#what love did then / love does now / gnaws me through * saved

[wandabear]

the river's daughter

ㅤㅤㅤ Pairing: Natasha romanoff x female reader Summary: You are nothing more than an avatar of a goddess that has lived many years. And even though you think you know everything, there's always something or someone that comes into your life to surprise you. ㅤㅤㅤ natasha's masterlist wanda's masterlist

warnings: mentions of death, violence, angst, fluff and smut. (+18) top!nat

How does it feel? Feeling that every day is the same, over and over again. Anyone would lose their minds with such daily monotony, so many years. But she was okay with it, for a long, long time. ㅤㅤㅤ

Do you want to know how it all started? First of all, you should know that it wasn't easy. Mercy, that's something they never had for her.

ㅤㅤㅤ They stoned her, beat her, spit on her and abused her. They tied the girl up like a pig and burned at the stake, cheering as her skin burned slowly; if a man craved knowledge and discovered something that would change the world, he was a genius. But if a woman did, you were quickly considered a witch.

ㅤㅤㅤ Well, now it isn't the same as before.  Of course they don't burn you for being smart but, let's say that the same ignorant people are always there.

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ㅤㅤㅤ 1452 AD.

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“Witch!” Exclaimed one of the residents of that town, as the girl was carried through those dirty streets, her feet collided, splashing in the rain puddles. The girl was dragged through that place against her will, she cried trying to let go, but the mob pushed her over and over again.

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Hitting her. Insulting her. Spitting on her. ㅤㅤㅤ

“You're disgusting! You should be ashamed!” Yelled her own mother, hitting Y/N’s cheek so hard. A dirty face, a broken lip and eyes full of anguish.

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“I haven't done anything, I swear. I'm not a witch!” Y/N defended herself, until one of the men took her by the neck, taking her to the stake.

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“Don't listen to her, she's not herself anymore. A demon has possessed her body and the only way is to purify her.” exclaimed the village priest, raising his hands. “The fire will purify her soul.”

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“Please, it's just me.” Y/N asked through tears. Those tears mixed with the soot on her cheekbones, dark tears falling down her face. She didn't understand why she had to be there, she didn’t do anything wrong.

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Showing interest in science, contradicting everything trying to find a coherent answer, was strange. She wanted data, proof, she wanted answers. Y/N wanted to travel the world, wanted to know love.

The love of a girl who was watching her from the crowd, disappointed. 

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“Do it now!” Alfred yelled, one of the men from the village came up with others, and Y/N’ legs trembled. Just remembering what happened two nights ago, a chill ran through her body.

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“Help!” The girl screamed desperately as she felt Alfred settle behind her, so intimidating. Those screams and her crying were not going to save her. The decision was made, her fate was inevitable. Her wet eyes allowed Y/N to barely see the faces of each of the people who were in front of the pyre. One by one, the people she knew since she was a child. Looks of disapproval, disgust and pity.

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An anguished gasp escaped her dry lips as Alfred picked up one of the torches and flung it at Y/N’s feet, starting the fire. There was no turning back. 

Why did she felt so guilty?  She was the victim here, about to be burned alive.  How could she forgive them?

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The flames spread quickly, fear gnawing at her skin as she tried to loosen her grip. Her teeth clenched, jaw aches but she tried to be strong. 

So what? What was the point of fighting? What was the point of crying? What was the point of yelling?

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Y/N’s teary eyes rested one more time on the people in the place and then, she looked up at the sky. A huge moon settled in the sky; she had always felt a certain peace at night. ㅤㅤㅤ Her lungs filled with oxygen for one last time, the smoke was beginning to make her cough but that wasn't the worst. Fire licked at skin, hands trembled with pain, so slow. ㅤㅤㅤ Do you know what is the worst thing about dying like that? In addition to wanting to die quickly, the worst is the smell. You start to feel like the first layers of skin burn, every part of you until finally your nerves finally die. That is when you are grateful that death comes, but it will still take time. ㅤㅤㅤ

The moon at midnight witnessed the pain of a woman and the negligence of those people. And her last thought was devoted to what she had loved most in her life, to the wonders she had witnessed. ㅤㅤㅤ

To the frogs in the river that jumped while she looked at the eggs they laid on the plants, marveling at something as simple as a tadpole. 

ㅤㅤㅤ To the bugs in the grass she watched with curiosity, to the crows that prowled the pastures while she came back home in the afternoons. 

People used to call her ‘the river’s daughter’, because she was always there.

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And Y/N innocently wished she could live a little longer. Wanting retribution for her life taken so unfairly. She wanted revenge, she wanted to travel, to know, she wanted so much more. And nature responded, but not in the way she expected.

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I feel the pain inside of you.

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A voice, so soft, like a warm hug in the freezing winter, feeling an absolute calm that she had never felt. Was that part of dying? Because if it was, it was so much better than being alive in a cold place like this.

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“Who are you?” 

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Do you really want to live again?

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Y/N thought about that question, of course she wanted another chance. But was it possible?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ “Yes.” ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Do you swear to protect the wild nature and hunt those who would do them harm?

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“Yes.”

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“Then now you will be known by many names… Artemis. Medeina. Diana. Aradia. Arduinna. So many names… but it will always be you, Artio.”

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“Rise and live again.”

NOW

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“You're getting in trouble, aren't you?  know you so well, Y/N. Just stay outta trouble.” - received from Alena two minutes ago.

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The cloaked woman sighed deeply and put away her phone, watching the city from that building. It was a fairly quiet night.

Narrowing her eyes, Y/N quickly shapeshifted into a bat to fly and silently entered through that broken window.

Getting to the fourth floor was easier than she expected, silently killing each of the thugs. One by one, they died under the edge of her blades.

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She stopped for a moment to use her powers and listen to how many more were left and specifically, where was what she was looking for.

Y/N took a few more steps until she stopped, hearing gun shots on some lower floors. Someone else had entered the building, a team.

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“Nice.”  Y/N growled. She was definitely going to have to hurry.

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Hearing those shots outside, that big man sighed and turned to see the redhead in front of him. That woman lay tied to the chair, it was clear that she had been interrogated and tortured for hours.

The legendary Black Widow was handcuffed, spending hours in that interrogation in that disgusting and humid room.

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“This is not how I wanted this evening to go.”  The man named Lev Nikolayevich, a big arms trafficking leader, sat across from her at the desk. Beside Nat, two of his thugs smirked.

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Natasha raised an eyebrow. “They will come for you soon.”

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“Then you better talk fast or you'll be food for my dog.” Lev said in a raspy voice, pointing to the huge dog at the side of the room. That dog with grayish fur due to dust and dirt, the scars and some wounds that were barely healing showed that it was used for fighting.

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“Who are you working for?” The man asked again. “Spiridonov, right?”

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“I thought General Spiridonov was in charge of the business.” Natasha just kept staring at him.

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Lev lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke deeply, playing with the idea of burning her with it. “Your outdated information betrays you.”

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Natasha's eyes widened and she swallowed, trying to play the role of a frightened and emotionally vulnerable woman.

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“The famous Black Widow…” He smiled, blowing out the smoke on Natasha’s face. “...and she turns out to be just another pretty face.”

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Arching a flirtatious eyebrow, Natasha murmured: “Do you think I’m pretty?”

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“Ms. Romanoff.” Lev moved the cigar toward Natasha's bare leg. “If you're looking for a confession-”

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Before he could say anything else, an arrow pierced the neck of one of his friends. Making him fall to the ground, choking on his own blood.

Startled, Lev turned to see the hooded figure in the doorway carrying a bow.

The first thing Natasha thought about was Clint, and of course she was going to kill him when they got out of there. That was her undercover mission.

ㅤㅤㅤ But seeing how the other thug was brutally beaten by that agile figure and then impaled with an arrow, the widow realized that it couldn't be him. Clint would never kill without mercy.

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Lev took a step back, terrified especially when the hooded woman aimed another arrow at his chest.

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“Wait, we need him!”  Natasha growled, she had gone through all that just to get information from that guy. She needed him alive. 

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“Get in line.”  Y/N grunted.

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“I don't know who you are, but the Avengers need him. He has some big deal intel about-” The black widow tried to 'manipulate' her but she didn't know that this woman was immune to it. Y/N didn't care in the slightest what happened to that human trash.

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“I don't care about your business.” Y/N quickly interrupted her, aiming it straight at the man's throat. “I only came for the dog.”

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She hated humans, she didn't care about this guy or any of them. Without further ado, Y/N shot the arrow through Lev's throat and nailing him against the wall. 

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The goddess watched as the light disappeared from the man's eyes and then approached to free the dog and get out of that place. 

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“That’s okay, boy, we’re leaving.” she cooed. That huge puppy only wagged his tail so happy that someone got him out of that torture. Natasha just watched that scene without being able to believe it, without being able to understand it.

ㅤㅤㅤ Y/N walked to the door with that excited dog by her side until Natasha's voice made her stop:

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“Who are you?” The redhead frowned curiously and worried, she couldn't see her face but it was definitely a woman. But the goddess did not answer, she just smiled and left that place.

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By the time Natasha managed to free herself from that chair, Y/N had completely disappeared, without leaving any trace of her participation that night. That was a complete mystery to her.

That was the first time she crossed paths with Natasha Romanoff.

After a long journey, Y/N finally returned home with that big pup by her side. Closed the door but stood for a moment, feeling a presence that told her that she wasn't alone.

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“Go eat something, boy.” Y/N told the dog with a kind look.

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The pup lowered his head and walked towards the kitchen, understanding and giving her the space she needed. Y/N turned and walked towards the living room, meeting a woman in front of the huge window. A tall, brunette woman of about thirty-five years old, wearing a suit that made her look spectacular.

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“I knew it, I swear...”  Alena shook her head, utterly tired. “I just- I knew you were doing some shit!”

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“Look-” Y/N tried, coming closer. The goddess understood how upset Alena could be with her, how many times she saved her ass. 

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“No, don’t ‘look’ at me.” 

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“He was a bad man.” Y/N exhaled and approached her sister, who just crossed her arms, waiting for a good excuse. “He polluted this planet, trafficked weapons and also had fighting dogs. Can you believe it? I wasn't going to stay still.”

“Y/N…” Alena stood in front of her, rubbing her temple. “We cannot interfere in human affairs. Like that man last time-”

“They were not just human affairs. He loved to kill whales in the Faroe Islands!” Y/N growled.  “Trust me, just because we are here doesn't mean I have to sit around doing nothing, I'm sick of it.”

Alena just sat on the edge of the sofa, sighing. After so many years of being together, Y/N never ceased to amaze her or give the biggest headaches.

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Y/N was the avatar of Artio, goddess of the hunt and the wild nature, but Alena was the avatar of Athena. The great mighty Athena, goddess of Wisdom, heroic endeavor and war. Unlike Ares who embodied war in a brutal way, Athena directed war battles in an intelligent and orderly manner. That's why she was in charge now.

And of course, many times she was extremely responsible and kinda bossy, the complete opposite of Y/N.

“Y/N, we made a pact a long time ago and we must keep it that way, or everything is going to be a mess.” The taller brunette sighed, she could easily scold and beat her up, but she just looked at her sister and spoke to her patiently. “We don't interfere. We can't.”

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“What do you expect me to do?” Y/N exhaled tiredly, sitting on the couch. “They love Thor.”

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“Thor is a fucking alien.” Alena shrugged, watching that beautiful view from the place. The warm sun shining against her face. “We defy all their beliefs because we are from this very planet. They see Steve Rogers as an old man, a living fossil, imagine what they'll say if they know we've been around for much longer. Hundreds, thousands of years.”

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“They don't deserve us anyway. They'd hate us the moment they found out, they're just awful, violent parasites. Sorry for the comparison, poor parasites.” Y/N said, quite annoyed, there wasn't even a human she liked enough. She just used them as she pleased.

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“Some are really worth it.” the brunette whispered.  “They make mistakes, just like us. The difference is that some of them try to do better, and some of us would never consider it.”

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Y/N was silent for a moment, she was right. Well, most of the time, but it was still worth accepting. Especially for a soul as rebellious as Y/N's.

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“Okay, I’m sorry.” She looked down.

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“I know.” But Alena just smiled tenderly and nodded. After all, Y/N was still young. “I did something crazy the other day too.”

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Y/N frowned. “Like what?” 

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“Well… There was a guy who was going to go free, and I just… I used my powers and I made him confess.”  The goddess got up from the sofa and adjusted her suit. She seemed somewhat embarrassed just saying it, which made Y/N just laughed.

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“That’s doing justice, that’s your job. That’s not something crazy.” Y/N still didn't seem to understand. What was the big deal?

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Alena looked quite guilty for what she had done. “I didn't follow the rules and I manipulated him, that's a bit wrong, Y/N.”

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But Y/N just laughed even louder.

