock softly splits you in half. you heed his advise, lifting your neck a little for you to bite down on his shoulder and leave marks in your wake.

he continues to guide himself in while his palm rests on the back of your head, pulling you in closer into his neck as he whispers into your ear, “just a little more to go, my love. you’re almost – shit – there.”

“r-ren … nnn – f-fuck!”

“i know, sweet girl. i know.”

he kisses you to divert your attention away while the stray tears on your face fall to your lips, the tang of salt hitting both of your taste buds. you push through the pain and let him give you a little bit more. before you bottle up your next set of cries — he’s fully in, and when he is, you can see the small bulge in your belly from his cock when you look down. eren patiently allows himself to sit deeply in your warmth, letting your whimpers simmer down as you become more and more used to the full feeling in your tummy, “there you go. nice n’ slow, let it sink in just l-like that …” your mouth is held open, and the only sounds that can be heard from you were small gasps of relief from finally getting the hard part over with.

“well would you look at that? you did it, s-see?” he shudders, mainly speaking to you, but also patting himself on the back for not cumming within the first ten seconds of being inside you.

“i-i did, didn’t i?” your hand hovers over the spot on your stomach, rubbing the area where you feel him most. he watches you closely, he too, stunned from reality hitting him right in the chest like a wrecking ball, “s-shit, eren … ‘s so deep.”

eren jeager was inside you.

and eren jaeger was about to fuck the shit out of you.

“does everything feel okay? didn’t hurt you too much did i?” you shake your head, taking in a deep breath as you close your eyes, “you still with me, yn?”

“yesyes, ‘m here.” eren takes this as an opportunity to wipe your tears with his thumbs, sending a quick kiss to your lips while smiling. you’d gotten through the hard part, and now? now it was time for the highly anticipated fun, “y-you can start moving now …” eren hears your voice softly say. he gives you that look you knew rather well — that look of ‘are you sure’ knowing damn well you were more sure than you’ve ever been about anything before. you gladly give it to him, cheekily grinning a bit as you nod your head up and down.

eren gradually sits up on his knees, palming the backs of your thighs softly as he peers down at your figure under him, still snugged comfortably inside of you. he was plainly freaking out and, to put it mildly, astonished. when his eyes met yours, that’s when the air felt heavier than it already was, along with the same feeling of fluttering butterflies in his tummy dancing along to the beat of his racing heart.

he begins to move in the direction and pace you want, slowly pulling his cock in and out of you, scared of hurting you still even after hearing you repeat ‘im okay’ to him over and over again. you attentively observe his furrowed eyebrows and bitten lip, and the sight causes your walls to swell and pulse. the ache that had almost felt intolerable a few minutes ago had begun to eventually subside, leaving you simply with a tickling sensation now.

“god .. yn - fuck..” he pants, steadily swinging his pelvis straight into the back of your thighs as his balls slap lightly against your ass, “pussy’s s-so tight, mama ..” he wasn’t lying at all. in fact, you were squeezing him so tightly that he had to use enough force to pull himself out of you. he hisses, feeling the wind get knocked out of his chest by just looking at how well you were doing. he was so proud of you, filled with so much elation while being inside of you that it almost felt like a dream he would’ve never thought would come to life.

“ ‘ssss .. it feels — eren … please —”

“feels like what, hm? tell me all about it ..” the tone of eren’s voice is soft enough to soothe you some more, but deep enough to bring you to unintentionally clench around him. your warm walls smothering his cock, and your eyes watching him move in and out of you as your chest heaves.

“feel s’ full,” you babble and he hissed out a laugh. that’s when you spread your legs wider, feeling comfortable enough to get into the hang of it. although you were new to this, you found yourself suddenly wanting more.

“mhm, pussy’s eatin’ my fuckin’ dick up, isn’t she? you feel so goddamn good …” eren keeps his steady pace, delivering deep, slow, strokes to your cunt before sitting up to lightly massage your calves and feet. he keeps eye contact with you, and even though yours refuse to keep their focus on his, he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t stop losing himself in both you and your battered pussy, squeaking with every dirty line leaving his lips. your arms reach out to wrap themselves around his neck, and he easily picks up on your gesture — now hovering directly on top of you, balancing himself on one forearm while his opposite hand grips at the headboard above you — minimizing the weight of his body on yours.

“sh-shit — ouuu, eren!”

for a moment, there’s only silence in the room. besides your minimal breathing and eren’s small groans that he failed to suppress were the only sounds that could be heard through an echo. both of you bask in one another’s presence while you let the tranquility of the moment steer you of to sea. “h-harder, ren .. please, harder,” you lightly tap his shoulder with your fingers to gather his attention, eyes batting rapidly as you try to keep consciousness from the amount of pleasure you were feeling.

“harder? baby, you look like you can barely keep your eyes open,” he laughs attentively, looking down at the droplets of sweat beginning to fall down the sides of your face. yeah, he was right, you could barely open your eyes, but you had enough strength to flutter them and give him an annoyed, yet needy, glance.

a soft sigh escapes his lips and that’s when he seizes your request, pushing his cock further into you — as deep as it could go and then right back out again, a suckle being left behind. you whine — no, you scream, “oouh - fuck, eren, just like t-that,” almost loud enough to send a concerned expression to eren’s face, but when you claw at his biceps he soon realizes it was a scream of pure ecstasy.

“ah, shit. yeahyeahyeah, talk to me, baby. you’re takin’ it so fucking good ..” his tone is taunting and well past just casual dirty talk. he was digging deep, verbally and physically, saying shit just to bring a reaction out of you — curious of what he could say and do to make you squirm and sniffle around him, “greedy lil’ pussy. takin’ me in so easily on her first run — you’re bein’ so good to me, princess.”

“ren — oh my god … r-right there, right there, right there — shit, eren!” his words had gone right over your head. too lost in the the way he dips his hips deep into your core to even dare to speak anything more than a string of moans. your lips form a pout, and your eyes roll to the back of your head when you suddenly feel eren’s tip poking right at your g-spot — which, he proudly didn’t take very long to discover. you didn’t know it yet, but the constant pressure against your womb would be building up soon — creating a rather diabolical sensation for both your mind and body all in one.

“where? right here?” the question is followed by a strong, but still conscious thrust. slow, yet powerful. steady, but mighty — eren now driving himself into you right where you wanted him, “awe, baby, did i find your spot? like when my dick kisses you right here, don’t you?” you can’t speak, nor can you begin to fathom why on earth eren was making you feel so lightheaded. disregarding the pleasure and the present circumstances, you felt alive. you felt like you couldn’t get this amount of euphoria from anything or anyone.

it wasn’t just the movement of his hips, or the nasty serenading words leaving his mouth, or even those angelic eyes that held an untold story — no no, it was the amount of emotion he brought you. the amount of love he’s shown you. the way he held you with such grace and tenderness like you were easy to shatter. it was all too surreal. the feeling, the gestures, the warmth — everything .. he was everything.

“faster! faster, please eren — nnnn y- you’re so deep ..” you clench around him, your pussy sucking him in more and more as he continues to drive you into shambles. your eyes travel down, focusing on the way he had to pull in and out of you with more force than needed simply because of how hard you were squeezing him. with each passing thrust, you could see his tip poking at your tummy over and over, forming a bulge right below your belly button.

“aah, shhhit, gonna’ make me fuckin’ cum, b-baby.” he nervously snickers, trying to hold on as much as a could, and god was it hard. eren could almost find himself becoming overwhelmed. there were too many things to focus on — between your expressions, lustrous eyes, and small grunts — he could cum right then as he spoke.

“o-oh, so close .. c-close, m’ so close rennie .. please let m-me cum with you ..”

you have a siren voice, one of command and alluring undertones like you were singing a symphony to pull anyone into a trance — and that’s exactly what you did. you words had much power, and eren suddenly feels a knot untying in his belly, the same knot as you. you both huff and puff, whispering small praises to one another like you’ve been in love for ages now.

your hands reach the sides of his face, carefully pulling him in closer for a kiss. you feel him meet you half way, closing the space between you both by kissing you like you were an an antidote he so desperately needed. he tugs on your bottom lip softly, closing his eyes and melting into you as he tries his hardest to bring you both to the finish line.

“c’mon, baby, c’mon. cum with me — cum all over this dick,” eren unconsciously fastens his hips, sending strong, and now sloppy, thrusts to you. you feel him deep, deep in your stomach. so much that you feel the urge to push against his toned tummy due to the overwhelming power he had over your body, “nah, don’t run. t-take it just how you were. i know you wanna’ let it go ..”

“eren .. i’m cumming, baby … i’m cumming — oh god …” your eyes slam shut and your swollen clit is caught by eren’s thumb as he rubs circles over the agitated flesh. the wet squelching sound of your cunt was almost loud enough to drown out your moans as you find yourself shakily wetting up eren’s dick, “renrenren, wai — unngh!” your legs stutter closed and he opens them right back up, only this time, grabbing onto your hips and fucking you at an angle to carry you all the way to the end.

you push your head back deep into the plushed pillow underneath your neck, bawling your fists as the commotion in your stomach is finally fulfilled. there are tears in your eyes, followed by desire and pleasure — not to mention the creamy noise of your pussy sucking in eren’s dick with no problem, “y-yyes .. yesyesyes — erennn!”

he’s quiet — or rather focused, concentrating on your trembling figure while feeling his own orgasm begin to pool over rapidly, “fuckin’ christ,” he groans hoarsely, his hips bucking as he’s cumming deep into the condom that would soon threaten to burst from the amount of essence he would let go. eren’s body nearly smothers your own as he loses his balance, hugging you close as he finishes. he buries his head in the crevice between your neck and shoulder, drool pooping from his mouth and onto your skin as he tries his best not to go limp.

his thrusts are slow to none, body shaking from the overstimulation. you press your chest against his, your nipples still stoned from earlier while you embrace him through his climax. you’re breathing hard, and so is he — lost in one another’s eyes as a million thoughts begin to crowd around you both. eren studies your ancy hips that still wiggled for more as he kisses your collarbone, down your chest and all around your stomach. he’s still inside of you, snugged deep along your walls with his tip puckering against your cervix. you felt sore, yet still so needy even after cumming all over both his dick, and his fresh sheets beneath you.

“jesus .. yn that was —“

“so fucking good.”

eren nods, his wet lips placing kisses on both of your cheeks while his calloused hands cradle your head, “yes, so fuckin’ good — you were .. so fuckin’ good,” he holds you close as he pulls himself out, grunting into your ear as your pussy still clenches down onto him without much effort. once he’s out, woe and behold, he slides off his messy condom and tosses it into the trash can near you both. before you knew it, eren was heading straight toward the bathroom, with you in his arms — bridal style. he carries you straight to the tub, ushering you to sit on the toilet and pee right before deciding to run a mixture of warm and semi cool temperatured water.

“i know how i can be .. was i too rough? y’know .. besides the beginning?” there’s a puppy dog look in his eyes when he asks this. your eyes trace the small tattoos on his fingers, those same fingers grazing the flesh on your inner thighs as eren wipes away the made you’d both made with a hot cloth first. he looked so sleepy — and how couldn’t he be given the amount of effort he’d put into making you feel the best that you possibly could. he cared so much, almost too much — so gentle and patient, light with every touch and phrase.

“don’t think too much, you were everything i could ever ask for ..”

scooping you up again, he places you in the bath that’d been calling your name since he made you finish the first time tonight. he shrugs and shakes his head as a smile creeps up on his lips, “psh, you’re just talkin’ ..”

“nono, seriously. thank you for being so sweet about .. all of this,” eren attentively pays close attention to your words, his hands now caressing your legs and french-tip painted toes as he sits next to the tub, watching your lips move to the speed of your words — slow and endearing. he studies the moister of them, wishing to take them into his mouth yet again, “you’ve been so kind to me — and patient, i feel like i-i can’t thank you enough with words.”

he sits for a moment, letting you get used the to the water, but obviously taken aback by your words. he was already trying to detach himself from the emotions he could feel bubbling in his chest the minute he pulled out, but you were just making it so fucking hard. you were in his house, in his bathtub, and would soon be wearing his clothes to sleep for the night — and all eren could think about was how he’d give up anything to make this a regular occurrence. he liked taking care of you. he liked being around you. he liked feeling you and letting you feel every inch of him — but most importantly, and probably most controversially, he liked you.

eren liked you, a lot.

but to say that sentence aloud would be a nightmare. professing his feelings in the heat of a moment like this could lead him right back to where you both were earlier this morning ; awkward, angry, confused — it was too much. if keeping silent meant keeping the peace, then that’s exactly what he’d do.

“hey hey, i don’t need ‘thank you’s’, yn. just doin’ you a favor remember? if anything i should be thankful you trusted me enough .. y’know, with all this. i know it might not have been your ideal first time but …”

it’s quiet now, but you smile, “it was perfect, eren. it was nothing less than perfect.”

the clock reads 1AM and you’ve fallen asleep in eren’s arms yet again for the second night in a row, snuggled into his chest as the sound of his beating heart soothes you like a soothing lullaby. he listens to the sound of your light snores while inhaling the mouth watering scent of the vanilla body wash he’d used on you, dozing off a bit as he grows excitedly anxious from the thought of you being the first person he would be seeing in the morning.

there you were ; laying on his bed, under his sheets, in his arms. you were freshly bathed, courtesy to eren splashing you with water and bubbles during the two hour long bath he’d given you — most of that time spent talking about any and everything with one another rather than cleaning you up, but he didn’t mind it one bit.

there was moment where he thought he could really get used to this — feeling your body fall into in his warmth so effortlessly while whispering sweet melodies into your ear. he felt like there was nothing on planet earth that could ruin this moment.

well, that was until his phone rattled against his nightstand, buzzing with three rounds of texts and two missed calls from no other than the villain himself — connie.

connie fucking springer.

the first text could be traced back to when you’d first arrived at eren’s doorstep.

bald man 9:52PM

yo i gotta talk to you about some shit.

the second, you were too busy moaning out in pleasure for eren to even think about reaching for his damn phone.

bald man 11:01PM

are u alive? i know i fucked up at poker but damn bro

bald man 1:15AM

i know ur awake fucker. come outside your place im already parked. hurry up before i have to walk my ass up there and drag you out my damn self.

eren’s eyes flicker to the time on his phone, at the text, then back at you again, the time reading 1:20AM.

bald man 1:20AM

i know she’s in there. i saw her car parked a few spots over open your fuckin door.

[the--rebel--fae]

May i have a platonic one shot between alastor x mother!reader? BUT MAKE IT ANGST

Like dude goes with vaggie and charlie to heaven sees his mom and shes horrified

Or it can be fluff if you want shes like overjoyed and moved to tears about seeing her baby boy again 😭 i apologize if this is weird i just need more of this man and his mom

A/n Hello my dear! No, it's not a weird request at all! I think it was actually quite sweet! Now, I hope you don't mind I did a mix of the two so hurt/comfort. Annnd Alastor might be a little ooc here, but I mean c'mon, he's seeing his mama for the first time in centuries. That'd make anyone soft. Anyhoot! On to the story!

Pairing: (Platonic) Alastor x Mom! reader

TW: None! Unless you count Hurt/comfort as a warning

Word Count: 802

Forever and Always

When Alastor asked to come with her and Vaggie to the meeting in heaven, to say she was uncertain was the understatement of the year. Hell, Vaggie was deadset against it. But Alastor was insistent. But it wasn’t his usual “Simply for entertainment!” excuse. He had this look on his face that was very un-Alastor-like. It was almost thoughtful to the point of seeming…hopeful or wistful. 

But as she and Vaggie looked at the scene before them, both with surprised looks on their faces, it made sense. It even made Charlie believe that Alastor wasn't as cruel as he tried to put on.

“Al? I-is that really you, my boy?” You said as you slowly stepped forward. You just barely came out of Heaven’s grocery store when you saw a group of people being led by Sera and Emily. One you recognized as Lucifer’s daughter–the resemblance was uncanny. And another must be her partner, with how she looks at Lucifer’s daughter. But the third person is what caused your heart to skip a beat. Could it really be? After all a mother never forgets her children.

For once Alastor dropped his usual uncanny smile that everyone was used to for a much softer one. Even the usual radio static was nowhere to be found in his voice. “Hello, mother.” He said softly.

“Mother?!” Everyone in the group exclaimed. 

“Now it makes sense why he wanted to come up with us Vaggie! Aww.” Charlie said.

Vaggie nodded but the stunned look never left her features. “Yea, I guess so.”

Sera cleared her throat. “Ehem, we’ll take our leave for now, but when you're done, just head straight to the building up ahead and the angel at the front desk will send for us. Come along, Emily.” She said as she gently pushed the now happily squealing seraphin forward.

You gave a nod of acknowledgment to Sera before coming to a stop in front of your son. You looked him over and felt tears prick in your eyes. “Oh Alastor, sweetie. You–you went to hell, didn’t you? And don’t you lie to me boy, I can see it plain as day with those clothes of yours.”

Alastor let out a sigh. He was looking forward to seeing his mother again, but this part? Not so much. “Not a thing could pass you, could it ma? Yes, I did indeed go to hell, but I can tell you I am thriving, why my radio broadcast is a complete hit down there!”

You let out a sigh of your own. You never would have thought that your precious boy would have ended up down there. You had a feeling in your gut that that might have been the case as the years went by and you didn’t see hide or hair of him up in heaven. “What could have you possibly done to end up in a place like that Alastor? I know I raised you better.”

Charlie and Vaggie both cringed at those words, he was definitely getting the old-fashioned parental scolding. But what they saw next, both Charlie and Vaggie wouldn’t have believed it if they didn’t see it for themselves. 

Alastor was frowning. 

Alastor looked down at the ground but then up at his mother’s face. He had to tell her. Maybe not all of it, but at least what started it all. Besides, who really wants to tell their beloved mother they became a serial killer? Not him. “I killed him, mother. I killed Father so he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again.” He met his mother's eyes practically begging her to understand. “I won’t apologize for it, he deserved it. For what he did to you, to us and he would have done it to multiple people that disgraceful–”

Before Alastor could finish his rant though he was cut off by the warmth of his mother's arms wrapped around him. His eyes widened in surprise. She was hugging him?

“I understand honey. Now I don’t approve of what you did and it saddens me you ended up down there, but no matter what I am your mother and I will always love you. Forever and always.”

Alastor felt his breath catch in his throat at his mother’s words. Forever and Always. That’s what they used to always say to each other back when he was alive. I will love you forever and always. He had to take a deep breath and shove any and all of his emotions back down to where they came from. He was still the Radio Demon for crying out loud! He had an image to keep. 

But he did hug his mother back. Because in this moment he wasn’t the Radio Demon. He was just his mother’s son. “Thank you, Mother. I love you forever and always.”

Hope you enjoyed the story! I'm usually not the best at angst, but I feel like I did pretty well on this one! Plus it's always fun making a not-so-soft character actually have a heart hehe.

And if you guys want even more stories--like maybe your own personalized several-page long one-shots or even a multi-chap fic take a look at my Etsy Shop! I do commissions! I even have listings for Hazbin Hotel!

[rowretro]

꧁ＤＲＵＧＳ ＆ ＭＯＮＥＹ꧂

✧warnings: Yandere themes, toxic themes, drugs, drug addict reader, abuse

♤synopsis: Nishimura Riki. One of the most well feared mafia sons, is filthy rich, He was never really interested in dating, hating the idea of putting all his trust, love, blood sweat and tears into one person. Then he laid his eyes on you, a broken, barely appreciated, drug addict. (Riki's "I love you 3000" cover was playing in my head non stop while writing this- I need him in my life frfr)

✧♤✧♤✧♤𝕯𝕽𝖀𝕲𝕾 & 𝕸𝕺𝕹𝕰𝖄♤✧♤✧♤✧

Get up, get ready, clean up, go to school, get high and arrive at her apartment late as fuck. That was Y/ns daily routine. She's high 90% of the time, filling the massive hole her parents stabbed in her heart, with weed, Whiskey and pills. She had nothing to lose. Her parents always hated her, the reason never clear. So she moved out at 16, and got her own small apartment, a very decent one. Now she's yet to turn 18 in a few weeks, yet she's making bad decisions back and forth

She had fallen in love many times, but she always ended up getting hurt, or being a burden. So she'd turn to her fellow, Jack Daniels and Marijuana for some company. No one ever visited her... so she was beyond surprised when she heard her doorbell ring. High out of her mind, she answered it, not thinking of the potential dangers that may be lurking behind the door.

"Fuck- you got a first aid kit?" He asked, shutting the door and barricading it. Y/n pouted as she started to think "Clearly you're high. I'll go find it myself." He said, as he walked through the clean, plain hallways. Of course he found a brand new, unused first aid kit, however, what he didn't find was any photos of your family or at least parents. No sign of a boyfriend, or anyone else who might live there.

The strong stench of Cannabis filling his nostrils as he groaned. The male treated his own wounds that were barely painful to him. He walked into the living room only to find the girl lying on the ground, high out of her mind. Y/n had fallen asleep on the cold, marble floor despite being so high and having a fever, but she was used to it and she was too lazy to move.

Riki however, found it cute. He found her cute. God she's too cute, so short, so clueless, and so stupid. He really wanted to know what you were like when you were sober, but when examining all the munchies you had randomly scattered in the kitchen, he realized that may be a challenge. So he decided to stay until you wake up.

Never would he have ever found himself cleaning up a girl's home, picking up a girl's underwear and putting it in the laundry basket, carrying a girl to her bed and tucking her in. But I'll tell you one thing. He fucking loved it. He loves taking care of this girl, he only just practically met her but... he really wants her. He's a mafia he can have whatever the fuck he wants.

That's how Y/n found herself in a massive, luxurious mansion. Guards here and there, all her artwork in a big room with all the art supplies an artist could dream for. A perfect yet psychotic man who seems to be on a murder rampage on the daily. It has been 1 month since the male kidnapped her saying that he's in love with her and will even marry her. However the place was missing something she lived her whole life on...

"I CAN'T FUCKING DO IT FUCK SAKE RIKI! GIVE ME MY WEED FOR FUCKSAKE!" She screamed, crying and kicking her bedsheets, yanking at her hair as she screamed. The male slapped her painfully hard, pulling her to himself "FUCKING PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER Y/N!" he yelled as the girl just cried in his embrace "Y-you don't understand ki... it's hard! it hurts, I need them I really do- I'm fucking weak I can't- sobriety is so fucking overrated! please- im begging you please!" She cried as the male just hugged her closely.

With drawl is extremely hard, and for a teenager to have to go through something like that, without her parents to support her is extremely hard. But someone really loves her, a man who'd kill for her and is even willing to die for her. So she will put through it. Fighting with every last bit of energy she has. Riki would keep an eye on her when she does have alcohol, making sure she stays within a limit. He let her buy a vape, just to help her lay off of the drugs.

He knew that all this was all worth it. because when the struggle is over, Y/n will realize that he truly loves her, and no matter what crazy shit he does, she will always run into his arms, and yearn for his touch. "I love you Ki... I'm glad you kidnapped me you know?... I've never been love like this before..." She admitted, her head pressed against his chest, as her body was shielded by his loving arms.

Y/n melted in his embrace, closing her eyes with a smile when she felt his perfect, plush lips on her forehead. Those lips, the only drug she's addicted to and will never let herself get over. "I love you too my darling..." he said with a smile, cradling her in his arms, his head rested against hers, theirs eyes closed as they sat before the fireplace, comforted by the relaxing sounds of their heartbeats.

✧♤✧♤✧♤𝕯𝕽𝖀𝕲𝕾 & 𝕸𝕺𝕹𝕰𝖄♤✧♤✧♤✧

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 6th: Crush | You Could Start A Cult - Niall Horan | Sincere a/n: steddie, pining, post-s4. un-betaed because I’m challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 | link to masterpost on ao3

A crush is called a crush for a reason, and Eddie Munson is learning this lesson the hard way. 