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“I thought you'd say something incredibly crazy or have an orgy or something… But, sis, you’re weird and boring.”

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The second time Y/N ran into Natasha it was a few years later, and it was even more unexpected.

ㅤㅤ Y/N took a deep breath, feeling the sea breeze against her face. She smiled, she'd always loved Norway. The goddess walked on that road, among the trees and the cliff facing the ocean. She arrived in Norway a week ago for reasons much more difficult to explain, Alena needed her presence in some kind of meeting but being in that place was revitalizing, especially surrounded by so much nature.

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The woman stood in front of that cliff, rejoicing at feeling the light drizzle. The song of the birds made her close her eyes, smile widely. Everything was perfect until the sound of a car engine made her grunt a bit annoyed.

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In the distance, a small car was slowing down. It was a small Lada Niva driven by a redhead woman who lowered her window to chat with her.

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“Hi.” Natasha said in a husky voice, watching the woman curiously.

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“Hey.” Y/N mumbled. 

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Natasha Romanoff again. How come of so many people in this fucking world, it had to be just her?

Y/N froze, thinking that the agent might recognize her but then she remembered that Natasha never saw her face.

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“Are you lost?” Natasha asked a bit worried, not only at the thought of someone hanging around near her trailer, but with that woman near the cliff, what if she wanted to jump? She couldn't just ignore it.

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“Oh, no… well, I- I think so? My phone just… stopped working.” Y/N chuckled embarrassedly, clearly faking it. “Sorry.”

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“It’s okay.” The redhead nodded and relaxed a little more. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

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Y/N licked her lips, looking around. Denying it would be quite suspicious and the last thing she needed was that woman to follow her steps. The brunette smiled tenderly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

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“That would be good although my mother taught me not to get into strangers' cars.” Y/N teased, making Natasha smile.

Y/N walked around that car and sighed deeply before getting into it.

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The scent of Natasha's perfume reached her, truly exquisite. Could notice some wild raspberry tones. She also saw some bags in the back seat, the russian spy was clearly coming back from the store.

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“Do you live here?” Y/N cocked her head to look at her. Natasha kept her gaze fixed on the long and lonely road. “Interesting place. It's boring?”

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“Not much.” Natasha sighed. “I like the calm.”

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Y/N just nodded and turned her gaze to see the beautiful ocean. The waves crashed against the cliff, and with each swell, she felt revitalized.

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“Are you backpacking? or just a tourist?” Nat asked more incisively, clearly beginning to be suspicious. She noticed that Y/N was carrying a backpack, not too big. “I mean, you don't have a Norwegian accent.”

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Y/N smiled a little shy. “You're right, I'm not from here. I am a tourist, I arrived some days ago.” She opened the backpack slowly, noticing how Natasha tensed. “I am a wildlife photographer, I came to learn and see some puffins.”

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Y/N took a camera out of the backpack, showing it to her. She had to make a supernatural effort not to laugh when she saw Natasha's face. Maybe thought she'd pull out a gun.

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“Nice.” The redhead swallowed and smiled sheepishly. “I’m Natalie.”

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“Oh, silly. We know exactly who you are.” Y/N thought and smirked.

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“I’m Y/N.” 

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“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Natasha nodded, but then she wrinkled her nose. “What’s a puffin?”

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Y/N giggled at her question and stared at the redhead for a moment. 

She carefully observed every part of Nat’s face, those green eyes, her nose, those lips. The adorable red-haired braids contrast with her pale skin. Maybe playing with the humans for a while wouldn't hurt.

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“Do you have two hours to find out?”  Y/N arched an eyebrow. “Unless you're afraid of a stranger.”

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Natasha looked at her somewhat surprised and perhaps interested. Who was that mysterious woman? Why did she feel that she knew her from somewhere?

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“This is beautiful.” Natasha's voice showed how amazed she was.

They were both sitting on the grass in front of that beautiful cliff facing the ocean, the blue sky made it even more wonderful. The sound of the birds and the waves was all they could hear.

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Natasha had been in Norway for a while, but never experienced anything like that.

A few steps from them, there were some adorable chubby birds. They were black and white, their beaks had some beautiful and vivid colors like orange, red and yellow.

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“I’m in love with them.” Nat giggled, maybe happy for the first time in a long time. Perhaps somewhat adorable and clumsy to walk, they just managed to win Natasha Romanoff's heart and that wasn't easy.

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“They’re the most punctual bird in the world.” Y/N whispered, smiling at them. “They arrive to spend the summer here on the same day, every year. Nobody knows why.”

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“Some call them 'the clowns of the sea'.”

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“That’s a cute clown.” Nat smirked, seeing how an adorable puffin came out of its cave with another and began to rub its beak against its partner's, in a very adorable way. “Oh, look how their beaks collide! Are they kissing or something?!”

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Y/N watched as Natasha seemed fascinated, and strangely the goddess felt something inside her. Something new, something she didn’t know. A warm feeling that she swore she never felt before.

Tenderness.

Seeing how those green eyes showed illusion, in perhaps the most deadly person on this planet. The goddess was enormously curious now.

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“Yes, that’s how they show love.” Y/N laughed, this time she didn't pretend. “They’re quite romantic. Once they’ve mated they stay together forever.”

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Nat nodded and smirked. “Quite romantic indeed.”

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Biting her lower lip, perhaps a little needy for some little contact with another being, Y/N barely whispered a few words to one of the puffins.

It wasn't any kind of manipulation, she just invited him to come closer and the bird, knowing who she was, gladly accepted.

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“What is he doing?” Natasha asked a bit worried, noticing how that bird was getting closer.

With clumsy steps and constant flapping, that puffin slowly approached Natasha until it was facing her.

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Opening her eyes wide, Nat stood still, not knowing what to do. She didn't want that bird to hurt her but she didn't want to hurt him either.

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“It won't hurt you, it's just curious.”Y/N chuckled at the redhead's nervousness. “Touch his head, very gently.”

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“I…” Natasha hesitated for a moment.  She didn't know how to say it.

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“You don’t wanna hurt him.” So Y/N said it for her, somewhat surprised. Such a selfless act, she would never have expected.

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“No, I don’t.” The redhead sighed. “Isn't it an endangered bird or something? I wouldn't want to ruin it.”

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“Just do it gently.”

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Despite her fear, Natasha reached out her hand to that bird and gently caressed its head. That puffin began to flutter happily, snuggling between her legs for a minute and then walking around her.

Y/N just laughed and reached for her camera, taking some pictures of the bird. And though Natasha didn't notice, she took a few of the smiling redhead befriending a curious puffin.

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After a few minutes of wandering, the bird decided to fly and return to his family.

Both were silent for a while, enjoying the place and taking pictures until Y/N opened her backpack. She pulled out a small lunch box with sandwiches and a bottle of water.

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“You have a lot of food for just one person.” Natasha said somewhat suspiciously.

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Y/N arched an eyebrow and handed her the lunch box. “I eat a lot.”

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That was true tho.  Noticing how the redhead looked at the food with mistrust, the brunette took a bite first, staring at her.

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Natasha gave her a fake smile and took a sandwich. “How about we get to know each other? Let's do some questions.”

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“Sure. Shoot.” Y/N shrugged.

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She knew that for a while, Natasha had doubted her since they met. Wasn’t stupid or naive at all, the redhead was one of the best agents of one of the most important agencies in the world.

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“Are you an agent?” The black widow narrowed her eyes at her, taking a bite of the sandwich. The goddess turned to stare at her, accepting that challenge.

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Sincerely, she answered short and concisely. “No.”

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“Are you part of the government? An undercover agent?”

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“No.” Y/N blinked slowly, she wasn't even intimidated and that made Natasha feel a bit nervous.

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“Are you telling me the truth?”

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“Yes.”

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If Natasha was sure of anything, it was that she knew very well when someone was lying to her.  And so far, the stranger had been passing her test.

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“Did you come here for me?”

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“No.” 

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Nat thought for a moment what to say, Y/N seemed to be telling the truth or was better than her at lying, and that was very difficult to accept. But she never broke the connection between their gazes.

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“Do you know who I am?”

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Finally one of the most important questions and at the same time easier to answer.

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“Who doesn't know you, Natasha Romanoff? A.K.A Black Widow, wanted by many. You’re quite a star on TV… ex-Avenger.” Y/N smiled and took another bite of the sandwich. 

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Natasha didn't say anything for a moment, analyzing everything the brunette had said and then sighed. She was telling the truth.

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“Did I pass your test yet, agent Romanoff? Can I keep eating my sandwich?”

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The next thing she knew was how Natasha was taking her inside that trailer, closing the door without even looking. Couldn't take her lips off her or hands from Y/N's body.

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Y/N's eyes reflect desire and passion, but above all, how delighted and excited she felt to see Natasha in such a passionate way.

Sex had always been a good way to connect, Y/N couldn't help but feel the need at times, but nothing and no one really mattered to her.

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But this time, this one was different.

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The way Natasha took off her clothes, the way the widow dominated her whole naked body in that bed.  First, the redhead dedicated herself to devouring her, kissing, touching, biting Y/N's body with devotion and passion, making her feel truly like a goddess. How that tongue made her come over and over again.

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As those fingers marked her, running through Y/N’s body with patience and need at the same time. As the widow first invited the woman to ride her on her favorite toy, then being thrusted over and over again, Y/N hid her face in the pillow swallowing to drown her moans but it was impossible. 

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Those soft hands held the goddess' hips like she owned her, and far from hating it, for a night, Y/N loved it. Those soft, full lips kissing the back of her neck, her tattooed back as Nat filled her completely.

Cupping Y/N’s breasts that moved with each thrust, each one of them bringing her closer and closer to a new orgasm.

ㅤㅤㅤ

But far from allowing her a break, the redhead captured Y/N’s lips again. One more time. Natasha definitely seemed to need this, she needed to release all that tension and Y/N was the most exquisite way right now.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Fed up with the melancholy and the gray and lonely days far from the Avengers, Natasha spent the night making Y/N hers looking for a little shred of joy. Biting, kissing, devouring, sinking deep inside her. Trying to forget.

ㅤㅤㅤ

The next day, Natasha woke up feeling the warmth of the sun against her face but also an empty cold bed. The redhead sat on the bed confused, being the 'abandoned' one without a goodbye this time seemed to make her ego feel a bit hurt.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Of course she used to do it all the time, but that woman… that woman completely stole her attention and interest from that day on.

Her phone vibrated on the table and for a moment she hoped it was her, but Nat only smiled slightly when she saw that it was just Rick Mason saying:  ‘I have what you asked for.’

ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤ

Both were in that office in one of the best buildings in New York City, where Alena practiced as one of the best lawyers in that firm. 

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Thank you, Sylvie.” Alena smiled at her assistant as she placed both cups of coffee on the desk. Y/N smiled at the girl before she closed the door.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Once Sylvie disappeared, her sister finally snapped.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“So…”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Alena pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to find patience. “You fucked THE Black Widow.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Well… yep.” Y/N smiled toothly, taking the coffee and dropping some sugar into it. “It was worth it.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“You’re so lucky you only fuck women, or we would be having some serious shit with demigods, like that time… Remember? It was a fucking mess.” Alena growled, maybe being Athena's avatar made her a little grumpy sometimes. “Was it good?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Y/N laughed at the curiosity of her sister, who narrowed her eyes excited to hear some gossip. “Really good, like… I was very surprised. Best sex i've ever had.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Alena frowned. “Really surprised? It's the Black Widow, everyone wants a little of that. She’s like sex itself... Just admit that you have a human crush, there's nothing wrong with that. Even Aphrodite loved her. ”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“As if you don't have a secret crush on the little witch.” Y/N teased, enjoying too much to annoy her sister.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I’m not.” Alena laughed nervously, so nervous that she almost pushed her coffee cup clumsily.  “I just feel that life has been very unfair to her.”

ㅤㅤ

“Yeah, sure.” Y/N rolled her eyes and then looked at the nearest tv, watching the news repeat over and over how the Avengers saved the world again. “They did it again.” 

ㅤㅤ

“Yep, I saw it. That's why I'm trying to work on this.” Alena sighed, typing quickly.

ㅤㅤ

“At least they're giving you a nice tribute.” Y/N teased and scrunched her nose.  “Goddess of heroic endeavor.”

ㅤㅤ

“Fuck you.” Alena sighed and took one of her files, signing some papers.  “Look at me, I was a respected goddess leading battles and now I'm signing these fucking papers to do some justice.”

ㅤㅤ

They both smiled with a certain sadness, times had changed a lot. For the better in many things, and for others, everything remained the same.

ㅤㅤ

“And yet, years later, you still think they're worth it.” Y/N drank some of her coffee.

ㅤㅤ

“I know there's no excuse for what they did to you when you died, but they're not all the same.” Alena took off her glasses to look at her for a moment, crossing her arms on the table. The papers could wait.

ㅤㅤ

“Because you love them.”  Y/N just sighed. Of course Alena loved humans, like half the gods who were barely still alive. But not Y/N, she still couldn't forgive them.

ㅤㅤ

“Because I personally think they can be better.” Alena stirred her coffee and drank some of it. “I'm not the one who fucks them.”

ㅤㅤ

Y/N laughed amused and got up to leave. “You should.”

ㅤㅤ 

“Please, don't get in trouble.” The brunette managed to say before her sister left the office. When Y/N turned around, Alena raised an eyebrow and said: “We don't need to mess with the Avengers.”

ㅤㅤ 

Y/N just grinned and walked out of the office, giving her the middle finger.

But the third time she met Natasha Romanoff, it was memorable. Because it was at that very moment.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

WHAT LOVE DID THEN, LOVE DOES NOW [r.l]

“What love did then, love does now: gnaws me through.” — ‘dialogue between ghost and priest’, sylvia plath

pairing. rowan laslow x vampire!reader

warnings. swearing, mention of blood + death, spoilers for wednesday s1

summary. after you find rowan bleeding out in the woods, you have no choice but to turn him. 

word count. 2.3k

>pt1, pt2, pt3

i. 

You’re picking a piece of grass off your shirt and begrudgingly picking up the cotton candy you dropped on the floor, when you smell something. 

It’s sweet as syrup, rich like chocolate and absolutely delectable. You haven’t smelt this much of this thing in a long time; at least not for the last two and a half centuries or so. 

It’s blood. And a lot of it. From the sweet taste on your tongue, you know it’s human. 

If it was this much blood, and from a human… it dawned on you that someone had probably died, one of the other Fangs had drank for too long — or both. If it's both, you thought, fang digging nervously into your bottom lip, the normies might burn you all to a crisp in the morning. 

You began to run towards the smell. 

The origin of the blood is far, much deeper into the forest than where you’d begun running — just near the popcorn booth at the Harvest — and when you finally skirted to a stop, leaving a trail of dust behind you, you couldn’t see the familiar festival lights anymore. 

“Hello?” You called out, cupping a hand around the side of your mouth to maximize the volume. “It’s [Name] [Last Name]! You know me!” You said, edging closer to the scent. “You don’t have to be scared! I can help you!” 

If one of your fellow vampires had accidentally killed a normie, they’d be skittish, prone to escaping. You didn’t want to frighten them. 

Finally, you appeared from behind the multitude of trees crowding you, and stumbled into a clearing. 

However, instead of seeing a scared vampire and a dead or unconscious normie like you thought, there lay an unidentifiable mass, bloody and twitching. It was on its stomach, limbs flayed out in various positions. Blood gurgled all around the body’s middle half, quickly oozing out. 

The smell was so sickly, so saccharine and cherry, it didn’t smell good anymore. It felt almost diabetic. Nauseating, even.

However bloody, however sweet, it didn’t matter. The corpse felt like nothing more than a cruelly murdered slab of meat.

The sight of the corpse made all the hairs on your body stand up. You barely withheld a scream. It begged to tear out of your throat, terror thrumming through your bones. Instead, you held your breath, leaning down near the corpse, and lifted it onto its back. 

Still with his familiar glasses — now cracked and tangled in his hair — lay Rowan Laslow, lips turning blue. His face, barely identifiable, was covered in long scratches, one particularly long one stretching from his right cheek down, disappearing into his shirt. 

His stomach was positively destroyed. It was what could only be described as a large tangled mess of various organs and escaping blood, because although he had been a telekinetic, he had still been mortal. 

You willed yourself not to shriek; not to run away. 

Firstly, you checked for a heartbeat. 

Your cold fingers found Rowan’s limp wrist — which had begun to freeze similar to yours, except he wasn’t going to heal — and you wrapped them around. 

After a second: a faint heartbeat pulled through. But it was ragged, dragging along like feet on the sidewalk, almost inaudible and entirely weak. 

Just barely - just barely he was alive. But you couldn’t even begin to know how to save him. 

Atleast, not in the typical way. Not in the human, medical definition of saving someone. You only knew one way you could save someone with this severe of wounds. 

You knew you’d have to turn him. 

The mere thought rendered you still. You sat frozen, fingers still curled around his skinny wrist, mind whirling. 

You couldn’t turn him, you couldn’t - you couldn’t subject a human to the life you’d been born into. To top it all off, vampires hadn’t turned people in centuries. Most of you hadn't even dranken blood in the last three centuries of your life.

You couldn’t do that. 

Suddenly, Rowan’s hand gripped your own, fleeting strength pouring into the desperate way his nails dug into your dead flesh. 

“��Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “please … help… help me…” He cried out in pain, his tone the definition of misery. His shrieking ended with weak, sniffling tears.

It felt as though lightning had shot through your brain. What were you doing, sitting beside a dying man and thinking about how you couldn’t handle him dying? 

In one fell swoop, you lifted him up onto your lap, pushed aside his mussed hair, and positioned your fangs along the crook of his bloodstained neck. 

Then, you bit. 

And you felt your teeth sink into his flesh, carefully, slowly, the tips of chiseled bone curling into his frail, thin skin. His shallow breathing quickened, and when your bottom fangs bit him parallel on the other side of his neck, he whimpered. 

You grimaced, tasting his bloodstained skin on your lips, and you held your bite there. You let your saliva enter his blood stream, waiting long enough until you were certain you had infected him.

Then, you pulled back, and watched as his body began to repair itself. First, your bite wound on the left side of his neck let one rivulet of blood slip out, before it went through every stage of healing tenfold fast: fresh wound, scab, pink scar, then two dark brown dots artfully positioned were all that were left. It looked like he had merely gotten a tattoo.

After that, came the big stuff: the monstrous scratches on his face healed in mere moments, leaving behind barely visible scar stripes; his organs untangled themself, pulled back into his stomach and were put together like a puzzle; his abdomen grew muscle and flesh and skin, stitching itself together until he was complete, again. Several patchwork scars ran horizontally down his stomach — where… whatever had killed him, had attacked. 

Soon enough Rowan was completely whole, barely scarred with regular breathing.

You tentatively picked out a shard of glass out of his hair — from his decimated glasses — and the energy in your body escaped you. Your shoulders slumped, and came to your feet, carefully hoisting Rowan onto your shoulder. 

Despite now being a vampire himself, his weight still amounted to nothing. Soberly, that mere fact made you remember how you’d just turned him. 

You had just turned him; one of the mortals you saw be born and grow up and die in a matter of decades that felt like minutes to you; a human being. 

You felt like you could throw up. Instead, you traveled through the shadows back to Nevermore. 

-

He’s gasping, gasping like he’d been drowned. Then he’s coughing, a worrying mix of asphyxiate and dry throat, so you hand him a glass. 

Without looking, he downs it, expression softening with relief, the sweet liquid satiating his senses. 

However, when pulls the glass away from his lips, he lets out an ear-striking scream. 

Rowan drops the glass. And it explodes on your dorm floor, thick, cherry coloured blood splattering beneath your feet. Blood slips off his lip, onto his shirt, and you can see the blood climbing the cracks of his teeth as he shrieks. 

You press one hand to his mouth, silencing him, and your other hand reaches up to your own, a single finger in the middle of your lips. 

“Shh!” You say, and his eyes go even wider. Buggishly so. You gesture around the room: it’s your dorm in Karnstein Hall, a place he is very obviously not allowed to be. Thank god your roommate graduated last semester on early admission to university. 

Rowan’s eyes follow your hand, circling around the room. After a moment, he calmed completely, lying lifeless and faint like you’d sedated him. 

Relieved, you pulled your hand back, and leaned back in your plastic desk chair, sighing. “Do you remember what happened?” You said hesitantly, watching Rowan blankly stare at his hands. 

There came no response. Instead, Rowan suddenly jumped up from his place on your bed, tripped over the sheets and scrambled for the door, voice calling out for help like an animal’s dying cry. 

As quickly as Rowan had jumped up, your left leg made an aim for his abdomen, sending him rolling across your dorm floor. His back hit the wall with a light thump, and your hand balled up the fabric on the back of his blood stained t-shirt. You lifted him up by the scruff, bringing him to eye level. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you what happened. You almost died. Do you not remember the Harvest Festival? The forest,” You say, boring your eyes into his own. 

Still there was no response, but when he went limp, fighting spirit quickly escaping him, you set him down on his feet. 

Then, his eyebrows shot up, climbing higher when he hastily pulled up his shirt — revealing nothing but bare, pale skin, and completely intact flesh. 

“But— I thought I—“ Rowan stuttered over himself, an alarmed expression tugging at his delicate features. 

“I saved you,” You said in a mumble. His expression turned immediately curious, as well as awed and thankful, but you felt anything but deserving.

“I saved you, Rowan, and you’re not going to like it.” Prepared for this, you snatched the cheap handheld mirror off your desk and lifted it up at him. 

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could say, shamefully looking at your feet. 

His face paled, even moreso than it had been before he’d turned and after he’d died, and he looked ready to faint. 

There was nothing in the mirror. Absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t see his reflection, and he certainly couldn’t see the scars casing his entire being. Before, he had looked flimsy and demure; now he looked positively ruined. 

“You turned me?” He said, tone a mixture of disbelief, despair and ire. It all culminated in his familiar shaky whisper. His face however, was desperate; a certain melancholy mirrored in his eyes, a direct opposition to how his voice wavered.

“You almost died,” You repeated, leaning closer to him. “I found you choking on your own blood for fucks sake.” 

Your fingers found themselves on Rowan’s neck, and he flinched, before squeezing his eyes shut gingerly as you traced the bite wound you’d made just the night before. “I’m sorry.” You said again, avoiding Rowan’s eyes. 

“But it was either this,” You said, finally looking up at him, “or getting hoisted six-feet into the grave.”

At the mention of ‘six feet’, something dawned on Rowan. “Something — something attacked me that night.” He climbed onto the edge of your day bed, contemplating. 

“What?” You said, brows twisting together. “Attacked you? In — in Jericho? Do not tell me it was a bear, Rowan, you are a telek—“

Skillfully, his powers pushed you back, a frown on his face. Without knowing the new extent of his powers, he threw you against the wall — which he had never been able to do to Vampires, at least not while he was still alive — and the both of you were rendered speechless.

He paused, mouth hanging open. You rolled around  on the floor for a moment, recollecting your dizzy vision. “Same powers. New limits, Rowan. You’re a vampire.” Was all you said. 

“I…” Rowan’s mouth opened and closed, “I — it — it wasn’t a - it wasn’t a bear, okay?” he decided on saying instead. “It was - I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t so simple as an animal.”

You bit your lip, and sat up from the floor. “You’re right. No bear does what it did to you last night,” You said, painfully remembering the image of Rowan’s destroyed abdomen and clawed out face. 

Rowan flopped completely flat on your mattress. “Besides… that thing, Wednesday Addams was there. She — I,” he sighed looking suddenly ashamed, “I tried to kill her, and she was trying to tell me I was in danger. She was talking about the thing that attacked me and I…”

“Back up,” You said, incredulously, “you tried to kill her?”

He grimaced. “Not my brightest moment. My mother, she… she was a seer — a powerful one at that — and she drew a picture, thirty years ago, of Nevermore destroyed. Wednesday was in that picture — as well as Crackstone, for whatever reason — and I just… went ballistic.” 

You pressed two fingers between your eyes. “Okay. Okay, you had your reasons. Totally fucked up ones nevertheless, but still, reasons.” 

“She thinks I’m dead.” He said numbly. 

You shook your head. “We can deal with that stuff later. Right now,” You said, getting up, “We need to explain away all of this.” You gestured to his bite and being in your room in Karnstein Hall.

“Not the truth?” Rowan said hesitantly, slipping off your daybed. 

“Gods no, Rowan. At least not for now.” You bit your lip, tapping your feet. “I know, and you know, that Weems isn’t going to do anything about… whatever that that thing was, even if we did tell her.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding. “Alright then. You got any bright ideas?”

“I have something in mind,” You said, hesitant, “but you’re not going to like it. I mean, you’re really gonna fucking hate it.” 

Rowan rolled his eyes, “Shoot. You already fucking turned me, what’s the worse it can get?”

-

Turns out, it gets worse. 

You sat positioned extremely close to Rowan, hands dancing suggestively across his thigh, face inching closer to his. “We want to spend eternity together,” you said, a toothy smile stretching across your face. 

“Right, sweetheart?” You said, winking at Rowan. 

Extremely perturbed and trying harder not to show it, Rowan smiled tightly. “Of course, my love.”

“So… you turned him?” Weems said, incredulous.

“He asked first,” You said with a shrug. 

“I asked first.” Rowan conceded painfully, grimacing so much he hoped Weems thought it might be his disgusting, lovely joy. 