The very hard way. 

The Jesus Christ, all he did was laugh at my stupid joke and I’m going to collapse in on myself like a dying star kind of way. 

It’s been nearly a year of this and Eddie feels like he’s being squashed beneath the weight of the giant boulder that is his crush on Steve Harrington. A solid year of his hopeless, pointless, wonderful crush on Steve Harrington. 

Everyone knows– well, everyone above the age of 16 has figured it out at least. Eddie isn’t exactly known for his subtlety, after all. 

Jeff, Gareth, and Freak had their reservations at the start after years of being persecuted by the same genre of person Steve had been in high school but once Eddie spun them the tale of how Steve carried out from beneath the rubble of a collapsed building, they’d come around. Jeff took the longest, finally acquiescing  after properly meeting Steve.

You were always into jocks, dude, c’mon. Sounds like this one might have some redeemable qualities at least. 

He couldn’t quite tell them the actual truth, but it’s truth-adjacent and does the job. It paints Steve as the hero Eddie knows him to be, whether Steve wants to acknowledge the title or not. 

Robin knew before they’d even gone back into the Upside Down, before Eddie nearly died in Dustin’s arms and then again, in Steve’s. 

I was there when you called him Big Boy, Munson. You’re not subtle. He’s just oblivious. 

Nancy figured it out when Eddie was in the hospital, still a little loopy from painkillers and who knows what else. 

You were on another planet and couldn’t stop talking about his chest hair, Eddie. 

Argyle knew on sight the first time he saw Eddie with Steve. It was a little spooky, actually, how on the nose he was about two people he barely knew but on the nose, he was. 

You’re the only one callin’ him Stevie, brochacho. And he’s the only one calling you Ed so… take that for what it’s worth. 

Jonathan knew because Argyle knew and Jonathan and Argyle seem to have something there, too, but that’s none of Eddie’s business. All of the unrequited love bandwidth he has is tied up in Steve, and his smile, and his way with the kids, and his cologne– 

“You got something on your face.” 

Robin nudges him in the side behind the kitchen counter where he’s been leaning, watching helplessly through the kitchen window as Steve grills another round of burgers going for their We Lived And Can’t Tell The Tale Because We All Signed NDAs party starting soon. 

Eddie wipes his face frantically, hoping he didn’t have ketchup or something on his cheek from Steve’s trial run of the burgers. He pulls his hand back to find nothing besides Robin grinning, bemused and pitying all the same when it clicks.

“I’m not actually drooling. Just… metaphorically. God, let me cling to some shred of dignity here.” 

Steve flips another burger, this one landing square right-side-up. Eddie groans, Robin rolls her eyes, and he laments. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me that that’s so hot? He’s not doing anything special! He’s just existing in those too-tight jeans and plain tee shirt and I’m ready to lay waste to the evils of the world to get to him. And they say I’m the cult leader? I’d follow this asshole into the bowels of Hell.” Eddie sighs and drops his head back to stare at the ceiling.

It’s offensive, honestly, the popcorn ceiling and the way it mocks him. 

“I mean, you kinda already did.” Robin shrugs and bumps her shoulder into his, somehow softer than her initial nudge. “And look, it’s not my business, but I think you might be surprised if you talked to him. He’s not the same he was when he said all that shit to Jonathan, y’know.” 

Eddie whips to the side, too quickly as his head spins for a brief moment. He searches her eyes for hints or a glimmer of hope. Something. Anything. 

“What do you know, Buckley?” It’s less a question and more a statement. 

“I don’t know a damn thing, other than a conversation might do you both some good. But look,” Robin sighs and hops up to sit on the island next to Eddie as he turns his attention back to Steve manning the grill. He’s trying not to stare at the way Steve twirls the spatula… and failing, of course. How are his hands so big? 

“Hello? Munson, Earth to heart-eyes over there. This is information you might really want to listen to.” Robin waves a hand in front of his face and he jolts out of his thoughts. It’s for the best– the second he gets lost in Steve’s hands, it’s all over for him. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m listening.” Eddie responds, vaguely reminded of his many years in school. 

“I was saying, Steve’s a good guy. The best guy, really. And I know he’s acted fine with being single the last year or so, but he’s lonely behind that facade. So if this is just like, a crush that’s gonna pass, keep it to yourself. But if you really like him, if you wanna like, be with him, then yeah. I think you might want to talk to him.” 

Eddie considers his feelings for a long moment, staring back out the window. This time, he watches Steve at the grill and sees so much more than a guy in too-tight jeans and a plain tee shirt flipping burgers. He sees jumping into the lake, rushing through the Upside Down, finding a quiet moment in the chaos traipsing through the Upside Down’s version of the woods. He sees what little he remembers of bleeding out and being carried by Steve through the portal, of waking up in the hospital, handcuffed to the bed and Steve sitting in the corner with Wayne. He sees every fleeting moment, every soft touch, every nickname and split joint and pizza with half pepperoni and half bacon. 

He looks out the window at Steve and sees his life. 

Maybe the weight of his crush has only felt so heavy in the way that holding your arms out for too long begins to feel heavy.  Maybe the forced, sustained tension would be relieved if he just let himself relax. 

“I’m with him already, for better or worse.”

Robin hums in acknowledgement before breaking into laughter as they both watch Steve transfer the burgers to a plate, only to accidentally knock the dish off the side of the grill. He must hear their laughter because his eyes shoot directly to the window and he points the spatula at them, free hand on his hip. “It’s not fucking funny, now I have to go to the store!” 

“It’ll probably be for the worse.” Robin looks at him and raises an eyebrow. 

Eddie just laughs and shakes his head, tendrils of hair falling into his face that he pulls further across his mouth. 

“Worth it.”

[claudemblems]

Zzz | Dan Heng

Summary: Your nap with Dan Heng is cut short by the realization that it's dinner time, but you have no intentions of giving up your place in his arms.

Notes: I'm writing for Star Rail now 🤭 Can you tell who my favorite character is lol

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“[Name], it’s time to get up. The others are expecting us.”

Who cares? you thought to yourself, not daring to move a muscle lest you should let your boyfriend know that you were, indeed, very much awake. He would have chided you for your remark despite inwardly agreeing with you. Someone has to be the practical one in this relationship, he’d told you once, but becoming your boyfriend had to be the least practical of decisions he’d made in recent years. With your insatiable curiosity and heroic soul, you always ran yourself head first into the unknown without a single thought of what danger could lie ahead. But you were a magnetic force that even Dan Heng could not repel, and like a moth to a flame, he found himself drawn to you–every part of you–and if that meant setting himself ablaze, then so be it.

Dan Heng being so hopelessly in love with you meant that you could get away with a few more minutes of “sleep”, right…?

Not quite.

“[Name].” He gently shook your shoulders, sighing to himself when you showed no signs of waking. “March is going to give me another one of her punctuality lectures if we don’t get to dinner on time, which is ironic coming from her, but still.”

You nearly let out a laugh before catching yourself, quickly disguising it as a disgruntled snore. March 7th already annoyed Dan Heng enough as it was, but nothing unnerved him quite like when she chastised him as if she were his big sister. The disdain on Dan Heng’s face could be seen plain as day to everyone around, but, much to his dismay, his friends found themselves entertained by his so-called misery. But he was used to the antics of his fellow passengers by now…mostly.

Still, he would have liked to avoid a lengthy scolding from March if possible.

“[Name]...”

After a few moments of silence, Dan Heng breathed out a sigh of defeat. Not one to go to dinner alone (not since you entered into the picture), he decided to join you in catching up on some sleep. He situated the pillows of his makeshift bed into a more comfortable position before laying down beside you, and carefully, as to not wake you, he wrapped his arms around your back, pressing you close to his chest. You were glad that he couldn’t see the obvious flush to your cheeks—not only to spare you your own embarrassment, but also because your cover would have been blown. Sleeping people don't blush at their lovers' touch, after all. You already Dan Heng right where you wanted him, and you weren’t about to let anything come between you and your bliss.

That was, until a hot breath fanned against your neck and you jumped.

“I knew you were awake.”

“Dan Heng,” you hissed, instinctively hiding your face in your hands. “I just wanted some more alone time with you. Are you really going to get mad at me for that?”

“I’d never be angry with you,” he assured, using his elemental powers to ruffle your hair, something he only did when he was feeling particularly affectionate. “Maybe a little annoyed, but you can make it up to me by being on the receiving end of March’s lecture this time.”

“All right, fine,” you sighed dramatically, but you couldn’t hold back the smile forming on your face. “Looks like I win again.”

“And what did you win, exactly?”

“Your attention. I’m keeping track of how many times you choose to give into my impulsivity over your practicality. So far, I'm on a winning streak.”

“You really are as unpredictable as that stellaron you have.”

“And like a star, my gravitational pull is too strong for you to resist.”

“How cheesy.”

“You just wish you had a stellaron that made people so captivated by your presence.”

Dan Heng smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to your hair. “Stellaron or not, my heart would still find its way back home to yours every time, My Starlight.”

“Dan Heng—! You can’t just get all mushy like that all of a sudden, I…”

“Flustered?” he asked, and just by the tone of his voice, you knew he was grinning.

“I’m telling March that our absence at dinner is your fault after all.”

[annie-creates]

What have I done

Pairing: Queen Ravenna x reader

Genre: angst

Words: 1200

Note: I'm back with some Ravenna angst, hope you'll enjoy it as much as I liked writing it.

For as long as you could remember you always lived at the castle of the king, your mother being one of his and his wife’s most trusted maids. You were still pretty young when the queen died, leaving the old man and his daughter Snow White in distress. You grew up in the happy kingdom of thrill and joy that started to slowly decay with every year you all mourned your late queen. But then, just as you turned into a lovely grown woman and got your own job at the castle, the king found a new wife, queen Ravenna. They all seemed so happy it felt unreal. Not long after however the old king joined his late wife in the gardens of Eden and all that was left was her majesty and the clueless princess, who ran away within the next year.

You could hardly understand it all and the land was unstable in times of such rapid changes. When you became the queen’s own maid, being young and freshly employed, Snow White was already wanted all over the country. To you, however, it wasn’t much concern. Your job was to make sure the queen’s comfortable in her clothes and shoes, massaging her feet and warming up her bed for the night. In the difficult times of doubt and uncertainty you slowly became her confidant. She could tell you anything, knowing you wouldn’t tell, and even if you did, no one would believe such unimportant being as her maid. From a confidant you became her friend and from a friend you build your way un to being her lover. You would never take any inappropriate step but when she invited you to her, how could you say no the most beautiful graceful being you have ever sat your eyes on?

You were still her servant willing to do anything and everything she ever asked for and giving her all you were, all you had and all you could ever get. You were completely and utterly taken by her glory, confidence and pride. It even made you a little proud yourself that the queen chose you over all the other men and women who fell at her feet every minute of the day. You took her joy and anger, anything she needed to release, all her good days and all the bad ones ended up with you being used in her bed. You could hardly ever stay, having to leave her warm cozy chambers to return to your cold and unwelcoming bed with a hard mattress and rat-gnawed pillow the moment she was satisfied with you.

With how fast and wholeheartedly you fell for the woman there was no stopping, no pleasure and no amount of kisses would be ever enough for you. You yearned for her presence and body as hard as the desert yearns for water. You needed her, longed for her at every second of the day. You could merge in the tightest hug on earth, eat each other in the most desperate of kisses and it still wouldn’t be enough. Yet lately it seemed her hunger exceeded yours, she needed release, assurances and the plain feeling of power. You became her most glorious possession, using you and savoring you at any moment she wanted to. With looking for more power and rule over the kingdom she became insatiable.

As you visited her in her throne room, she frantically walked around unable to sit still, her hair flying behind her with every turn like a veil of gold. To you she was still ethereal, the most beautiful of women on this earth. No matter how many worried wrinkles her forehead sported or the stressed pout on her lips. She was like a fairy with a flame that pulled in every moth around. It was obvious to you she was at her wits end, even if she’d never admit to it, being concerned with things you had no idea about.