Weems' right eye twitched, and Rowan shared the sentiment. 

[fatuismooches]

Helloo Smooches

Would you like another episode of me being possessed by angst ghosts? I was just thinking about Arlie with lover from Fontaine.. I'll try to avoid 4.2 spoilers as much as possible, so:

Reader helps those, who are caught up in primordial sea catastrophe. Arlie will try to persuade you into staying out of this, since the water is dangerous for you, but you just.. Can't leave these people, even if it's a little help because it's your mutual home

But.. just a single mistake and you're gone. Disappeared without a trace in seawater. No matter how much fatui agents and children from Heart of Hearth try to search for you - you're gone gone gone.

You were the only person Arlecchino let in her life on personal level. The one she could drop her mask before and be not Arlecchino, not The Knave, but just.. herself (if only we knew her real name..)

And now.. she can't even do a proper funeral for you, because your body is dissolved. Her mind is plagued by infinite "what if". What if she didn't let you go? What if she was there? What if she came to you just a mere minutes earlier to catch you? What if it wasn't you, who died..?

"Father", who told Freminet that tears are a sign of weakness found herself all alone, hidden from everyone's gaze, with tears streaks on her face, which she doesn't even bother to wipe. Ah, if you were there.. you'd gently come to her, placing hands on her face, wiping the tears gently..

This is exactly why she teaches her children to value their life above all else.

-🥀

(just venting my frustration over the fact Fontaine just has so many beautiful women😭. It's not fair to my wallet)

🥀 ANON... 🥀 ANON... IM SENDING YOU AWAY!! STOP THIS MADNESS!! But yes... i have to admit i do love and enjoy your angst.

In all honesty, Arlecchino did not want you to come to Fontaine with her. She wanted you to stay in Snezhnaya, where you'd be safe. Which, wasn't particularly unusual - although you came with her on a lot of missions, sometimes she wanted you to stay home. Whether to rest, or take on other duties, or if this mission was going to be especially bloody... but this time, uncharacteristically, it's out of gnawing fear. She knows she shouldn't be nervous, she knows you're strong, you're careful, you're her other hand after all, but... the threat of death is far more looming in Fontaine, especially as a Fontainian. But no, you're stubborn, you always have been. Always wanting to help, always wanting to look out for others. That's probably why you got so attached to the three siblings as well. So, Arlecchino can't fight you anymore, the only thing she can do is keep a watchful eye on you.

Only that her eyes are not watchful enough. If only Arlecchino knew that morning would be the last she saw you, the last that she kissed you and held you. If only she knew. If only she was able to protect you, or if she instructed you to go elsewhere, the water wouldn't have gotten you. She's the Fourth Harbinger, with incomparable strength, yet she couldn't save one person? If she tried harder, she could have. Could have forced you to stay, could have done something. It is even worse this way, your body isn't here for a proper funeral, neither she nor her children being able to find closure and say goodbye to you one last time.

Lyney and Lynette are trying to calm their shaking bodies, while Freminet is already on the verge of tears despite knowing how much Father dislikes crying children, but he can't help it. And Arlecchino could not blame him for once, because in the privacy of her office, she does the same thing. She longs for you to walk through that door, come behind her, and hold her, softly wiping the silent tears away, murmuring how it was okay for her to be vulnerable, and how it was all going to be okay since you two had each other.

Not anymore...

Children who enter the House of the Hearth after that are always greeted by a large painting of an unfamiliar person in the halls, questioning who it could possibly be. The only response they get is a head pat, a sad smile, and "someone who was very important to Lord Arlecchino."

[dawn-moths]

“The All-Consuming Kind of Love”

Itto Arataki x Female Reader

word count: 21,000+

(You’re taken in by the Arataki gang and given a family by the oni that rescued you. You’re trained by Shinobu to become stealthy, useful, hoping to repay the debt of being granted a second chance by applying your skills for the gang’s benefit. You’ve always had a close relationship with Itto, your fearless and awkwardly charming leader, but as time goes on and your feelings for each other grow, you both come to terms with the fact that you can’t deny it any longer. But onis mate for life, he tells you, and as long as you’re with him, he’ll take care of you, make sure you have every and anything you could ever need. Perhaps, you eventually realize, some humans mate for life too.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! mentions of past homelessness and starvation, size kink, very intense mutual pining, itto is sweet to you but does get a little rough sometimes (goes sort of feral for a second there), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, biting, reader is a virgin, itto’s got a lot of stamina just saying, “onis mate for life” and some other mentions of mating/pregnancy, does this file under monster fucking?, honestly itto is best boy and i love him, this is extremely self indulgent.

*ao3 mirror*

***

When he’d found you, you’d been tucked into some obscure corner of Yashiori Island, hiding away from the nobushi and kairagi who roamed the lands.

You’d been a terrified, trembling little thing. Merely skin and bones with your limbs wrapped around your fragile, starving body, trying to stave off the chill that drifted in with the night, clothes worn down into ragged shreds of dirty fabric.

Itto had looked like a monster as his bulky silhouette inched closer towards your dilapidated excuse for cover, still looming even as he knelt before the tattered entrance of the abandoned, and then recently reinhabited, remains of the tent, swishing one of the hole-spotted pieces of tarp away to expose the wounded creature within.

You heard the oni suck in a short, quiet gasp when your eyes— big and round and glinting with a feral kind of fear— met his, frozen in place and whimpering as you tucked your head back into your knees which were pulled up to your chest.

If he was coming to kill you, then you’d let him.

You’d given up on fighting long ago. Knew you didn’t even stand a chance against humans your own size, let alone someone as massive as him.

Besides, you were too weak to even try and run. Malnourishment had eaten through your body like an acid, destroying you from the inside with a painful sizzle that gnawed beneath your sternum, latched onto your rib cage and dug its sharp talons deep into your marrow.

When the big, black-clawed hand first extended itself to you, you winced, retracted, covering your head and face with your arms as you quivered, scooching back a few inches until you felt the wooden post that was barely holding the place up rub against your aching skeleton.

You didn’t dare open your eyes, not at first. You were sure the moment you did you’d be met with two glowing amber orbs flashing right before you with vicious intent, fangs shining as they dripped with saliva, the hungry beast ready to sink its teeth into your neck to end your suffering, satisfying his own needs.

But as the seconds ticked by and the only sound you heard was the low whistling of the breeze, the distant and occasional rumble of thunder, you slowly forced yourself to look upon the oni once again.

“Hey, you alright in there, little one?” he asked, a genuine amount of concern laced into his voice. His hand was still held out, encouraging you to take it so he could save you from this horrid place before you truly withered away to nothing but a rotting heap for the crows to scavenge.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he continued, a soothing sort of coo to his slightly raspy tone. He shuffled just a few inches closer, seeing what you’d do now that your back had found the wall. “Let me help you…”

You couldn’t keep your eyes on him for long. The more your gaze traced over the red markings adorning his face, his body, or caught a glimpse of those two big horns nestled into the wild cascade of his white hair, the more you began to feel this familiar sinking in the pit of your stomach, like maybe this was a bad idea.

But it hurt so much. It had for a long time now. And you were tired of living in a way that was just waiting to die.

You reached out and placed your fingertips on his palm, his grasp swallowing your hand whole as it gently closed around you. 

He could feel you shaking as he lifted you into his arms and carried you away from that hut, far from that hill, all the while telling you how he wasn’t alone, that there were others, and that all of them, together, were going to help you. That there was nothing to be afraid of anymore, now that he was here.

There was a little boat waiting by the shore, two more men— human ones— waving their leader over once they spotted him on the horizon.

“Me and the gang…” Itto went on, still keeping quiet as he spoke to you, like raising his voice any higher would cause your thin glass frame to shatter from the vibrations, “We’re a family.” Your eyelids began to flutter closed, some of the tenseness melting from your body as he felt your weight sink against his chest a little heavier. “We look out for each other.” Lulled by his words, by his warmth, you thought to yourself that, even if you died like this, you were ok with that. It would be a better way to go— wrapped up safe in someone’s strong arms— than to be mauled and marred by some cruel criminal like you always figured you’d be. “If you want,” he concluded, the distant calls of his comrades growing closer, “you can be part of that family too.”

By the time Itto reached the shore, water gently lapping at his worn geta, you were asleep, head lolled over his heart as your slow, even breaths fanned against his skin.

“Who’s that?” one of his gang members asked, nodding a head at the tiny form in their leader's arms. “Are they alive?”

“She’s one of us now,” the oni had already decided, climbing into the boat with you, feeling it rock and dip with his— and now your— added weight. “Let’s get back to camp. I want to have a hot meal ready for her when she wakes up…”

The whole ride back across the sea and through the islands, as Itto stared out at the dark, sloshing waters, in the back of his mind he recited a silent prayer that you’d make it. That you’d pull through.

Because he’d sensed it the moment he’d laid eyes on you.

You were going to be someone special to him. He just didn’t know exactly how or why yet.

***

“Focus on your breathing,” Shinobu instructed, leading by example and sucking in a slow, deep inhale, holding it for a moment before exhaling in the same fashion. “You’re light on your feet, so it’s not a step that would give you away. It’s letting out a noise that’s all too natural, one that you’ve been conditioned not to notice, that would alert an enemy.”

You honed in your hearing, tuning out the sounds around you— the chirping birds, the distant hiss of the ocean waves, the sounds of two of your comrades sparring down the hill— until all you could perceive was the steady thumping of your own heartbeat and the air being pushed and pulled from your lungs. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

“Good…” Shinobu commended after a few more rounds of breathing, noticing how you became completely silent. Invisible. Just the way she’d taught you. “Now, try and ambush me.”

Three years had gone by since you’d been rescued from the reaper by the kind and generous oni. In that time, you’d slowly morphed back into your old self, or rather, a version better than you’d ever been. Your hair was brushed and you wore fresh clothes. You’d found your voice again and gained back a healthy amount of weight.

You’d forged a new family, a new path.

But most importantly, you’d learned.

You’d learned so much. Things that ensured you’d never go hungry again, even without the gang around to protect and provide for you. You’d learned how to jump between shadows, move like wisps of smoke, there in an instant and gone the next, leaving no trace.

For most of those lessons, you had Shinobu to thank for mentoring you, sharpening the once weak and scrawny, abandoned soul into an unbreakable and deadly blade, cutting through the air so fast the blow was merely a slash of glinting sunlight. A lightning strike that you’d miss if you blinked.

And while Shinobu had sharpened you, the one who’d given those skills a purpose had been Itto.

Shinobu had done most of the leg work in terms of feeding him the lines in the beginning, suggesting he assign you the role of sneaking into nearby nobushi camps— areas that you’d once been terrified to even see pop up in the distance as the pack of you traveled from one territory to the next— and skim some of their food and mora when supplies back at your camp started to run low.

In your first year with the gang, you’d been a decoy, playing bait while Shinobu nabbed the goods. And you’d been terrified beyond belief but willing to do anything to repay the priceless debt you owed for having your life saved, spared, and replenished.

By the second, you’d begun to train. You’d tag along with Shinobu on her missions and watch closely, trying to do as she did, taking any pointers she could give you and continuing to run practice drills in a lower-stakes environment, determined to be more useful than a helpless distraction to lure the bandit samurai in for just long enough to see your teacher and friend escaping with her arms full in the distance, taking off sprinting as fast as your feet could carry you and losing the nobushi somewhere in the intertwining boulders or brush, their bodies too big to fit through the small gaps that you could just barely squeeze through.

And now, in the better part of your third year as a rag-tag member of the Arataki gang, you had become the secret weapon— the classified pride— of Itto Arataki himself.

Though, with Itto, secrets were never kept for very long.

The moment you returned safely and with the mish-mash of merchandise in hand, he’d announce, loud and proud to the entire camp, “Atta girl! That’s my little ninja for you! There and back in a flash and never returning empty handed! Good job!”

He’d howl out his laughter, clap a massive hand on your back, nudging you forward a few inches— it used to startle you at first, but now you actually looked forward to the boisterous bout of praise— and then squeeze you tight or high five you or ruffle your hair, always finding ways to tack on additional affection for his favorite little thief.

And while sometimes you wished that the lot of you didn’t need to steal to survive, that instead you could afford to purchase things legally from Inazuma City like you knew the majority of society did, you couldn’t help that some of Itto’s optimistic pride at living this kind of life had rubbed off on you.

So, at the end of the day, once you’d shed away your more ghost-like habits, you’d sit with the group to talk and drink and laugh. You’d listen to their tales and adventures from the day with curious and captivated intent and you’d go to bed with a slight smile still tugging up at the corners of your lips.

Because, despite the means, you had what it was you’d always really wanted— a family.

And if you had to go back and relive all the fear and the pain and the horror that led you to them, you would’ve done so in a heartbeat.

Because sometimes, as you’d learned from various members of the gang, the risk was worth the reward.

***

The night you’d been saved still came back to you in flashes, whether in your dreams or catching the sight of something vaguely familiar from your past life.

The first thing you’d noticed about Itto as he extended his hand to you were his eyes, once thought to be the glowing stare of a dangerous predator, now seen for what they really were— full of wonder and excitement and genuine joy.

They squinted when he laughed, or opened wide when he was confused, cocking his head slightly to one side like a puzzled puppy. They could be dangerous too, sure. But you’d never have to worry about the anger and adrenaline that came with a ferocious battle being directed towards you.

Most of the time, Itto looked at you one of two ways— with a serene, daydreamy daze or a strong, silent resolve.

The first one could just be chocked up to him entertaining some fantasy while gazing in your general direction. The second felt more… personal.

You and Itto had never spoken about that one fateful night. Not in any great detail, anyway.

He knew you were grateful and you did your best to help the group as a whole, as was how Itto wanted it if you truly felt like you still owed him.

As far as he was concerned though, the dues were long paid.

Now, you were just another one of them. A member of the family.

And while you hadn’t really ever had any real family of your own to speak of before the Arataki gang, you knew enough about how a family functioned, how they should act towards one another, to know one thing for certain…

Family most definitely didn’t get butterflies in their stomach when one of their own came a little too close, brushing a hand against yours or winking at you from across the field.

Whatever it was you felt for Itto, it was different than what you shared with the rest of the gang. Stronger, in the way you wanted him, wished he wanted you. Weaker in the way it made you feel helpless to your emotions, allowing your own thoughts to fluster you beyond belief even when he wasn’t around.

Itto didn’t even know he was doing it, probably. All those little, benign, playful gestures either of you tossed at each other in front of the group translated into the closeness of siblings, not the careful cat and mouse pursuit of a young, budding romance.

While your leader was a little lacking in the strategy department sometimes, he had more than enough charisma and goofy charm to make up for it.

He was easy on the eyes too, if anyone was asking your opinion. His size still intimidated you a little bit, especially up close, but it also made your stomach swoop with that warm, gooey feeling that you couldn’t quite place.

It wasn’t fear. Wasn’t dread. Wasn’t quite excitement in the joyful sense but maybe something close to it.

And Itto, well…

His body was a little more direct in its cues on how he felt about you.

On the rare occasion you and him were paired together for a mission (which, Itto later realized after Shinobu reminded him of his place in the gang— as its leader— he could’ve made a more common occurrence, if he played his cards right), Itto became even more distracted than usual.

Scrounging for supplies or simply patrolling a new area to clear out any hilichurl camps suddenly went from second nature to disruptive daydreams, Itto’s amber eyes tracking your body as you moved ahead of him, stare sticking on any sliver of exposed skin, the back of your neck, the gentle curve of your collarbones, wanting to scrap his canines over your chest just to taste your heartbeat beneath.

When you weren’t looking, he’d be undressing you in his mind, pupils blown wide with lust at his own lewd imagination, all the things he could do to you— all the things you could do to him— if only things between you two were a little different.

The moment you’d turn, glancing over your shoulder to make sure he hadn’t lagged too far behind, occasionally asking if he was alright, he’d shake his head and try to snap out of it, carry his claymore a little lower to hide the obvious answer to your question which was tenting in his pants.

“Oh, yeah, I’m great!” he’d beam, a nervous chuckle tittering off the end of his lie. “Spectacular, even! Why wouldn’t I be?”

His enthusiastic reply would make you smile, cheeks dusted with a rosy shade at just how endearing your leader could be sometimes, and that would only make him harder.

Because he was zeroing in on your soft pink lips, wondering what they’d feel like against his— wondering what they’d feel like against all sorts of places— and feeling a calming sort of warmth flood his broad chest at the sound of your giggle.

“You’re so strange!” you’d tell him as your smile widened, turning on your heel to face him, walking backwards for a few paces before swiveling again to continue traveling forward.

And it was lucky for the two of you that there was a third, much less oblivious party around to see the situation for what it really was. Shinobu knew you and Itto better than anyone else, after all.

***

“You like her…” Shinobu observed, leaning against a post and crossing her arms. “Don’t you?”

Itto jumped at her sudden appearance, not having heard her steps crunching over the grass to come stand beside him. “Wh— huh?” he stammered, playing dumb.

Well, unfortunately for Itto, most times he wasn’t playing at being dumb. He was just naturally clueless.

Shinobu nodded her head towards where you were sparring with Genta, who was getting frustrated after his sixth loss in a row to you. “She’s come quite a long way, don’t you think?” she commented, pushing off from the post to take a few more sure strides forward, stopping a few feet ahead of Itto and continuing to observe her brightest student and closest friend with a calm and knowing gaze. “I’ll admit, even I didn’t think she’d ever get this far the first time I saw her…” Shinobu glanced over her shoulder to lock eyes with the boss. “Did you?”

Then came a rare moment when Itto found himself speechless. All he could do was return his attention back to you and your sparring match where you claimed victory over Genta for the seventh— and final— time, evident by the way he threw down his bokken and stomped off.

It was then that you happened to turn and look further up the hill, giving a friendly wave as you spotted Shinobu and Itto, your teacher waving back while the boss remained suspended in the resurfacing memory, who you’d been when he’d first found you and who you were now splicing in his mind.

He could still feel your fragile, famished weight against his chest, the feeble fanning of your breath against his skin, the only real indicator he’d had to know that you were still alive as he carried you away from that island and into the boat, sailing for what he hoped was a new start for you.

In a way, taking you in had been a new start for him too.

“She likes you too, in case you were wondering,” Shinobu admitted through a sigh, turning to tread past Itto and likely disappear behind some trees as she tended to do.

The oni felt his battle-worn heart skip a beat.

“She— Does she?” He leaned in, eyes wide with that uncontainable hope that made him look so much younger, so much less threatening, than the rest of him suggested. But then his shoulders slackened a little, his golden stare narrowing with skepticism. “How do you know…?”

“Because,” Shinobu huffed, rolling her eyes like it was obvious, “she told me. I mean, not outright, or anything. But it doesn’t take much to read between the lines with things like these.” She considered her leader, the way the subtleties in his expression told her he didn’t quite understand. She could’ve laughed with the irony of her previous statement, but just stuck to a smile hidden behind her mask and a slight shaking of her head. “Besides…” she told Itto. “I’ve been with her almost everyday since you brought her to us. I know her well enough to see the signs.”

Itto perked back up, looking to the field, expecting to find you there, but you were gone.

In that split second, Shinobu had disappeared too, leaving Itto alone on that hilltop with more questions than answers, but most of all, a choice to make.

Did he let himself give in first, possibly causing all he trust he’d built with you to unravel, or did he continue to wait and writhe in his own feelings, risking missing his chance and losing you to someone else in time?

***

Another week went by and you found yourself on a scouting mission with Itto.

The sky was clear and a nice breeze wove its gentle fingers through your hair, a silent blessing from the Anemo Archon that the weather would remain pleasant in the coming days, perhaps. The raging thunderstorm that engulfed Seirai Island sparked to life in the far distance, thick purple clouds buzzing with fierce electricity and threatening to swallow the mountains whole. 

That place scared you— it had ever since you were a child— the image bringing along with it the fear of the storm blanketing the entire nation and submerging everyone and everything in an endless tempest of earth shaking thunder and violent, blinding lightning.

“Nah, that’ll never happen!” Itto declared after you admitted your worries to him. When you asked him how he could be so sure, he propped his claymore over one shoulder and gave you a playful wink, taking a confident stance. “Because, as long as I’m around, that storm doesn’t dare leave Seirai. It knows it could never take me in a fight.”

His earnestness at such an assurance made you laugh. You’d thought he was just trying to be funny, but when he doubled down you realized, in his own goofy and delusional way, he was in fact being serious.

“Whaaaaat?” he groaned out as you continued to giggle, bringing a hand to cover your mouth as if that would hide the sound. “You don’t think I could win?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” you admitted as your amusement began to simmer. “It’s just…” You gave him a sweet smile, the kind that had happiness twinkling in your eyes, cheeks rosy with affection for your determined leader. “You’re just a one of a kind, y’know that, Itto?”

Then it was his turn to host rosy cheeks, the blushing redness reaching his ears and forcing him to look away from you for a moment while he cleared his throat and pretended not to be so flustered.

“Well, yeah, duh. If I wasn’t so special, what makes you think the Arataki gang would’ve been able to survive this long?”

Just to entertain him, you agreed with his level of self-faith, though couldn’t help but tease him a little more as you two continued on. The both of you traded some more pleasant and playful smalltalk, letting the winds guide you further across the rocky cliffs and rolling hills, yet you couldn’t help but wonder amidst the leisurely stroll…

Why was Itto bothering with something like this when he could send someone else along to do the boring work?

You figured he’d much rather be off somewhere fighting kairagi and clearing the area than simply taking a look and turning back to report.

“Hey, so, um…” the oni began, seeming different suddenly. More anxious, if he was capable of such a thing. You slowed to walk beside him rather than ahead and gave him your full attention. “I was talking to Shinobu the other day and—”

Suddenly you sucked in an excited gasp, nudging Itto’s arm and pointing out something in the not-so-far distance, lowering your voice into a whisper as you informed him of the biggest onikabuto you’d ever seen.

Itto blinked the almost-confession from his gaze and tried to follow the invisible lead of your finger as it directed him towards the large purple beetle that was resting on the trunk of a tree. He soon found his line of sight flicking back down to your face, feeling his cheeks run warm for the second time that day when he realized your little hand was resting over his arm, clutching his bicep as you went on about how maybe you should try and catch it, bring it back to show the others because “they’d never believe the sheer size of the thing!”

And you’d expected Itto to grow just as eager to claim the behemoth beetle for his own, so when he didn’t seem to reciprocate your infatuation with the creature, you gave him a befuddled look.

“Itto…?” you addressed him, looking into his eyes but feeling like he wasn’t really looking at you, more so into you. Through you, even. “Itto!” You clapped your hands in front of his face and then the trance was broken, your touch removed from his arm causing him to anchor back down to reality.

“Huh? Oh— Sorry, sorry…” he apologized through another nervous grin, rubbing a big hand along the back of his neck. “It’s just, uh…” His face was somehow migrating closer towards yours, and yours closer toward his, as if neither of you were making the decision to close the gap, merely allowing your bodies to move on your behalf while you just sat along for the ride.

But you turned away, still unable to quite grasp and understand the fluttering that filled your belly in moments like these. Itto froze but didn’t back away, just waited to see what you’d say or do next.

“Itto… I…” you began, barely able to choke out the words as you felt your ears getting hot again, trying to hide your shyness by gazing the opposite way.

You could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body, always so close yet just out of reach.

But you’d touched him before, same as he’d touched you, so how come it was now that was seeming so much heavier, as if acknowledging the intentions gave your touch that much more weight?

Before either of you could speak a confession into existence, however, the awkwardness as well as the intimacy of the moment preparing to sink its fangs in deep, Itto called out loud enough to make you jump, “Race you to it!” before taking off in a sprint towards the onikabuto.

“Hey, no fair!” you shouted after him, running as fast as your legs could carry you in an attempt to catch up. But you were giggling again, your laughter the kind that only came in the moments where you truly felt free, felt like you could fly, as you dashed through the lush green grass towards the lilac sakura.

You didn’t know what had possessed you suddenly, but despite the fact that he’d stopped before the aforementioned beetle you kept on running past the tree, venturing further up the hill where more tufts of vibrant violet framed the azure sky, leading to a little patch of forest.

“Bet’cha can’t catch me!” you taunted, out of breath but still laughing in between your panting.

Accepting the challenge, Itto gave chase and called back with a determined, “Hope you’re ready to lose that bet!”

He was right behind you again in seconds, his size doing nothing to deter from his speed. When you glanced over your shoulder, you let out a shriek followed by another burst of laughter, willing your already fatigued legs to go faster. But as you approached a clearing in the center of the unfamiliar grove, his footsteps right on your heels, you realized that you could never outrun him. Never compete.

You stopped short, hoping to throw him off with a quick pivot, but instead found yourself tripping over your own feet and beginning to tumble down towards the patch of grass speckled with wild mint and sweet flowers.

A hand, big and strong, reached out to grab you. Itto’s hand, you knew by memory, his fist clasping around your upper arm in an attempt to pull you back to your feet. But you spun halfway and then you both lost your footing, falling down anyway, though with his back smudged with dirt and grass while you remained unscathed in his arms.

You were both panting, breaths peppered with the lingering remnants of tired amusement, and you let your head rest on his chest until you felt your heartbeat quiet its incessant thumping. Itto’s arms remained wrapped around you gently, yet also with the notion that he wasn’t going to let you go. Not yet, at least.