“My queen.” You address her carefully. “May I help you?”

“Ugh, no. Leave me alone.” She hardly even spared you a glance.

“Maybe I can help you relieve some stress.” You tried again. “At least with a melissa tea?”

“I said get lost!” Ravenna angrily shouts at you and harshly slaps your face. “Now get out of my sight!”

“I’m sorry…” You whine holding your cheek with tears evident in your eyes.

“Oh don’t play that innocent little girl with me you spawn!” your emotional reaction infuriates her even more. “Your father never loved you and your mother rather died so that she didn’t have to be with you anymore. I don’t want to see you here again, you hear me!?”

You could hardly listen to her words anymore, running out of the room to not give her the satisfaction of seeing you cry. She liked hurting you, she liked having the dominant power over anyone. Yet never has she been so cruel and evil to you. At that moment, you believed her. You believed she wanted to get rid of you, to never see you again. So that’s what you did. You packed the few little things you owned and you left, your heart breaking into million little pieces as you left the only home you ever knew and the woman you loved so hard you could die for her. Yet you’d do anything to make her happy and if she desired you gone you’ll leave.

Ravenna on the other hand got her temper under control once again in a few days, establishing somewhat steady rule over her kingdom. All she wanted now was to enjoy a little piece of quiet, preferably with the tea you always made for her with the littlest bit of mint and honey and with your massage and presence. But after she ringed her bell to call you to her, a different girl came in your place, taking care of her with her gaze fixed on the ground.

“Where’s Y/n?” she barked at the girl, her mood immediately worsening.

“I don’t know madam, she left.” The maid answered fearfully.

“What do you mean she left?” no one had the audacity to leave her service on their own.

“She said you expelled her, so she left.” The girl shrugs looking at her queen this time.

“That is ridiculous! Bring me my guard.” She orders the girl who bows to her and leaves.

Not long after comes the commander of her guards, coming up with a plan for your search with her. The army turned every corner of the castle upside down to find you, and they rummage the whole city, but you’re nowhere to be found. Ravenna sends out unit after unit to travel to all the corners of her kingdom to find you, fearing what might happen to you in the wild and dangerous world. She wasn’t sure you were even still in her kingdom or alive, and that worried her infinitely. She didn’t realize how attached she grew to your presence and joyfulness, enjoying your mannerisms and easily pleased outgoing nature.

“What have I done.” She whispers into the darkness of her chambers feeling cold and unwelcoming without you in them.

[nhl-stories]

midnight love – Anthony Beauvillier

Summary: Hannah was ready to accept her fate as second choice, but a newcomer just entered the picture

Author’s Note: Oh my god I've been working through this for so long and then bam that trade happens. And changed how I was going to end this so I'm a bit distraught.

Word Count: 3.9k

Album Series Masterlist

I can't be your midnight love When your silver is my gold

She wishes she had enough of a backbone to disappoint people, if only in self-preservation. But no, instead Hannah is spending another night as a stand in.

It’s not like these people aren’t her friends, but there’s a hierarchy; they’re Brock’s friends and teammates first, then Cora’s friends and fellow significant others, then at the bottom of the list is Hannah.

At least it’s just a team dinner, not some event where she has to explain over and over again that no, she is not Brock’s girlfriend, just a friend. Usually throw in a joke about taking advantage of an open bar or nice dinner.

His real girlfriend is prettier and more talented, just busy with her emergency medicine residency. Hannah is just a placeholder so he doesn’t have to go somewhere alone.

Don’t worry, Brock isn’t slumming it with the plain-looking girl who works in a fish market.

He’s with Cora: head cheerleader and prom queen in high school, first in her class in college and med school, Miss British Columbia who probably would have been Miss Canada if she wasn’t too busy studying to be a fucking doctor.

Hannah’s only a little bitter.

To be fair, she did it to herself. She spent her whole life as Cora’s less-than-impressive sidekick, she should have seen it coming.

Hannah should have thought twice before introducing Cora to Brock, should have known Cora would charm him and ask him out before Hannah could even tell her how she felt about him. And then it was a year and a half of worming her way into Brock’s heart down the drain.

Brock and Cora are good match. They look like a Barbie and Ken set and then they’re personable and kind on top of it.

Still, Brock can’t seem to take Hannah off a pedestal. It’s a little lower than Cora’s, but a pedestal nonetheless. Maybe if she jumps off, it will put her out of her misery.

“You’re Brock’s girlfriend? The doctor?”

Hannah’s head snaps up from stabbing the cherry in her drink, to see a new face. Anthony Beauvillier, her brain supplies.

“Oh no, just a friend filling in,” she bites back her initial reaction of a barking laugh, “You’re Anthony, welcome to Vancouver.”

“Thanks, so just a friend, what’s your name?”

“Oh, right, Hannah.”

“Hannah since you’re here and not a significant other, I can assume you know all the dirt.”

Hannah blushes under his gaze. His eyes are so blue she can’t seem to keep direct eye contact. So, they keep drifting to his hair, she hadn’t realized he had such soft looking locks since she mostly had seen him on TV with a helmet.

“I guess, what do you want to know?”

She tries to be coy; she definitely knows more than most. She’s so present but so unassuming she guesses she must be easy to open up to.

“Is it really a big deal that Petey brought around a girl?”

“There hasn’t been a lot of exciting off-ice news this season. But I’ve known him for almost 4 years and I’ve barely seen him flirt with a girl, so to bring a girlfriend is kind of big deal. Although between you and me I think he’s been hung up on her for a while.”

Anthony nods.

“The only thing before this was Quinn broke up with his girlfriend from back home and then just started showing up with a new girlfriend like a month later. But Samantha has been accepted into the fold so it’s not really gossip anymore.”

“You really do know the low down.”

“I can’t give you much on-ice info, but off-ice dynamics, I’m your woman.”

He gives her a crooked smile and starts to say something, when a hand grabs her elbow a bit too tight.

“Dinner is starting, I got us seats,” Brock tugs her towards the table that’s filling up.

“Nice talking to you Anthony,” she gently pulls her arm out of Brocks grip.

“Yeah, let’s do it again sometime.”

∫∫∫

“You smell like fish,” Cora says as Hannah sits down next her in the stands.

She pulls up her collar and gives it a sniff, she doesn’t smell anything, “I changed before I came here.”

“I think it’s just embedded itself into your skin at this point.”

“You smelled like a barn when we met and I still became your friend, even though everyone said you smelled like horse butt.”

“Well, the tables have turned and now you’re the stinky friend.”

“Fuck off,” Hannah laughs and flips her friend off.

Cora reaches in her purse for a tiny spray bottle of perfume, “I got you covered my fishy friend,” she gives her a spritz.

“Did I miss anything interesting?”

“I just got here, like 10 minutes before you. Had a last-minute surgery.”

“So, we were both working with guts before we came.”

“Yeah, and hopefully after this, number six will be rearranging my guts.”

Hannah laughs, but it’s hollow. They’ve been together long enough it shouldn’t still sting, but somehow it does.

Thankfully, there’s a big hit on the ice to shift their focus.

“The new guy is pretty cute,” Cora says when play settles.

“Anthony?”

“Yeah, you met him at that dinner thing, right?”

The tone in Cora’s voice makes it clear that she knows something Hannah doesn’t. That she’s toying with her food.

“Mm-hmm, he seems nice.”

“Brock said he was flirting with you. He was all worked up about it too, like ‘this new guy comes in and just charms the first girl he sees, what if Hannah was my girlfriend?’”

Hannah forces herself to focus on the puck traveling down the ice. She can’t look at Cora, let her see something she might jump on

The puck is blown dead, icing, and Hannah tries to keep her face blank when she turns, “He was just trying to meet the group and be friendly.”

“That’s what I tried to tell him. Why would he be trying to flirt with you?”

Hannah bites her tongue, she knows Cora means why would he be flirting with someone at a team dinner, when most women there would be taken. It doesn’t mean it’s any less hurtful. Like Cora isn’t digging her finger into the soft flesh of her biggest insecurities. 

“Brock’s just protective of what’s his,” Cora adds like that’s not another sharp jab.

A wave of nausea rolls over Hannah.

The boys win by one in a mostly winless season, which is good reason to go out and celebrate. Hannah is wrangled into one of Cora’s dresses, and doused in her perfume, and dragged to a club.

One out of three of those things is Hannah’s choice.

“You smell nice,” Brock leans over to whisper in her ear, reaching across her body to steal a gulp from her drink.

Her body involuntarily flushes, like it always does when Brock casually invades her space. So completely unaware of the effect he has on her.

“I smell like your girlfriend,” she hates the way her voice wavers.

“Where is she anyway?” He stares out into the crowd, arm casually thrown over Hannah’s shoulder.

“Dancing with some of the girlfriends,” she waves in the direction the group went.

“Not like you to not join in,” he gives her a smile that used to be reserved for her only.

“It’s been a long day,” she shrugs, “which reminds me, Cora said certain things that mean if I want a good night’s sleep, bring her back to your place.”

“So, I’m scoring off the ice too?”

Hannah gags, “second star on and off the ice.”

Brock laughs and gives her gentle shove.

“I’m gonna get a drink, need a refill?”

Hannah gives him a thumbs up.

She watches him walk towards the bar and Cora appear out of thin air to wrap herself around him. Hannah knows she’ll be waiting on that drink forever.

“Looked like you could use a refill,” a solid wall of warmth slides up next to her, a drink placed in front of her.

She should have been expecting it to be Anthony, but she’s surprised. A warm feeling rolling over her thinking about how Brock thought he was flirting.

“Thanks, Brock’s useless,” she holds up the glass in cheers and takes a sip.

Over the rim of the glass, she catches two blondes sucking face, having their foreplay in front of everyone.

“Do you want to get out of here?” She blurts without thinking of the implication, maybe not caring.

Anthony gapes at her forwardness before Hannah’s brain catches up, “Like to a quieter bar?”

“Sure.”

Hannah takes him to a dive bar, where they drink crappy beer in tall boys and play darts. She’s too dressed up for the location but it doesn’t matter, they only have eyes for each other.

“You worked on a crabbing boat?” Anthony asks incredulously.

The alcohol is already having her run hot, but the focus from Anthony- or Tito or Beau as he said people call him- feels like a direct sunray. She’s the listener not the talker. Yet, there’s something disarming about Anthony, makes her walls fall away, makes her want to talk as much as she listens.

“Yeah, it was a quick way to make a lot of money in a few months, and it was exciting. There aren’t a lot of crabs the past few years so I haven’t had a chance to go back. And I’m not very smart so I have limited options.”

“You’re talking to a hockey player, I’m also not very smart and have limited options.”

“That’s probably explains why Brock and I became such good friends, although he did go to some college,” she grins and throws her last dart.

Anthony doesn’t make a move to start his turn, “so you and Brock were never–“ he cuts himself off with a throw.

“More than friends?” Hannah supplies.

“Yeah,” Anthony visibly tinges pink even in the darkened bar.

Hannah can’t quite vocalize her answer, worried the timbre of her voice will give away all the thoughts and feelings she’s been hiding. She shakes her head instead.

“If Brock was being weird, I think he was just vetting you. As a teammate and if you were worth my affections or something. Not that you were actually flirting with me.”

“I was,” Anthony looks her straight on, no doubt on his face or in his voice.

Something snaps inside Hannah, bursting red-hot in her veins. She’s not going to sit back and wait this time; she’s going to lean into what she’s feeling and grab it tight.

She drags Anthony towards to the back of the bar, pushing him into the bathroom and pushing him against the door once inside. She feels a little depraved, but she drives through the feeling and kisses Anthony.

He’s quick to kiss back, tongue slipping past her lips, gentling her erratic movements. He grabs her hips gently, but firm. He’s a wave of cold water crashing into her molten lava body. Nature in symbiosis.

“I don’t normally do this,” she says between kisses.

He moves his hands up to her waist, he doesn’t stop kissing her, just moves down her jaw closer to her ear, “and this is what you want?”