You allowed yourself to lay there for a moment, feeling safe, feeling protected, feeling like you were the only two people in the entire world, and then it hit you.

Maybe this is what love feels like.

It’s sudden, a thought that comes without warning, and only then did you quickly raise your head from where it was listening to the rhythmic thumping of his heart, no longer laughing or smiling.

You must’ve looked as if you’d just seen or heard or sensed some kind of oncoming danger, because Itto jolted into alertness, all the while keeping his grasp around you, sitting upright as his big hands slid from your shoulders down to rest on your waist.

“What is it?” he asked, completely unaware of the terrifying realization you’d just had. It rolled over inside of you, making your limbs heavy with desire, a beast blinking its eyes awake slowly, just barely stirring but soon to fully wake if further disturbed.

Half of you wanted to run away, that time without him to follow you, while the other wanted to make a home of the grove, lay there with him forever and never leave, let the wild flowers weave their way into your hair and root you to this place.

But instead you stuttered out a nervous, “I-I think I heard something. Maybe we should go…” as you pulled away from him.

To both of your surprises, Itto actually let you go, though he wanted nothing more than to make you stay, to flip your roles so that you were the one on your back in the grass and he was the one on top of you.

But he didn’t. Because he wanted you to want him too, wanted you to want him as badly as he wanted you, if that was even possible.

But there was one thing he knew for certain then, one thing he wasn’t quite sure how much longer he could deny.

He wanted you, felt the hunger swell inside of him, his own beast fully awakened and starving for one thing— one girl— in particular.

He was terrified too.

For the remainder of the scouting mission, you and Itto exchanged minimal conversation. When you exited the grove, the onikabuto was gone. The storm surrounding Seirai Island still raged eternal. And you both gained this strange sense that, while some things change, the details fleeting, others can remain the same for a lifetime.

***

A day comes a few weeks later where the words force themselves out of you.

Neither of you had been expecting you to be the one to voice it first, the feelings that you have for him, and you feel like a part of you dies in that moment. The only question is will the ashes of your fear and embarrassment rise again to reshape into something stronger, or will your leader, the man you owe your life to, the person you’ve always felt like you could count on, that you respect and love, leave the withering confession on its deathbed with no mercy, no hope.

Amber eyes searched your face frantically, lips slightly parted in a silent gasp, pronounced canines showing at the corners of his mouth. Everything about his expression reads as shock to you. You feel tears welling in your eyes. You’ve ruined everything now, haven’t you? Things will never be the same between either of you now, will they? Again, you want to run. You want to run and run and run until you can’t anymore, until you’re lost again, waiting for someone to find you and lead you to a new life.

But then the oni cracks a smile. He chokes on a puff of stifled laughter, bringing one of his big, rough hands to clasp around your shoulder, dragging you into the warmth and firmness of his chest.

He’s saying something, you realize, feeling his voice vibrating through you as you’re pressed up against him, little hands curled into loose fists trapped between your chest and his, still unable to accept or understand just what exactly is happening, what this means.

“I thought you’d never say that!” Itto laughs, hugging you closer while remaining mindful of his strength compared to yours. “And here I was worrying all this time that you’d reject me! I’ll tell ya what, little one, you definitely caught me by surprise!”

At first, you think he’s doing what he usually does in uncomfortable situations. Making a joke out of things. You think he’s teasing you, laughing at you rather than with you, and the tears well to the point of spilling over, a slight scowl tugging at your brow.

But then something shifts.

When you look up to meet Itto’s eyes again, they’ve gone half-lidded. Calm, you think, but more than that. He looks at you with adoration, with devotion, with the bliss in knowing that, this whole time, you’ve both wanted the same thing, both been craving it, and now, finally, the feast could commence.

Your scowl drops and Itto feels as your body goes from tense to relaxed. One of his thumbs caresses your shoulder, his touch soothing you like it always has, but this time with more intention, like he’s actually aware of his affect on you now.

He can’t help but allow his hands to wander, seeing as you two are alone, yet not that far away from the main hub of camp, lightly dragging his black nails along your collarbone, palm raising to rest against your neck, knuckles grazing your jaw. His eyes follow the trail his hands make, captivated by the softness of your skin, of every inch of you he’s allowed to explore.

You can see it in his eyes, when they finally flick back to yours again, as if asking for permission. He wants to kiss you. God, he’s waited so long to kiss you. So when you nod your head, just barely yet enough to convey your allowance of this act, he cups your face in both his palms, bending down to meet your lips.

You close your eyes and nearly wince, as if expecting something unpleasant. You know how Itto sometimes forgets his own strength, how his passion— whether for a fight or good food or, in this case, a person he feels very fondly of— only amplified that raw power.

But Itto’s surprisingly gentle, always so mindful when handling you, precious, delicate little human that you are, and you surrender to him, melting into his kisses until they become open mouthed and messy.

You let out a whimper, a sound that you hadn’t uttered since your early days training under Shinobu, and feel the beast within you snap its eyes open. It won’t be able to sleep again, not for a long time at least, and the heat that builds in the pit of your stomach, insides fluttering more and more as you feel Itto’s tongue against yours, feel the teasing scrape of his fangs against your lower lip, swallowing each other’s breath until all your air is shared, it’s all too much.

Behind your closed eyes you see vibrant bursts of color— amethysts and emeralds, sapphires and rubies— and are reminded that geodes are just considered rocks until they’re broken open, precious gemstones glittering for the eyes that chose them, the hands that cracked them.

Your mind goes hazy, limbs trembling as your body threatens to go numb, yet you don’t break away. You’d let his kisses consume you, if they wanted. You’d let him do whatever he pleased so long as it would make you feel like this. You’ve never felt so vulnerable in your life yet you want more, more, more.

When the kiss finally breaks, both of you are out of breath, lips shining with shared saliva, yours a little puffy from his occasional nipping, and you fear your legs will give out from their gentle quaking. Itto would always be there to catch you, of course, but you also feel this need to prove that you’re not a frail as you know he might view you sometimes.

Anyone would look frail next to him, but standing beside a giant and belonging to one are two different things.

“Oni’s mate for life,” you’d once heard him say. “They’ll do anything for their partners, always making sure their needs are met. That they’re fed, that they’re happy, that they’re cared for…”

You’d laughed at him, back then. Nudged his shoulder with your elbow and chuckled out a disbelieving, “Don’t be ridiculous! There’s no way that’s true!”

But you think you had a little better of an understanding now.

You felt more bonded to him, just by that kiss alone.

You could only imagine how you’d feel if things went further, if you surrendered to him fully, body and mind and soul.

You were terrified until you realized that, if Itto was right and onis did mate for life, then you’d never have to fear anything again.

***

“Have a good mission?” Shinobu asks, appearing behind you as you try to sneak back to your tent. You jolt and glance over your shoulder at her, eyes wide with that guilty look, as if she already knows what you and Itto did and is just trying to get you to own up to it.

“I-it was alright,” you stutter out, clearing your throat and trying to control your breathing, slow your hammering heartbeat. You’d think Shinobu’s training could’ve prepared you for this, but it does little to help.

“Where’s Itto?” your friend inquires next, looking around, searching for him. “I thought I saw you two leave together today?”

You bite your lip, trying to concoct a lie, but you were never very good at deceiving people with your words, only slipping past them through your actions. “He had something else to do,” you say, trying to steady your voice as best you can. “Something about a new assignment for Genta. He shouldn’t be too far.”

Shinobu considers this, nods her head slightly, muttering to herself that it was about time Genta was sent out again. She tells you to take it easy for the rest of the day, informing you that one of the scouting teams brought in a good haul of lavender melon this morning and that you should go get some before it’s gone.

You flash a timid smile, say you’ll head over now. You and Shinobu part ways but you return to your tent, too much on your mind to worry about your hunger.

***

For Itto, the physicality of it is an all-consuming thing. Ever since you’d confessed your feelings to him and he’d returned the gesture with that kiss, confirming he felt the same, the only thought that could occupy his thoughts were you, you, you.

You keep him up at night, and while your body lay resting just across camp, the version of you he keeps in his mind is much closer, curled up beside him sometimes, at others, conjoined with him in the ultimate act of physical love.

He wants you— needs you— and wonders if you’re having this intense a reaction to your newfound relationship and are just better at concealing it, or if he’s truly in trouble with just how badly he’s found himself drawn to you.

Because, as was Itto’s newest, biggest fear of all, he didn’t want to scare you away. He didn’t want to hurt you, not more than he already dreaded having to do on account of just how much bigger he was than you, how much bigger he was than anyone else in any given group of people most of the time.

He hadn't spent much time around his own kind, had become accustomed to humans despite never really fitting in with them, yet didn’t feel like he belonged to either side over the other. He’d spent even less time around women, seeing as most of the gang consisted of young men, and only had a basic understanding of what girls liked, what they expected from their partners in an intimate relationship.

Instinctually, he had a strong notion of what he felt he wanted, but someone like you, so small and graceful and delicate…

He feared he might break you and then be unable to fix it, whether by trust or other more permanent means.

He had to fight to keep a distance, fight the urge to go too far too fast and have you revoke your declaration of wanting to be his.

It was onis that mated for life, afterall. Not humans.

Itto didn’t think he’d survive if he had to watch you go off with someone else— someone of your own kind, someone more your own size— if he had to suffer for the rest of his life knowing that the one and only person he’d ever truly love this deeply and unconditionally didn’t want him back.

But you did want him. And, what was more, you wanted your first time to be with him. Itto didn’t know it yet, though he really should’ve, if he took a moment to think about it, but he was going to be the first to lay claim to your body, to the parts of you that had never been seen, never been touched.

So one night, when you’d agreed to accompany him to his tent instead of returning to your own, you told him that you’d be ok to go a little further, so long as he remembered to take things slow. In truth, even you weren’t entirely sure how far you’d make it before your nerves got the better of you and you found some reason to back down, to halt things until you could get over the mental hurtle of so much unknown.

You’d talked to Shinobu at least, asked her some of the questions you’d never had a mother or sister to inquire about with and tried hard not to become too embarrassed as she calmly and clearly explained to you the basic gist of what different intimate physical acts consisted of.

You were grateful for the information though, and for the fact that Shinobu seemed happy to help, not judgmental of your lack of experience or knowledge on such things in the least. Having those confirmations helped ease some of your anxieties, made you a little more comfortable with the idea as you tried to stage it in your head.

The thought alone was enough to cause that coil in your core to wind tight, making you squirm in the quiet, dark hours of the night, tossing and turning over the sheets while the rest of the gang slept soundly, waking the following morning with blankets tangled and the sensation nowhere near satisfied.

You almost asked Shinobu what to do when that feeling arose, as it had more and more often as of late, but something told you that you might not be able to handle the answer she gave you that time.

So you’d caved. You’d sought out Itto in hopes that maybe his presence would help placate whatever was running wild inside of you. 

Usually you’d just show up, pop your head into his tent and venture further inside if you saw he was there. He would always scramble to tidy the place up for you, shoving his own makeshift bed aside, hiding who knows what kind of evidence of his own fantasies under the bundle of blankets and pillows as he chuckled nervously and tried to distract you from the mess by pointing out something shiny he’d found on one of his recent patrols around camp.

He was always bringing you little trinkets too— offerings. Everything from treasure hoarder insignias to arrowhead fragments or just cool rocks he’d found. You kept each of his gifts, reserving one corner of your tent for your ever growing collection.

You’d given him little tokens too, usually in the form of flowers you’d plucked up from the fields or fruits you’d climbed trees to pick (which he’d always insist on sharing with you). Itto had a shrine for your offerings as well, and the first time you’d both realized how you’d kept them you’d shared a laugh.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Itto asked you now as you sat facing him, nestled in his lap in his tent— his tent which was just a little bigger than the rest, like everything else about him— the bright glow of a full moon illuminating things with a dim silvery light as the beams soaked through the tarp that gave shelter. “I mean…” His hands glided up and down your sides slowly, settling on your hips and giving just the slightest squeeze, as if testing his limits with you just that much more. “We can wait. Y’know, if you don’t feel like you’re ready yet…” Itto’s gaze was almost apologetic, a certain preemptive guilt glimmering behind all that bright amber.

“No, it’s ok…” you tried to assure him, inwardly cursing yourself for how your voice shook a little towards the end. “I’m ok, really, I just…” You forced your gaze to meet his, locking in a stare that felt comforting and conflicting all at once. You looked away then, feeling your ears getting hot as you told him, “Let’s just take things slow and…”

Itto’s grip on your hips flexed, lowering just enough to gently knead at the plush flesh of your thighs, one of his hands nearly big enough to grip all the way around your upper leg. His mouth was barely an inch from yours, you were breathing in his oxygen again, sharing it with him, and both your eyes were beginning to glaze over with lust, pupils dilated to swallow up the color of your irises. 