He sinks in his teeth into the hinge of her jaw, she gasps.

“I want–“ her voice is shaky.

She doesn’t know how to say it or ask for it. She just wants the light of his attention, on her, his whole-hearted focus directed at only her, like no one else exists.

“Cause I want more than a bathroom hookup, but I’ll take what I can get,” she can feel his smile against her skin.

There’s a bang on the door then someone yells, “You don’t have to go, but you can’t stay here!”

It’s like being dunked in the ice-cold Pacific.

She gives him one more peck, “Another time?”

∫∫∫

They find themselves in another bathroom, this time in Demko’s house while the team has a party. Hannah on the counter and Anthony in a vice grip between her knees.

“Sorry, couldn’t wait until after the party.”

Hannah can’t hold back her smile. Hasn’t been for almost two weeks now. They hadn’t seen each other again, but had been texting. If Cora asks, she says it’s Brock being stupid. If Brock asks, she says it’s Cora being dramatic.

“I like it,” digging her fingers into his hair, it’s as soft as it looks.

 “But we can’t take too long,” she adds, though she doesn’t kiss like someone with an exit plan.

“I’ll take my time tonight,” he whispers against her lips.

Voices drift closer to the door when they finally decide to peel apart. Hannah fixes where she mussed his hair as best she can, before peeking to see if the coast is clear.

She makes her way through the kitchen to casually grab a drink and slides up next to Cora and her conversation with the other better halves.

She’s trying to ease herself into the conversation but her mind is elsewhere. In the future and whatever tonight is going to be and in the present glancing over to see Anthony trying to do the same.

Cora elbows her before leaning in, “Classic hot mess Hannah.”

“What?”

“Your very dumb, signature move,” Cora grins, “you forgot to wipe your lipstick off his mouth before you reintegrated back into society.”

Hannah tries to casually glance back at Anthony, he looks towards her at the same time and grins. His lips a shade too pink to be natural. Hannah mimes wiping her lips with the back of her hand, hoping he’ll get the message.

“You dirty girl, I’d recognize that nude berry on any boy’s lips, which honestly let me find you a new color, you’ve been using that for like a decade now.”

Hannah tries to smile through her worry, but Cora knows her well enough to see through it.

“I’m very proud of you for getting him while the getting’s hot, but if you’re worried about me telling Brocky babe or something, don’t worry, secret’s safe with me,” she zips her lips and throws the key over her shoulder.

The giddy nerves in her stomach start fighting the anxious nerves in her stomach.

A heavy arm drapes over Hannah’s shoulder, “There you are, Cora said she saw you but I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

That’s the thing, Hannah trusts Cora to keep a secret, she doesn’t quite trust herself.

“Almost feels like you’ve been hiding from me,” Brock laughs at the thought.

Cora joins in and gives Hannah a desperate look to join in as well, Hannah can feel her own laugh is too erratic, but Brock doesn’t seem phased.

“Babe, she’s allowed to have her own life, she’s not just our personal third wheel,” Cora pulls him into her own side.

“Technically Cora, you’re the third wheel to our friendship,” he grins and gives her a peck.

Hannah feels nauseous.

“Oh honey, you’re the third wheel to Hannah and I’s friendship, it’s been around the longest.”

They’re not even acting like Hannah is involved in this conversation, she takes the opportunity to duck out. She grabs another a drink and goes out to the unused balcony. It’s still too cold to hang out there at night, the air is the kind of wet-cold that you can feel in every breath.

“How long have you been in love with Brock?”

Hannah jumps at his voice, barely managing to keep a hold on her bottle of beer.

“I’m not really in love with him anymore,” there’s no use in lying if she’s that transparent.

“Is that why this all secretive?”

Anthony’s eyes are so big, endless blue that Hannah isn’t sure how to read. She wants to learn.

She has reasons lined up: she doesn’t want to effect team chemistry, doesn’t want to ruin her friendships if this goes south, doesn’t want to fall in love with another hockey player.

But all those reasons are logical and rational. And this is emotional in a way she’s not sure she can find room for in her body.

“It’s nice to have something that’s just mine,” she furrows her brow, feels like it’s not quite what she means.

“I’m not the smartest or the prettiest or the most anything, I’m just Hannah. But you act like that’s enough. I’m not just a consolation prize or silver you’re settling for because you can’t have gold.”

Anthony doesn’t say anything for a long time, Hannah feels like maybe they froze outside.

Then he takes a step forward, cupping her face with hands so warm they burn her cheeks. He kisses her slowly; Hannah doesn’t think anyone has ever kissed her like this. Like she’s something precious, worth savoring.

He pulls away and smirks, “I’ve kind of been wishing for silver my whole life.”

“Jesus Christ, is that a Stanley Cup joke?” her smile grows so big it swallows her face.

“Like I’ve said I’m not that smart or that clever either.”

Hannah just has to kiss that stupid smile off his face, not caring who can see them through the windows.

∫∫∫

Brock is pissed.

He acts like everyone doesn’t know what it’s about. Like they don’t notice the glares he sends Beau when he walks into the locker room or how his knuckles go white around a beer bottle when he sees Hannah dance with Anthony at club.

They all let him sulk for a week, without saying anything.

Teammates start to chirp him when it lasts longer.

It comes to a head when Brock goes to a team event alone and brings his mood home to Cora.

“You’re not even his ex or something,” Cora is pretending to be the slowest customer of all time at the fish counter while she complains.

Hannah sort of wishes it was a rush so she could usher her friend away, she’s so over dealing with Brock. The jealousy that she would have killed for a few months ago is starting to become overkill and Hannah kind find it in her to be bothered.

It’s funny that the first time she’s all Brock can think about, is also the first time she doesn’t give a shit about it.

“He’s never had to share you with someone else and now I’m like invisible or something.”

That make Hannah pause.

In all the years she’s known Cora she’s the never been self-conscious, never had a reason to be.

She has to bite back the spiteful smile, it’s nice to be reminded that Cora is a mere mortal too.

“I’ll talk to him, can’t have you feeling lesser than me.”

Cora scoffs, “Hey, don’t talk about my best friend like that.”

Hannah rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious bitch, I don’t know why it took so long for it to get through your head, but I’m glad someone finally makes you feel on top of the world.”

The next night Hannah and Anthony are at Brock’s door.

He opens the door and almost shuts it in their face, but Hannah catches the door with her foot and shoves Anthony through the door.

“It’s an ambush babe,” Cora squeezes Brock shoulders, trying to make him unclench an iota.

“I come bearing the traditional British Columbian peace offering, a fillet of fish,” she nobly holds out the wrapped package in her arms.

Brock almost cracks smile.

“Brocky babe, why don’t you help her prep the fish and I will fix Beau here a drink.”

Hannah drags him into the kitchen before he can argue or pout.

She doesn’t really need prep; she knows her way around the kitchen already and the recipe like the back of her hand.

She pulls out a knife and points it at Brock.

“I’ll let you be upset for the time it takes me to cook this fish, and then you’re going to snap out of it.”

She gets to work, “You love Cora, you love that she loves hiking and boating and your dogs. You love that she’s as passionate about her job as you are. You love that she moved the fucking earth to make your dad passing as easy as possible for you.”

Brock’s face is set in stone.

“So why the fuck are you so bent out of shape about me dating someone, to the point where your perfect girlfriend is jealous of me?”

“Of all the people in the world you had to go for one of my teammates? What if something happens and I can’t even think of passing to him or it makes things weird with my teammates.” Brock snaps.

“Cause you’re doing a great job of that right now, Petey says he’s worried you’ll throw a punch soon.”

“Were you just using me until you could land the right hockey player?”

“Not everything I do is about you Brock. Sorry I let you think that for so long.”

She throws some of the fish in the hot pan, it sizzles like her nerves.

“I’m sorry it happened this way, it’s the last thing I would purposely try to do. But can’t you tell how happy he makes me?”

She feels her tears start to fall, hot and heavy. They’ve been locked and loaded for years.

“You didn’t want me when we met all those years ago, and that hurt. And then you fell for my best friend like instantly, and that hurt worse.  You don’t want me that way, so you don’t get to be mad that someone else does.”

Brock looks like he might cry, too.

“I love being your best friend. I love your dumb jokes and you’re stupid fucking laugh. But I can find that somewhere else if you can’t accept this.”

Brock squeezes her tight, she can feel his tears on the crown of her head.

“I want what’s best for you,” he pulls away, “sorry I have a dumb way of showing it, is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Pay my rent when you ask Cora to move in?”

Brock lets out one of his stupid fucking laughs, “maybe by next season you’ll also have a new place to live.”

Hannah shoves him away and plates the last of the fish, “the instant acceptance is appreciated, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

She goes to the dining room where the others are waiting with bated breath, pretending like they weren’t eavesdroping on the whole conversation.

“Hope you guys are ready for some tear-brined salmon for this very emotional and awkward double date.”

Anthony takes her hand when she sits down, she can’t help but kiss him. She likes the view off her pedestal.

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 11: Communion

Contents | Part 10 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) With fresh starts and awkward family dinners, things seem to be changing for Ellis.

Word Count: 5.6K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, sexual references, discussions of death and loss. Readers must be 18+

You could hear them through your bedroom door; Gina's voice fluctuating between hushed indignation and histrionic sobbing, while Alfie gave little in return besides the occasional mumble. You wondered about all the times you'd heard them talking before; the sudden silence when you'd enter a room, the laughing and teasing you never thought to question. Had they been talking about you in those moments? Whispering declarations of desire to one another and finding thrill in the risk of being caught?

You heard a door slam shut, their voices fading to a distant drone as you zipped up your jeans and pulled on a t-shirt Gina was always trying to steal. You never understood why she wanted it so much; it was plain, boring, the neckline beginning to fray on one side. But maybe it wasn't about the t-shirt at all. Maybe the only reason she wanted it was because it belonged to you.

You brushed the wet hair out of your face with your hands, the act instantly transporting you back to last night; how it felt to rake your fingers through Father Benedict's rain-sodden curls. You shivered, shaking it away quickly before moving around the room, scooping up whatever you could and dumping it into a large gym bag on the bed. 

The process felt mechanical, void of any grief or attachment to the possessions that anchored you to this place. You zipped up the bag and looked around at the rest of your things; mementos from times you no longer cared to remember, photographs of people you never truly knew, wallpaper you'd been so excited to put up and a bed you'd shared with someone who wasted three years of your life. 

You stepped into a pair of old, worn-in trainers, the leather so soft and slackened that you didn't even have to untie the laces anymore. Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you made your way to the door, turning the handle and pushing it slowly in an attempt to stop it from creaking. 

You successfully made it to the top of the stairs before the door behind you swung open, making you huff in defeat. 

"So that's it?" asked Alfie with a slight lisp, his mouth swollen from Father Benedict's punch. "You're just off, then?" 

You turned to look up at him. "What else were you expecting? Even if Gina hadn't kicked me out, do you really think I'd want to stay here?"

he shook his head. "It's like you don't care." 

"Oh, well I'm sorry for not reacting to you cheating on me in a way you find acceptable." 

"I don't mean- I just- You haven't even given me a chance to explain-"

"I have no interest in hearing you try to justify this, Alfie. If you and Gina wanted to be together, you could've just said so instead of doing this to me." 

"But it's not like that between me and G." 

"Not like that? I walked in on it!" 

"I mean I don't want to be with her! You were pulling away and she was... there. It was a moment of weakness that just spiralled-"

Gina emerged from the room, elbowing Alfie as she stormed past him, mascara like ink blots across her cheeks. 

He looked over at her as she marched into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, then back down to you. 

"How many times?" you asked. 

He rolled his eyes. 

"Go on, how many moments of weakness are we talking?" 

He dropped his head, refusing to answer. 

You nodded, pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek. "Can you at least tell me... Were you safe?" 

"Yes," he replied weakly. 

"Condoms?" 

"Yes." 

"Every single time?" 

"Yes." 

"Okay. Well thanks for that, at least." 

You turned, hoisting the bag back up your shoulder and continuing down the stairs. 

"So you can go and let Father Bellend know he's not going to catch anything from you," he muttered. 

You stopped, shuddering at the realisation that you'd told him; the words you'd spat at him like venom now trickling down your spine. 

"I just said that to piss you off," you said. 

"Wait, so you didn't sleep with him?" 

"No!" You hoped you were convincing, unable to tell beneath the bruises and swelling if he was buying it. "How insecure do you have to be to feel threatened by a priest?" 

"The same priest who did this?" He pointed to his face. 

"You deserved it." 

You finally made it down to the bottom of the staircase, glancing over your shoulder to see him still standing at the top. 

"D'you know, Mara never liked you," you began. "I always thought she was just being a bitch, judgemental, too stuck up to give you a chance. But it turns out she was the only one who could see right through you."

Daylight clung to the horizon, casting a golden hue across a blushing sky. The days since you'd left Gina's house had grown warmer, brighter, with mild breezes and longer evenings, as though the earth itself was rejoicing in your newfound freedom. 

You stepped off the bus with a sigh, thankful to escape the humid air of squashed passengers and closed windows. The walk to your mother's house was short, so you made the effort to slow your pace, making it last that little bit longer to steal solace wherever you could get it, even in the five minutes between bus stop and front door. 

She'd been surprisingly tactful about the whole thing, welcoming you back when you turned up on her doorstep two nights earlier, making up the bed in your old room and leaving you to settle in without prying; no questions, no judgement, no classic mum-isms you'd come to expect from her. Maybe she was secretly happy to have a fledgling back in her empty nest, careful not to do anything that may make you fly away. 

You reached the house as a car pulled up outside, its large tyres mounting the kerb with a gentle bounce. You raised your hand in a subtle wave as you made your way to the front door, rummaging for your keys inside your large, overfilled tote. 

"Did you just get off work?" Mara called out as she climbed out of the passenger side. 

You nodded, watching as she made her way around the back of the car. She didn't seem surprised to see you there, which meant your mother had told her. The thought made you groan internally.

"What are you doing here?" you asked. 

"Nice to see you too," said Nathan with a slight laugh as he emerged from the car. 

"Dinner," said Mara, as though it should have been obvious. 

She unclipped Soleil from her abundance of safety straps and seat belts, before hoisting her onto her hip and making her way up the path to meet you.

"How was work?" she asked.

"Eh." You shrugged, finally pulling out your keys. "Spent the day staring at pictures of babies in silly outfits."

"Sounds cute." 

"That's one word for it." 

The front door opened straight into a spacious living room. Perfectly tidy as always; cushions plumped, surfaces dusted, vacuum lines still visible in the rug. Since the divorce, your mother had taken to redecorating every few years. You always assumed it was a way of erasing any evidence that your father once lived there, but you were starting to think she just got bored easily. Right now, she was fond of the colour silver; opting for glittery wallpaper, velvet curtains and a large mirrored coffee table in the centre of the room. It was headache-inducing, yet there was something oddly comforting about it at the same time. 

"Oh, she mustn't be back yet," said Mara. 

"Back from where?" you replied as you hung your bag over the banister. 

"She said she was going to the church to pick up all the stuff." 

"The church?" 

"Well, the pub next door to it." 

"Oh." You swallowed, your mouth turning weirdly dry. "What stuff?" 

"Banners, bunting, that big balloon arch. We didn't have time to take it all down after the christening on Sunday so they stuck it in the back for us." 

"Ah." You gave a distracted nod and made your way across the room. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I just need a drink." 

You walked into the kitchen, pulling a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. The door opened behind you as you gulped it down. You wiped your mouth and glanced over your shoulder, forcing a bright smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. 

"So," said Mara, lifting the lid off the slow cooker and glancing inside. "Mum said you're staying here for a little while...?" 

"Mhm." 

She paused, leaning back against the counter with folded arms as she waited for you to elaborate. Instead you stood there quietly, rolling the cold glass over your warm cheek. 

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" she pressed.

"I moved out," you replied simply. 

She lowered her head slightly, staring at you beneath a heavy brow.

"What?"

She parted her lips to speak, but a noise from the living room caught her attention; the front door opening and closing, your mother's voice singing a cheerful greeting.

She gave you another dubious look. "You're going to tell me what happened."

You rolled your eyes and put the glass in the sink before reluctantly following behind her.

"So this... dinner thing, do you do this regularly then?" you asked.

"Maybe a couple of times a month." 

"Why have you never invited me?" 

"Would you come if we did?" 

"Probably not." 

"Well there you go."

Mara stopped suddenly in the doorway, making you bump clumsily into her back. You were ready for her to berate you for it, tell you to watch where you were going. But instead she gave a high-pitched 'oh', reaching back to grip your arm.

You furrowed your brow and peered over her shoulder into the living room, the air immediately evaporating from your chest as your gaze locked on a set of glacial eyes. 

He was carrying a large plastic storage bin, the weight of it evident in the whitening of his knuckles as he hauled it through the door. The lid lifted slightly, a single yellow balloon escaping and rising to the ceiling. 

"Father," said Mara, confusion laced in her cheery tone. "Well this is a surprise." 

"Hello," he said. "Nice to see you all again." 

You remained in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes wide, watching as your mother directed him to put the box on the floor. He was stiff in his movements, his gaze darting to you every few moments, the discomfort clear on his face. 

"You're a godsend," said your mother. "Do you mind helping me with the last few bits?" 

"Of course not." He smiled, making his way back outside.

"I'll do it, mum," you said quickly, hurrying across the room. "You sit down." 

"Oh, okay, thanks love." 

You wiped your palms on your trousers as you rushed down the path, catching up with him as he opened the boot of his car. Another balloon escaped, he caught it before it floated away, stuffing it back inside a bin bag and twisting it closed. 

"What are you doing here?" you hissed, leaning in and grabbing a box filled with table centrepieces. 

"I ran into her outside the church," he replied. "She needed help with all this stuff, I couldn't just leave her to struggle." 

"Yes you could." 

He rolled his eyes. "Relax, you haven't told them anything, have you?" 

"Of course not." 

"Then it's fine. Help me get this inside and then I'll leave." 

You gathered the rest of the decorations. He reached up to close the boot, stopping to look down at you. 

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You haven't text, so I assume everything was alright after I left the other day?" 

"I haven't paid my phone bill, remember?" 

He breathed out a laugh, shaking his head softly. 

"But no, it was fine," you sighed. "I said a few things, packed and came here. Uneventful, all things considered." 

He nodded and closed the boot with a heavy slam, hoisting an obnoxiously large display of balloons and flowers over his shoulder. 

"How's your hand?" you asked. 

He laughed again, looking down at the faint bruising on his knuckles. "It's fine. Was worth it." 

You glanced up at him, eyes falling immediately to the slight smirk across his lips; a smirk that held entirely new meaning now. You'd kissed those lips, felt them on your skin. Those lips had tasted you, parted to let out the most divine moans. 

He arched an eyebrow. "Ellis," he whispered sternly. "Stop looking at me like that." 

It sounded like a reprimand, but you knew it was more of a warning; a reminder that nothing innocent ever came from those looks.

You conceded, clearing your throat and making your way back into the house.

"Why don't you stay for dinner?" 

This was it. Your punishment from the heavens.

Father Benedict let out an appreciative sigh. "Oh, no, I-"

"Come on, I insist," said your mother. "You came all this way to help me, it's only fair." 

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Consider it a thank you, especially after everything you did getting the christening sorted so quickly." 

"I er..." he blew out a long breath. "I really don't want to impose-"

"Nonsense! Go on, sit down."

She gestured towards the dining room before disappearing into the kitchen. Mara waited until she was gone before letting out a laugh, turning to Father Benedict with an apologetic smile. 

The silver theme had bled into the dining room; sparkles and mirrors and crushed velvet cushions on each chair. You wandered around the table, stopping at Cain's chair and making an elaborate sidestep to avoid it. Mara rolled her eyes at you, sitting down with Soleil in her arms as Nathan pulled up a chair beside her. You slumped into your seat, pressing your lips together firmly as Father Benedict sat down directly opposite you. 

"She's hungry," Mara muttered, reaching to open her blouse. "You don't mind do you, Father? It's not offensive or anything?" 

You rubbed your eyes. Ah yes, just what this nightmare of a situation was missing, you thought, my sister's left tit. 

"No, not at all," he said politely. "I think it's beautiful. The breastfeeding, I mean, not your... erm..." 

"Jesus Christ," you mumbled under your breath. 

Your mother pushed the door open with her hip, walking in and placing a large pot in the centre of the table. "Beef stew, help yourselves. Father, can I get you anything?" 

He shook his head. "No, I'm good, thank you." 

"Are you sure? Anything? Condiments? Extra bread? Something different to drink?" 

"Just sit down, mum," said Mara. "Leave the poor man alone." 

She raised her hands in surrender and sat down at the head of the table.

"Sorry about her," Mara added, turning to Father Benedict. "I think she's got a bit of a crush on you." 

He chuckled, and you shuddered at the thought. 

"He's a handsome man, Mara." She turned to Nathan. "Isn't he." 

"I couldn't possibly comment," he replied. 

Everyone laughed, even your own face broke with a smile. 

It was astonishing, how one person could be so charming, so charismatic and endearing that everyone he came into contact with was left in awe of him. And it was you he'd chosen. This man, who was so delicious that the flavour of him lingered in the mouths of people who'd barely had a taste, had wanted you, worshipped you, fantasised about you. 

You. 

Everyone made smalltalk as they ate, the sound of cutlery clinking against dishes filling the brief silences between conversation. You'd never been good at smalltalk. But then again, you'd never been particularly good at 'big talk' either; preferring to melt into the background, nibbling on a piece of bread as you took in the mundanity of everyday chatter around you.

"So go on then, why've you moved back home?" said Mara, bringing you back into focus. 

You glared at her, pausing for a moment before shrugging. "I broke up with Alfie."

 "After the christening?" 

"Mhm." 

"What happened?" 

You picked up your spoon and swirled it in your stew, pushing a chunk of potato around the bowl as you spoke. "Caught him cheating on me... With Gina." 

Your mother gasped, Nathan's eyes widened in shock. 

"That fucker," Mara spat.

"Mara," said your mother, nodding towards Father Benedict.

"Sorry," she said. 

"It's alright," he replied. "He does sound like a fucker." 

Everyone laughed quietly, easing the tension around the table. 

You exchanged brief but intense eye contact with him. He turned his head quickly, exposing the edge of a love bite from beneath the collar of his jumper. You bit your lip, holding back a smile before spooning stew into your mouth.

"So yeah," you mumbled as you chewed. "It is what it is." 

Mara's eyes narrowed. You could tell she was sceptical, trying to work out why you weren't more upset. Her gaze darted between you and Father Benedict before she relaxed back into her chair. 

"Gina text me that night asking if you were at mine," she said. 

"Yeah, I walked out after I caught them." 

"Where did you go?" 

"A friend's. So mum, I was wondering if I'd be okay to stay until I sort out a place to live." 

"Of course," she said. 

"What friend?" Mara pressed. 

"Does it matter?" you replied. "Why did Gina say I'd left?" 

"She didn't. Conveniently left that part out. Why did you go to a friend's house and not come to mine?"

You shrugged. "Because we don't do that." 

"What?"

"Come to each other for things."

"You can come to me for things."

You furrowed your brow in confusion. "Wh-"

"How are you going to move everything out of the house?" asked your mother.

"I've asked Dad if he can drive me over in his van at the weekend."

"God this is just awful." She placed her head in her hands. "What are you going to do, Ellis? You've got no money."

"Cheers, mum."

"And I've not got the funds to help you get a place of your own. Do you think your dad and Nicola could help?"

"I don't- no, I'm- I'll work something out."

"Mum," said Mara. "You're embarrassing her in front of the clergyman."

Father Benedict dropped his head with an awkward laugh. "It's fine. This is nothing compared to some of the things I've heard in this job." 

"Ooh like what?" your mother leaned closer. 

"If you can think of it, someone's probably confessed it to me." 