Before his lips made contact with yours, he muttered, just barely loud enough for you to hear, “I’ll take good care of you… I promise. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for and…”

You were the one to close the gap that time, your body leaning closer as if drawn towards him in a trance, heat flooding your bloodstream at the taste of him. Upon that simple contact alone, Itto felt that instinct raging inside of him again. It was a challenge in and of itself not to jump from zero to one hundred when the chemicals swimming between you two were this thick, this palpable, his skin tingling like there was electricity buzzing in his blood, lightning splintering in the very marrow of his bones.

Again, his big hands began to wander, on their own mission to discover the unexplored planes of your body. You winced when sharp black nails bit into your tender flesh, Itto swallowing your hiss through his next kiss. When a small whine escaped you followed by a shaky utterance of his name, only then did your discomfort register to him. He hesitated, loosening his grip on you, and withdrew.

“Shit, sorry!” he cursed under his breath, looking down at the side of your thigh where his fingers had left darkening welts there, red divots imprinted into your skin where his nails had tried to claim you. “Are you ok? I didn’t mean—”

You took his hand in yours, holding it between you, studying it carefully, like the rough and calloused parts of him were made to create and not destroy. His gloves were gone, as were most of the clothes he kept on his upper body, the belt with that sharp, pointed buckle tossed aside somewhere too. Seeing him like this, in a way that most people didn’t get to, stirred a new feeling in you. It was somewhere between desire and loyalty, and for the second time the thought occurs to you.

This must be what love feels like.

You’re far less terrified of that notion now.

His red markings carve their way across his chest, up his neck and down his arms, perfect lines and circles mapping over the expanse of his chiseled body. It takes two of your hands to hold his, tracing one of your fingers over the back of his hand to follow the markings around the underside of his wrist and to the center of his palm.

Itto watches you, eyes trained on yours, flicking to where you’ve so methodically ran your touch over every crease of his palm. You take a closer look at his nails too, the points of them only slightly rounded, though no less sharp as the tips fade to black and gleam in the dark like polished onyx.

Itto’s unsure of what this means, held in the tortuous suspense that your silence brings, but then, in your own quiet muttering, you assure him that you’re fine, just remind him to be cautious of his strength. He nods, jaw clenching and unclenching as he repeats in his mind don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her. But you allow him to continue, so he does.

Itto never had to hold back before, never had to be this gentle with anything in his life. Or, at least, that’s what he’d thought. Truth be told, he’d had a lot more practice than he’d realized, just in different kinds of ways, like how he knew the strength it took to kill someone with a single blow or just knock them off balance during a friendly sparring match, or how to handle his beloved onikabuto, though intimidating by appearance quite docile by nature, until put face to face by another of their kind.

He’d played with the village children and saved cats from trees, and when he helped tend to the injuries of his gang after a particularly vicious battle he’d learned to maneuver their limbs with care, leaving his reckless valiantry behind him for the time being.

He’d learned how to become the gentle giant he was known as by those closest to him in several ways, but never in a scenario this intimate. Never when that monster inside of him just wanted to ravish and consume and conquer at an alarming rate.

So he had to stay mindful, as hard as that could be for him at times, as his hands continued on their journey, traveling up your legs around to your plump little ass, giving you a squeeze to test if it was ok to continue before taking some time to memorize that part of your flesh. You’d sucked in a small gasp, but otherwise didn’t seem to mind those ministrations.

You didn’t even mind when Itto’s bare hands slipped under your shorts to make full contact with your skin, kneading and pinching at you, making you squirm sometimes but never away from him, only closer into his chest, side of your face pressed against the quickening beat of his drumming heart, drowning in the scent of him, the aroma making you drunk, filling your head with that heavy calmness that you were beginning to recognize as pleasure.

Itto would check in on you, asking if you were alright, if it was ok to continue, and you’d nod and give a shy little “mm-hm” before his touch would find a new spot.

His hands settled back on your hips then, stare darting across you as if overwhelmed for choice on where to go next. But travelers never really think about where to go next, they just act on impulse, following the guiding winds that pull them forward. And if there was one thing about Itto that everyone knew, it was that he was the master of act now, think later.

He moved up your sides, the glide of his palms sending light shivers through you and causing you to bury your face further into him, feeling your cheeks and ears heating as your breath began to turn shallow and quick from anticipation alone.

He slowed down then, placing one hand on the small of your back and stroking the exposed flesh there with his thumb, soothing you. Then his other hand took a detour from your ribs to rest gently under your chin, raising your gaze to meet his and the sharp-toothed grin that came with it.

“You’re so cute…” he sighed, drinking in the sight of you, all flustered and quivering before him. “All mine…”

You opened your mouth to say something, perhaps scold him for his teasing, but Itto’s mouth found yours again before you could even think of what to say, tongue intertwining with your own and leaving you breathless, his hands resuming their venture up your body until they found your supple breasts, gently kneading at them through your shirt as he kept you locked in the heated kiss.

Another whine emitted from you, head impossibly hazy from the overwhelming and unfamiliar sensations, your brain filled with a fog so thick it put Tsurumi Island to shame. Your mouths were hovering right over each other, both of you breathing hard, still connected by a thin string of spit bridged between both your bottom lips.

Itto licked his lips, breaking that last bit of contact, and you swallowed hard, entire body blazing with incandescent heat when you muttered in a quiet, timid voice, “You… You can take it off, if you want to…”

The oni’s eyes widened a fraction, gaze flicking down to where his massive hands were still clasped around your breasts. Now it was his turn to swallow, salvia thick and sticky at the back of his throat.

“Ok…” he replied, taking your cue to strip you of your shirt as you lifted your arms above your head. He removed your top slowly, savoring the way your breasts sprung free from the tight fabric, nipples pebbled and just begging to be played with.

“My god…” he muttered as he took another look at you, your entire face— hell, even your neck and chest— turned bright red from the embarrassment, the vulnerability. You felt the sting of tears threatening to well in your eyes, averting your nervous gaze from him. “You’re beautiful…”

Those words, sighed out like a silent prayer, caused you to look up at him again, chest lifting rapidly with your shallow breaths.

“Itto…” you murmured in response, but again his kiss cut off your words. There was a fleeting moment where you found it kind of funny, how during any other situation the oni could never seem to stop talking, yet here, now, like this, he often found himself at a loss for words.

You had him tongue tied, clouding his overactive thoughts until the smoke cleared only to reveal more of you, you, you.

You squeaked when he pinched one of your soft, sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger and could feel his smirk against your lips as a low hum vibrated in his throat. You shyly licked into his mouth, encouraging him to keep going, your grip on his biceps flexing every so often as you tried to take as much of his teasing as you could.

Thank god your shorts were still on or else you’d be dripping all over him, your arousal pouring from you and dampening the fabric that clung to your pulsing little cunt.

But you were getting concerned now, because being around him and doing all of this was only worsening that tight, twisting feeling in your gut, not helping alleviate it in the slightest. You couldn’t go on for much longer like this. You needed relief.

You almost thought to tell him, explain your current predicament, but there was no time for words.

As he rolled the stiff bud of your nipple between his fingers, beginning to work on the neglected one at the same time, you let out a mewl, breaking the kiss to drop your head against his chest, squirming in his lap, settling with your soaked core over his thigh and grinding against him.

It was in that instant that you realized the way to relieve yourself of this all-consuming, ever present feeling, and as you arched your back and keened, the pressure perfectly, painfully sweet, Itto’s grip on you tightened, your voice breaking off into a hitched gasp before tapering off into a desperate whimper.

“Archons, baby…” he huffed, a crooked smirk pulled at his lips, one of his fangs glinting as his lip raised. “That feel good? Keep doing it… Fuck…”

He held your hips again, helping you to create more friction against his leg as you spread your thighs even wider, head thrown back at the next particularly harsh grind against him, exposing your neck and inviting Itto to latch onto your throat, sucking a dark bruise into your flesh and lapping at the mark left behind, all the while bringing you closer to your release as you dragged your clothed sex across him, your wetness soaking through your shorts and staining his pantleg.

“Fuck… You wanna take these off too?” he asked, mirth swimming in his eyes, a thin ring of amber all that remained as his pupils continued to expand. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of your shorts, gave them a light tug, exposing your hip bones as your speed increased.

“Itto—!” was all you could manage to choke out before your entire body tensed and you let out another high-pitched moan, shuddering through the come down as you felt your tight little hole flutter rapidly around nothing, pouring arousal soaking you both, sticking to your inner thighs as your body sagged further onto him, energy spent.

“Holy shit…” the oni cursed in another one of those disbelieving sighs, one hand remaining on your back where he soothingly stroked you through the aftershocks, the other carefully lifting one of your thighs to swipe his fingers through your slick, nails nearly brushing against your drenched center.

Your eyes could barely stay open, entire being beginning to be lulled to sleep now that the tortuous sensation finally seemed to cease, but when you felt Itto shift a bit under you, your gaze fluttered open and drifted back up to his face.

When it did, however, you couldn’t believe your eyes, a new wave of molten heat surging through you at the sight of him staring at his glistening fingers with half-lidded eyes, scissoring them apart to study how your juices stretched between his appendages before popping them into his mouth, honey-glazed eyes rolling back into his head as he savored the tangy taste of you.

A silent sob hitched in your chest, your cunt fluttering back to life as a new, freshly sharpened knife began to twist inside of you.

“Knew you’d taste so good…” he moaned after pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop. “God, baby… Just want all of you…”

Itto shifted you both so that you now lay on your back and he leaned down over you, both his hands gripping your thighs and positioning you in a way that he could slot his own clothed arousal, which had been severely straining against his pants for a while now, right against your sensitive core. He grinded against you, making you choke out a borderline pained moan at just how hard he was.

Though he wished the two of you were in a better location than the disheveled floor of his tent, Itto thought maybe now you’d be ready to offer yourself up to him fully, the little lamb laying with the great big lion.

After what had just happened, for a moment, so did you.

But as things began to pick up speed again, threaten to go even further as he grinded his erection harder and harder against you, holding your wrists above your head in one of his giant fists while the other tried to hold you down by your hips, your body writhing and squirming from the blinding pleasure, you finally found your words.

“Itto— Itto, wait, wait…” you panted, having to repeat yourself a few times with increasing volume until he snapped out of his animalistic impulses and blinked back into his humanity, lips pressed to your neck and leaving a gentle trail of wet kisses as his hips slowly came to a halt. “I… I need to stop…” Your voice sounded pathetic, even to you, and those tears from earlier finally fought their way to your lash line.

The oni raised his head, staring down at you with concern and confusion, one hand still trapping your wrists but the grip loosening a little. “Oh— Ok, uh, did I…” Another hard swallow, trying to force his fear down with his insecurities. “Did I do something wrong? Am I…” He had to force the next question out, all the heat that had just been flowing through his blood turning into icy anxiety at once. “Am I hurting you?”

He took his hands off of you, sitting back and allowing you to push yourself up onto your elbows, your lower body still feeling weak from not that long ago. “No, no, you’re not hurting me…” you admitted, rolling to your side so you could better push yourself back up to a sitting position.

You were even more self conscious now, aware of every little sensation that crossed your body, making you go a little tense as you said, “I just think… I need some time to get used to this, I mean…”

You felt dirty, but in a different kind of way than you were used to having lived with the gang for this long. This wasn’t the grass stains and dirt smudges kind of unclean. It wasn’t even the bloody and bruised and battered kind of filth you felt after a narrowly-escaped fight. It was almost… shameful.

You could feel your own bodily fluids drying on your thighs, tacking your clothes to your body and pulling at your skin uncomfortably when you moved in certain ways. You wanted your shirt back, covering your chest with crossed arms as you blinked rapidly in a failed attempt to clear your tears.

“Here…” Itto inched closer, your discarded garment in his hand, which he helped you back into, wiping away your warm, salty tears with his thumbs as they rolled down your cheeks. “Hey, it’s ok. It’s ok, don’t cry,” he begged, becoming rather anxious himself. “Everything’s ok! What can I do? Tell me what I can do?”

He took your trembling little hands in his, thumbs now stroking the tops of them as he tried to search your eyes for any answer as to what he’d done wrong, if you wouldn’t tell him outright.

Then, in your moment of weakness— no, not weakness, you had to remind yourself, vulnerability— you muttered out a helpless little, “Just hold me…”

Instantly, Itto obliged, pulling you back into his chest and continuing to caress your back, touch dragging lightly up and down your spine, waiting until you were able to relax a little and your crying died down to occasional sniffles.

“I meant it when I said we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Itto reassured you, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head, still cradling you in his arms. “Even if it’s not for a long time,” he promised, “I don’t mind waiting.”

You looked up at him then, doe-eyes still glimmering with a thin sheen of misty tears.

You didn’t know what to say. You only knew what you felt. And that was how lucky and loved and looked after he made you feel, this kind of patience not something you would’ve expected of him.