"Wow." She rested her cheek on her fist, studying his face. "Is that why you wanted to be a priest? All the gossip?"

He cleared his throat and set his spoon on the edge of his bowl. "Well, actually, I er... I had a brother who passed away-"

She gasped. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. You know, the girls lost a brother as well. Cain, my eldest. He was only twenty-four."

Mara shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. 

"How did he go?" your mother continued. "If you don't mind me asking?" 

"Oh, he... He had substance abuse issues," he replied. "Sorted himself out towards the end though, got clean. But by that point he'd already done so much damage, his body just... gave out." 

You felt a pang in your chest, his voice so soft and sincere you could almost hear the heartbreak. 

"I'm sorry." She reached over and placed a hand on his for a moment, her fingers resting over the bruises on his knuckles.

He smiled, seemingly grateful for the comfort. "He was religious towards the end. It made me start looking at my own faith after he passed." 

She nodded. "Y'know when we first lost Cain, I contemplated going to church a few times. But the way he died, it was so... brutal. I couldn't fathom a god would let that happen-"

"Mum," Mara groaned, almost pleading for her to stop. 

"Ellis was thirteen," she continued obliviously. "Decided she wanted to do gymnastics, but the place was so far away she wouldn't be able to make it there after school unless someone drove her."

Mara let out a huff before handing the baby to Nathan. "She's full, I'll be back in a minute." 

You watched as she rose from the table, walking out as your mother continued to speak. 

"Mara was the one who usually took her, but she was busy on this particular day so Cain did it instead. Anyway, on their way home he lost control of the car. The pair of them were in terrible shape. They had to cut you out from the roof, didn't they Ellis." 

You exhaled a long, slow breath. 

"Obviously she survived, thank god. But Cain wasn't wearing his seatbelt." 

"Gosh, I'm so sorry," said Father Benedict. 

You stood up suddenly, brushing your hair out of your face. "I'm going to get another drink." 

Mara was stood in the kitchen, staring out of the window at the darkening sky, tongue pressed to the inside of her cheek. You closed the door behind you and let out a sigh.

"Is she still going on about it?" she asked, eyes fixed on the window.

"Mhm." 

"Fuck sake," she whispered. "She just talks about it fucking constantly. Anyone who'll listen. The poor guy only came to help with decorations and now she's dumping all the family trauma on him." 

"He doesn't mind. He's good with this kind of stuff, always knows what to say." 

She finally looked at you. "What did you mean when you said we don't come to each other for things?"

You crossed your arms over your chest and shrugged. "I don't know. We just... don't. Not like proper sisters."

"Proper sisters?"

"You know what I mean. Sisters who aren't nine years apart. Who don't have a huge elephant following them into every room."

She returned to looking out of the window. 

You licked your lips awkwardly before making your way towards the fridge. "After Cain died-"

"Ellis," she groaned. 

"Just let me... After Cain died, I snuck into your room a few times when you were out and read your diary." 

She spun around. "You did what? Why?"

"Honestly? I always felt like you wished it would've been me instead of him. But I knew you'd never actually say that out loud. So I'd skim through looking for my name to see if you wrote it there instead."

She stood there, speechless, lips parted in stunned silence. "You actually thought I wished you'd died in that car?" 

"If it meant he got to walk away from it instead-"

"Well that's not true. Of course it's not fucking true. I- well, let's get one thing straight, if we're wishing for stuff I'd have just wished for no one to die."

"Fair."

"But no. Ellis, Jesus Christ, no. I know I've not been the best sister in the world, but bad enough for you to think I wished you weren't here? Really?"

"Well I don't think that anymore. But it's hard, I mean, why would I go to you for things when I spent the majority of my life feeling like you resented me?" 

Her shoulders slumped, a defeated breath leaving her. 

"Do you know, I think it actually bothered me more that you just never wrote about me at all," you said. "Ever."

"There isn't enough paper and ink in the world, that's why." 

You laughed softly, turning to pour yourself a drink.

"Can we just get rid of the elephant?" she asked.

"Hm?" 

"Tell it to fuck off. Leave us alone." 

You turned back to face her, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I'm not sure how you tell an elephant to fuck off, but we can give it a go."

"Okay. Good." She paused. "Do we hug now or something?" 

"I'm not really a hugger." 

"Thank god, neither am I." 

You took a large gulp of your drink. She watched you quietly, eyes burning into you. 

"Are you really alright? About Alfie and Gina?" 

"Yeah. I actually am. I think I finally understand what people mean when they say it feels like a weight's been lifted off them. I feel lighter." 

She smiled. 

"We should probably go back in," you said. 

"Yeah. Get back to Mr tall dark and handsome." 

"Mara." 

"What?" she laughed. "Do you know he hasn't stopped looking at you all night?" 

"I think he just feels awkward." 

"Hm." 

"He's a priest. Even if... I don't know, there's just- It's not..."  "Who knows, maybe he's secretly well up for it."

You laughed. "Yeah, maybe." 

She walked towards the door. You followed behind, stopping when she turned to whisper. 

"Just do me a favour, whatever you do, don't get pregnant. Your hair falls out, you can't cough without pissing yourself and your sex life goes down the drain."

"Well if you're pissing yourself all the time, it's no wonder."

She glared at you, but it only lasted a moment before a smile began to emerge.

Mara warned you not to get pregnant. And if that wasn't caution enough, watching forty nine-year-olds running wild around a church would definitely do it. They were loud, boisterous, ignoring their exhausted parents as they bounced from pew to pew. 

A headache was taking root behind your eyes, every screeching voice and thud of little feet making it worse. You were beginning to think June lied when she said she was visiting her niece in Wales, maybe she just wanted to avoid doing this. 

You stood near the doors of the chapel, handing out pens and taking attendance as each family arrived. Father Benedict walked up and down the aisle, welcoming them with smiles and high-fives, asking parents to spread out, though not many seemed to listen. 

You kept glancing over your shoulder at him, as though you couldn't help but steal a quick peek whenever his back was turned. He was wearing a pair of black trousers and a snug-fitting fleece jacket, his white collar peeking out of the top. It had been four days since the night you spent together, yet the look on his face when you took that collar off was as fresh as the moment it happened, even down to the popping sound it made as you tugged it away from his neck. 

He checked his watch before turning on his heels, strolling leisurely towards you. 

"How are you getting on?" he asked, glancing down at the attendance sheet in your hands.

"Just making a mental note to take my contraception later," you replied, looking around as a group of kids chased each other from one side of the chapel to the other. 

He laughed. "They're fine when you know how to handle them. Watch." 

He turned around and cupped his hands around his mouth, his voice loud and commanding, echoing in the steepled roof. "Okay everyone! I'm going to begin, so I want children sat with their parents please!" 

The children immediately fell into order, their ruckus fading to a quiet hum as they rushed to sit down.

You bit your lip; the way he could control a room with nothing but his voice stirring something deep inside you. He walked down the aisle to the altar and turned to face them all, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Welcome, everyone. Thank you very much, as always, for coming. I know these preparation sessions can be a bit of a pain when we're all so busy, but it is so important for the children to be attending, especially as their first holy communion is just around the corner." 

'What's that?" a young boy with a freckled nose asked, pointing to a small brass font on the wall.

"Holy water," you replied, chin resting on your fist as you sat at the back of the chapel. 

"What's that?" 

"A sanctuary lamp." 

"What about that over there?" 

"A hymn book." 

"And what's that?" 

"That's just a radiator." 

"Oh." 

"Bradley," his mother shouted. "Come on, leave the lady alone." 

It was the longest hour of your life. Father Benedict had sent the children on a scavenger hunt around the church, challenging them to tick off as many items as they could find. But for some reason, most of them were more fascinated with you. They came over in waves, small groups of curious eyes asking you random questions, touching your things or trying to trick you into identifying everything for them. 

You checked your phone. Ten minutes. Just ten more minutes. 

"What's your name?" a soft, delicate voice asked. 

You looked up to see a small waif of a girl standing next to you, the biggest brown eyes you'd ever seen gazing at you in wonder. 

"Ellis," you replied. 

"I'm Dot." 

"Dot?" 

"Mhm." She nodded, hugging her work book close to her chest. "Are you Father Benedict's wife?"

You gave a soft laugh. "No, just a helper." 

"Oh okay." She paused, looking down at her feet. "I think you're really pretty," she finally said. 

Your mouth fell open slightly; the compliment somehow meaning more coming from a child. 

"Thank you. I think you're really pretty too." 

She smiled, a set of deep dimples forming in her cheeks before skipping away. 

Maybe a kid or two wouldn't be so bad, you thought. No, god no, Ellis. Remember what Mara said about peeing yourself all the time. 

The session ended ten minutes late. You sighed as the final few families left, your headache already beginning to ease in the newfound silence. You closed the doors, leaning back against them dramatically for a moment.

"You survived!" Father Benedict's voice echoed across the vast, empty space. 

"Next time I volunteer myself for something, remind me of tonight," you called back.

He chuckled, taking a set of keys from his pocket. "Can you lock those doors for me?" 

You nodded before letting out a pathetic shriek as the keys came soaring through the air towards you. When they landed at your feet, you looked up to see him laughing, covering his mouth with his hand.

"What about me makes you think I'd be good at catching?" you shouted. 

He continued to laugh, picking up a box and disappearing into the back. 

It was eerie being the only person in a church; the slightest movements seeming to echo, every piece of art staring directly at you. You locked the doors and began cleaning up, weaving through the pews collecting pens and forgotten booklets, the occasional sweet wrapper. 

You wandered down towards Father Benedict's office, tapping your knuckles against the open door and stepping inside. 

"Some left over booklets," you said. 

He was crouched at a small filing cabinet, fanning his fingers through a drawer of papers. "Oh, thanks," he said, glancing over his shoulder at you. "Just throw them on the desk." 

You walked over and threw them down as instructed, hovering for a moment, like something inside you didn't want to leave. 

"A little girl thought I was your wife," you said with a slight smirk. 

He stood up, brushing the stray curls out of his eyes. "Really? That's quite cute actually." 

"Mm. She called me pretty and I nearly cried." 

He smiled, walking over to the desk. "She's not wrong." 

You kept your eyes on him, watching his hands as they fanned out the booklets, his jaw clenching as he peered down at them. 

"Anything else you want me to do?" you asked. 

He presses his lips together in thought. "No, I think that's everything. You're relieved from duty."

"Thank god." 

"I appreciate you helping out tonight. I know it's a bit... awkward." 

"Is it?" 

"Well it's the first time we've been alone together since..." 

You looked around the office, setting your sights on the couch for a moment before returning to him. 

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Don't even think about it." 

"I didn't say anything." 

He moved slightly closer, lowering his voice. "Ellis, it is taking everything in me to behave myself." 

You gazed up at him, a thousand comebacks flitting through your mind. But in the end, you chose to yield, nodding gently and stepping away. "I'll get going then."

You left the office, pulling the door closed behind you with a disappointed huff. It was harder, somehow, to leave empty handed after knowing what it felt like to get every last piece of him. But you hadn't come here for that; you came to help, and now it was time to go. 

"Fuck sake," you whispered, halting halfway down the hall when you realised the keys were still in your pocket.

You turned around to begin walking back, but the sound of the office door made you slow to a stop. 

Father Benedict stepped out, his eyes falling on you. "You have-"

"The keys, I know," you laughed, taking them out and hurrying over to him. 

He took them from you and slipped them into his back pocket, looking down at you with a heavy, pensive brow. You swallowed hard, eyes flitting to the love bite peeking over his collar. You wanted to reach out and touch it, run your fingers over the place your mouth had been, the flesh you'd marked as yours. But you resisted, breathing steadily, waiting for him to speak. 

"Fuck it," he finally said, and in one swift movement, his hands were on your face.

He pulled you into a hard, aggressive kiss, spinning you around and pressing you back against the wall. You gasped into his mouth, fingers immediately finding his hair and grasping it tight. 

His breath was hot, hungry, overflowing with need and frustration. You felt his hands move from your face to your neck, fingertips pushing into the soft skin of your throat as his body pressed firmly into you. 

When he finally broke away, he kept his face close; forehead resting against yours, panting heavily into your open mouth. You moaned softly, chest heaving in an attempt to catch your breath as you stared up at him in awe.

He always said you had a way of looking at him. But the way he was looking at you right now; nothing but fire. 

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[mncxbe]

helloo could you do... spicy prompt 3 (car sex) with fukuchi... possibly... I need him

fav dilf mentioned i'm here to serve😳🫡 hope you like it nonnie♡

3 — Car sex

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: office dynamics, power imbalance, he's a bit mean, hair pulling

"Come on, darling, I don't have all day" mocked the man behind you, a large hand soothing the globes of your ass. You huffed in response, shifting your hips, trying to lower yourself on his cock.

What on earth made you think you could take him with no prep? God knows, but it sure didn't seem like a good idea now that you were barely able to take half of his dick in. But at least you were facing away from him so you couldn't see the shit eating grin on his face.

"You're almost there, sweetheart. Just a few more inches" he mused, but you could hear him suck in a breath when your hips came flush against his lap, his length fully sheated inside you. "There you go that's it move your hips like that" he instructed, aiding your movements.

You were damn lucky the car had tinted windows and no one could see you fucking yourself dumb on your captain's cock but if any of your colleagues were to come and check why Fukuchi was late for his speech and found you like this...

A harsh tug at your hair snapped you out of your trance as Fukuchi pulled your back flush against his chest. The new angle allowed him to fully hit your sweet spot, making your body tense up in anticipation "S-sir–"

"What's the problem, darling? Worried someone might see you letting me use you like the slut you are?" he taunted, bucking his hips up against yours "Everyone knows you're fucking me already. No need to be shy about it"

Your anxiety spiked at his words. Fuck, this could be bad, the last thing you needed were rumors about you making it to the hunting dogs because you were fucking the captain. Your performace was poor anyway and such a scandal could probably end up with you losing your position. "Did you tell?" you babbled out between huffs and mewls.

" 'course not sweetheart. But it's plain as fucking day. You latch onto me like a lost puppy. Swear you're worse than Teruko, at least she's got some dignity and doesn't let men have her way with her"

Despite his amused tone, his words struck a cord– were you really that bad? was it that damn obvious that you liked him? Before you knew it, Fukuchi lifted you off his lap and turned you to face him, a shadow of concern looming on his features. You really were so damn sensitive, always reading too much into things and taking everything personal. He wouldn't normally mind it, but he had a soft spot for you– he even felt bad for teasing you like that.

Caressing your cheek with his thumb, Fukuchi tilted your chin up, making you face him. "Hey, darling. Don't overthink it, just relax and let me take care of everything, ok?"

You nodded hesitantly, toying with the buttons of his uniform "Promise?" "Of course" he chuckled, his hands finding purchase on your hips again "Now, I can spare a few more minutes, so how about you ride me like the good girl you are?"

𐙚prompts closed

[jermer10]

yo, if you’re not open for rqs now feel free to ignore/delete but i’m begging you to expand more on Scouts fake relationship in order to make ms pauling jealous yk. I’m stuck between the reader already having feelings for him and feeling bad during the relationship or the reader also developing feelings for scout when they realize that he’s not so bad… sometimes

TF2 scout fake dating trope

suggestive, gn reader | anon i want you reveal yourself /j

tw: violence, sliiiiight angst but not really teehee, swearing

drabbles under the cut :P

You sometimes regret ever taking this fucking job. You could prepare for a fight, being blown up, being shot at. There was no way to prepare yourself for Scout. He was simply always there, causing this feeling of disgust mixed with...lust? As dirty as that felt, you couldn't say you denied it. He paid you the time of day that no man ever really had, flirting with you relentlessly, defending you against anyone who opposed you, confiding in his struggles to you. And yet he still wanted Pauling? Any merc in their right mind could tell that Pauling was gay. As a matter of fact she had confided this in you months ago, gushing about her feelings for her boss. So when the offer to be his partner in order to make her jealous arose, she wanted you to take it.

"I mean, clearly this can segue into some sort of relationship, right? Like, guy realizes he has what he wants the whole time kind of thing." She spoke matter-of-factly, typing away on her computer as you leaned onto the space next to her desk, arms crossed over your chest. She didn't look up at you while she spoke, but you could tell this was more for her than you, I mean, finally having this guy off of her back? A dream for her, even if she had to put up with the 'I'm sorry Miss Paulin'! I found someone else, but don't let me break ya heart, plenty o' fish in the sea!' speech. "Yeah, I'm sure you know what being second best feels like." You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself off of the table and walking towards the exit. "Oh- come on y/n! Don't be like that!" Pauling turned, yelling out to you as you left her office. Maybe you were a bit harsh?

You knew why he had asked you of all mercs. You noticed the way he had become more flirtatious, more physical when Pauling was around. He had been trying this for months- to elicit some sort of reaction from the young woman, but to no avail. This was just his way of taking it all to the next step. But would it really be that bad to pursue something? Having at least a chance is better than not trying at all. You entered the dining room, gently shutting your eyes and running your hands through your hair, breathing in the stale air of the base's living quarters. This was home for you, a place where you could relax from all of it. "Sooooo, have ya thought about it?" You heard a voice come from the couch and jumped slightly. There he was, laying back into the corner of the lounge, legs spread and hair messy. He wasn't wearing his usual uniform, opting for some pale red basketball shorts and a plain white tee. How could someone so annoying be so attractive? "Yeah, fuck it. Couldn't hurt."

It wasn't long before your dynamic had shifted. During movie nights he had started cuddling up to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and allowing you to fall asleep on him. Throughout battles he would tourniquet your wounds, appearing genuinely upset when you had gotten hurt. You had even started sleeping over in eachother's rooms, passing out whilst reading his comics. The other mercs noticed this shift in behaviour, and without telling them, they had assumed you were a couple. Making kissy noises when you were seen together, patting him on the shoulder and complimenting his ability to bag you. He never refuted it. Never once looked disgusted. Never laughed it off.

You started to wonder whether he was doing this for Pauling at all? Or whether he was just trying to make this whole thing seem realistic to the others enough that she would believe it too. It didn't really matter to you, you figured you could enjoy the attention while it lasted, and eventually move on. That part stung. The moving on portion of the fake dating. The aftermath. The inevitable rejection- "Hey, Pauling here," The crackling of your radio knocked you out of your contemplation. "I have a job for you and Scout. Meet me at..." You could barely listen to her, the only thought running through your mind was the fact you would have to sit there knowing any and all affection he showed you would be for her. If only they had put this in the job description, maybe you never would have applied.

Scout was already there when you arrived, yapping as usual. You were out of earshot, but could only assume he was flirting with the poor girl. Only this time Pauling was...smiling? You felt like you had been punched in the gut. "I have a job to do." You mumbled to yourself. Knowing Pauling didn't like him didn't help with the deep rooted feelings of insecurity you had around the topic. Scout noticed you walking towards them and grinned, "There they are! My partner in crime." He chuckled, slinging his arm around your shoulder. "Hey, Pauling." You forced a smile. She noticed, giving you a look you couldn't place. Did she know something that you didn't?

"Shall we?" Scout opened the side of the van door for you, allowing you to climb inside. You smiled genuinely, even if it was all fake, he still had you charmed. The ride to wherever Pauling had wanted you to work was long, and Scout was nowhere near as chatty as you had assumed he would be. He sat opposite from you, bouncing a baseball off of your side of the van. You made light conversation with Pauling, asking about work and the Assistant's conference she attended with Bidwell. You were particularly interested in Bidwell, being close with him before joining the mercenaries, and were surprised he was even still working for Hale. Scout's once peaceful expression twisted into something that resembled annoyance every time you spoke of Bidwell, and a part of you liked it. You feigned ignorance as you gushed over your friendship with the man, Pauling doing nothing to downplay your praise. Eventually you had stopped at a cave, several warning signs littered the entrance. "I need you to go in there and kill a couple of nosy tourists."

"You coming?" She peered up from her clipboard at you, eyes flickering between the brooding boy off in the distance and you. "Do you need my answer to that?" You laughed. "I'll see you when we get out." She hummed, engrossed in whatever paperwork she had been doing. Scout was definitely mad, silence was a telltale sign of his upset. You wanted to ask, to hear him say it with his own words that he was jealous of Bidwell, but you knew better than to pry. You were good at reading him, and now wasn't the time to cause an argument. The cave was deep, and even with the expertly drawn map that Pauling had given you, you felt lost. It felt like an hour had passed until you found the tourists, they were horrified, staring down at the bodies of hundreds of high ranking officials, other mercenaries, and assassins. Even regular people like them were scattered among the pile. This was clearly where she had been dumping the remains of people, and suddenly the deterring signs out front made sense.

You tried to make their deaths quick, but life doesn't really work out that way. There were three of them, two of which you and Scout had taken out at the same time using your guns. That left the third person, a man, likely in his late 20s? His large hiking backpack, boots, and layered clothing made it clear he wasn't from here. His face resembled Bidwell's in a way? You felt dizzy looking at him. He ran, traversing deeper into the cave. You were aggravated, but it was nowhere near the level of anger that radiated off of Scout. He tackled the man, beating him repeatedly. By the time Scout got off of him, you couldn't even recognize the man. He swore, wiping the spray of blood off of his face.

You tried to be scared, you really did, but the way he stood there, bat in hand, covered in gore, eyes boring into yours? It was a huge turn-on. "Let's go." He commanded, pushing past you. You obliged, and followed him silently. Eventually you had to ask, it was eating away at you, and you figured he had released most of his rage onto the poor man lying deep in the cave. "Are you okay?" It came out a lot meeker than you had expected. "What do ya think? Ya think, 'Oh Scouty is gonna love hearin' me gush about that Bidwell fucker!' when you're supposed to be my partner?" You didn't expect him to be so blunt, let alone so rude about it. Other times you had seen him jealous over Pauling he had been whiny and pathetic. This time was completely different. "Yeah, your fake partner. To make Pauling jealous. I'm not your second fucking option, Scout! You don't like me! Do you know how hard it is for me? I have to see you sit there flirting with a girl who will never like you back when I'm right here!" He stopped walking, and turned to face you. He looked hurt, and you knew you had messed up.

You kept walking, neither of you needed the map or torch any longer as the light from the entrance lit your surroundings. The afternoon sky was a watercolour mixture of purple and orange, the sun set fast behind the mountainous terrain you found yourself standing in front of. Had you really been in the cave for that long? It would have been beautiful if not for the shitty mood you had found yourself in. "Hey! How did you gooo....." Pauling stopped herself. You gave her a look. That's all she needed to know before offering you the passenger seat. The ride back to base was uncomfortably quiet, the baseball that Scout had been using to bounce off of the wall rested in his palm. The future had never felt so uncertain in that moment.

You sat awkwardly at the right end of the couch. Scout on the left. The room was dark and movie night was coming to an end, mercs slowly filing out of the room until the two of you remained. He put on some random romantic comedy and relaxed into the lounge. Your whole body was tense. The events from earlier in the night had still weighed heavy on you both. And surprisingly, Scout was the first to speak. "So....you like me?" He grinned slightly. You were taken aback, that's what he got from your fight? "Yeah, don't let it get to your head, asshole." You mumbled, staring straight at the tv screen.

"I like you too. Have for a while now." You turned to him, wide eyed. "What?" He seemed embarrassed. "Yeah, I guess that's why I was actin' so weird about the Bidwell shit," He fidgeted with his dogtags. "I started the whole fake datin' thing to make Paulin' jealous, but it stopped feelin' like that the moment I actually started to spend time with ya...." Scout stumbled over his words. He wasn't very good with expressing himself verbally, despite his flirtatious nature. "I'm....sorry.." He mumbled. You scooted closer to him on the couch, resting your head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry too." He leaned down to kiss you. It was long, sweet, and everything you had ever dreamed of. "Be my partner for real?" You laughed. "After all of that? Would be crazy if I said no." Maybe he wasn't all that bad.