“Take all the time you need…” he repeated, quieter this time, as if talking to himself. “Besides…” he smiled as he looked down at you, the warm gold of his eyes having returned as he cupped your face in his hands, pressing a soft kiss to his most precious little treasure’s forehead, “Didn’t I tell you? Onis mate for life. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

***

The day following what had occurred in Itto’s tent, you weren’t entirely sure what to think.

After the mess you’d made of yourself, he’d told you to stay put while he went down to the river and fetched some water for you, standing guard outside while you cleaned yourself up to the best of your ability in private.

He’d offered to do it for you, said he didn’t mind in that shamelessly oblivious way of his, but you’d blushed beet red and told him you could handle it yourself.

You washed your shorts too, hoping they’d have the chance to dry overnight so you wouldn’t have any awkward glances shot your way or have to admit to Shinobu, despite your trust and confidence in her, why you were returning to your own tent (which was right next to hers) with half of your clothes damp.

However, in the meantime, Itto had brought you a pair of pants from the makeshift lost and found (read: collection of unclaimed, stolen, or randomly obtained articles of clothing that anyone in the gang could sift through and take as their own when their old clothes got too tattered or dirty) and wrapped you up in a bundle of clean (read: not freshly washed, but not outright dirty or stained) blankets, cuddling up to you and making sure you drifted off into a peaceful slumber before closing his own eyes and slipping unconscious.

Early the following morning, you’d woken, finding the oni still fast asleep, chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths (and emitting a faint snoring sound on every exhale), one of his toned arms slung over you and heavy to lift when you carefully shimmied out from under its weight.

You’d watched him for a little while, studying his face a little closer, tempted to reach out and touch one of his big, red horns, but then retracted your hand halfway in fear of rousing him.

You changed back into your now dry shorts and snuck out of the tent, returning to your own private dwelling swiftly and quietly before anyone even had the chance to know you were gone.

Except Shinobu, of course, who had seemingly been waiting for you upon your return.

You’d startled when you’d pulled back the fabric curtain and saw her sitting in the center of your tent, two cups of hot tea just brewed, hers warming her hands and yours sitting across from her.

“So…” she smiled, only a hint of mischief woven into the otherwise kind expression. “I take it you had an eventful night.”

You came to sit across from her, the tea drawing you in with the inviting ghost of steam rising off the surface of the hot liquid, and rolled your eyes out of dismay. “Please tell me that not every single person in camp heard what we were doing…”

Shinobu gave a teasing smile, taking a calm sip of her tea. “Don’t worry,” she assured you, nodding towards your own cup and encouraging you to drink. “I sent those closest to Itto’s tent out for a late night supply run. I kept watch nearby to make sure no one else came around looking for their fearless leader at any odd hours of the night.”

You let out a sigh after your first sip of tea, shoulders sagging with relief to know that the entirety of the gang hadn’t witnessed those undignified and rather personal noises you’d been making. “Thank you, Shinobu…” you said, giving her a grateful grin until something occurred to you. Your eyes went wide and your smile dropped. “Wait,” you clarified, voice tight. “You said you kept watch…” You felt your cheeks heat. “Does that mean—?” Looks like someone had heard you after all.

“Forgive my sneaky methods but,” Shinobu began, “I was just making sure Itto didn’t get out of hand with you. I was worried. I—”

Shinobu’s words cut short as you reached forward and hugged her, nearly spilling both your tea.

“Don’t apologize,” you muttered into her shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Shinobu.”

The ninja didn’t know what to say, so she just returned your embrace and smiled to herself, lending you comfort until you were ready to let go. When you looked at each other again, you were smiling now too.

Then, after a while, she asked, eyebrow raised and tone a little more stern, “He didn’t get out of hand with you, right?”

“No, no,” you shook your head, a nervous smile forming on your lips. “He didn’t. I… He listened when I told him I wanted to stop and…” Your words trailed off, the previous night reigniting that flame in your belly and threatening to engulf your being if you stayed in those memories for too long.

Shinobu hadn’t planned on asking— didn’t want to press you to tell her any details you didn’t want to— but all of a sudden a look of confusion crossed her face. “Oh?” she cocked her head slightly, considering you. “You mean you two didn’t…?”

It took you a moment to catch on to what she meant, then quickly settled her curiosity with a frantic shaking of your head and waving of your hands, stuttering a little as you explained, “O-oh no, no, I mean, we did things but we didn’t— He didn’t— I—”

Shinobu’s quiet giggle ceased your panic, watching as your friend took amusement in your flustered state. “Well, as long as you’re ok, that’s all that matters to me. But, just so you know,” her gaze swept up and down your form before settling on your neck, “you might wanna wear some more concealing clothes in the coming days. Y’know, if you don’t want the entire camp to see all those marks.”

Marks…?

Reflexively, you reached up to your neck and felt the tender spots where dark bruises had blossomed during the night. Your cheeks heated and you pulled at your shirt to glance down, finding more marks scattered across your chest, following the trail down to your legs, all the evidence of where Itto’s mouth and hands had been.

“G-good call…” you stammered, trying to swallow down the embarrassed lump forming in your throat.

With that, Shinobu reminded you that, if you ever needed anything— advice, answers, an out in case things ever turned awkward— she’d be there. You thanked her, for the support and for the tea, and then she ducked out of your tent, leaving you to brew in all your lingering thoughts and emotions.

You took up the small hand mirror you’d found one day during a patrol and studied the bruises on your neck, fingertips lightly brushing against them and sending that spark inside you flaring.

You understood why you should hide them, but at the same time, you liked knowing that they were there.

It was proof of what had happened.

A reminder that you’d like to do it again.

***

The following week, things had gotten busier within the gang.

After taking on a few new members, Itto had been tasked with training them, going off on supply runs with any free time he had after that, so you two hadn’t seen much of each other in a while.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t thinking about him. You’d spent nearly every waking hour retracing the red markings carved across his body in your mind, remembering the sensation of his sharp nails biting into your hips, your thighs.

Sometimes, if you had a little more alone time than usual, you’d try and imagine what would’ve come after he had you under him that night, had you not stopped him.

But then something or someone would come to interrupt your daydream, force you back to the work of the real world where there was always another mission to go on, a new area to patrol.

Today, however, you’d decided to sneak off to a place you knew you wouldn’t be disrupted, which was perched up in your favorite sakura tree, leaning back comfortably on a high branch and staring out at the horizon, lazily tracing your gaze over the cliffs and hills until your eyes began to close, lulled by this rare bout of silence the landscape was lending you.

But then a distant voice shouted, “Hey!” and your eyes snapped open, a scowl pulling on your brow at being interrupted here of all places.

You sat up and looked around, seeing no one in sight, so you leaned back once more and closed your eyes again, crossing your arms and figuring the summons hadn’t been directed towards you. However, a few minutes later when the call came again, now from directly under you, you recognized the boisterous voice.

Itto smiled up at you, big and bright and happier than ever, giving you a wave and stating through a jovial chuckle, “Long time no see!”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of him. “How did you find me?”

Some of Itto’s confidence faltered then, becoming slightly abashed as he admitted, “I— Uh, well, I followed you, actually…”

“You followed me?” You’d left hours ago. Unless he’d been lying in wait until now, you found that highly unlikely.

“Weeeell, I mean…” Itto mumbled, one hand fidgeting with the hair at the back of his neck before looking back up at you and flashing another one of those shameless grins. “I might’ve sorta tracked you, technically, but… Well, why don’t you come down?”

You puffed out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking your head at him, though you weren’t mad. You found it kind of sweet, actually, the fact that he could find you no matter how far you wandered. You’d never have to worry about being lost again. Perhaps that was all a part of the whole “onis mate for life” philosophy he’d mentioned before.

“Why don’t you come up?” you teased, curious to see what he’d do. Well, in all honesty, you knew that facing a climb had never stopped Itto before. You just wanted to watch him do it. Wanted to watch his hefty frame scale the tree, causing the thinner branches to shake slightly and sending flower petals fluttering through the air, raining lilac down around you.

Itto smirked. “Challenge accepted,” he remarked, leaving his claymore by the trunk and beginning his ascent.

You moved further down the long branch you were perched upon, letting him sit on the thickest part of the tree once he reached your vantage point. Only slightly out of breath, the oni gave a dramatic exhale and jokingly said, “What I won’t do for you, huh?”

You giggled, shimmying a little closer to pluck out some leaves that had gotten caught in his mane of white hair. “You would’ve done it either way,” you said, “even if I hadn’t been the one to challenge you.”

Itto quickly leaned forward to give you a peck on the cheek, pulling another giggle from you before leaning back and making himself comfortable, hands clasped behind his neck, one leg dangling down from the tree while the other lay outstretched across the branch.

“C’mere,” he beckoned you, waving you towards his chest. However, still feeling playfully defiant, you shook your head and inched your way further towards the skinny part of the branch.

“I can’t get down now,” you said, glancing at the drop below, knowing you didn’t want to risk jumping from this height. 

“Get down?” Itto repeated with a bewildered expression. “You just made me come up! What’d you wanna get down for?”

More giggles bubbled past your lips, finding his exaggerated reaction endearing. “Well I can’t stay up here forever,” you rolled your eyes upon the emphasis. “Besides…” You went to climb around Itto— well, more like over Itto— as you continued, “I’ve been gone long enough. I don’t want Shinobu to—”

Your sentence was prematurely punctuated with a startled gasp upon Itto grabbing you by the hips and pulling you back down to lay on top of him.

I don’t want Shinobu to worry, you’d been about to say, but it seemed like you had more to worry about than her at the moment on account of being this high up in a tree with someone who seemed to find it funny to be recklessly playing around.

“Itto— Careful!” you chided, squirming atop him as you felt your weight shift and sway, fearing you might fall.

But Itto would never let harm come to you, never put you in any danger to begin with. His firm hold on you kept you anchored against the toned expanse of his chest, your legs straddling his lower abdomen and feeling something pressing up against your ass when you clung tighter to him.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you in a confident, borderline condescending coo, his grip unrelenting. “I’m not gonna let ya fall.”

“That’s not the point—” you stammered, feeling your face flush as that twisting, burning sensation swelled in your belly again. “This is dangerous! I’m gonna fall! We’re gonna fall!”

“Wouldn’t be so dangerous if you’d just stop all your squirmin’,” he teased, a low, dark chuckle rumbling in his chest and vibrating against your own, adding fuel to the ever growing fire inside you.

You clutched the lapel of his coat in your fists, as if your hold on him could compare in the slightest to his hold on you. You’d try your luck at occasionally trying to break free when you thought he’d let his guard down, but his strength was unmatched. It almost wasn’t fair, how effortless Itto made gaining full physical control over a human being seem, barely even flinching anytime you tried to struggle against his hold.

It was all in good fun though. And, while you were getting a little frustrated, you knew if you told him to let you go in a way that sounded serious, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

You were just glad that the oni was your ally and not your enemy. The thought of having to face someone like him, someone who could immobilize you with a single hand, was terrifying. Especially, you then thought with a slight horror creeping in to mix with your arousal, if that certain someone had wanted you the way Itto wanted you.

You’d never stand a chance.

“You’re the worst…” you whined, admitting defeat when you slumped against him, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady drum of his heart.

He suddenly jolted, making you flinch and emit a startled yelp at thinking you were going to fall, only for Itto to erupt into a fit of rumbling laughter and bring a hand up to rest between your shoulder blades, fingers twirling in your hair absentmindedly as he said in between his amusement, “Oh— Oh my god! You should see your face right now! That was too good!”

You punched him in the chest, though that probably hurt you more than it hurt him. “Sorry, sorry…” he chuckled, locking eyes with you and ignoring the way you were scowling at him, obviously not finding his joke very funny. “You’re just so cute when you get like this, I couldn’t help myself.”

That comment earned him another punch, harder this time, and he winced at that one, though just barely. “Yeah, I probably deserved that,” he admitted, giving you one of those stupidly charming smiles, instantly melting away the rest of your irritation.

“I’m gonna get you back for that,” you warned him, all the while laying your head back down to soak up his warmth, the earthy scent of him calming you.

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Itto replied mischievously, voice lowering, both your bodies relaxing as a gentle breeze blew through the treetops, sending more blossoms twirling down from the branches in a lavender drizzle.

You both lay there in silence for a while, nature’s peaceful symphony lulling you, until Itto’s hands began to inevitably wander.

He gently kneaded at the soft flesh of the back of your thighs, your ass, shifting you atop of him slightly so that you once again felt where his thick, hard arousal was jutting out from his pants. 

You let out a quiet, broken whimper.

Without even seeing it you could tell how big it was. You could feel it pressing up against you, seeking out the tight heat of your insides more and more by the second.

You slid a little further down his body, legs still spread over his waist, until both your clothed sexes were nudging at each other.

Once you finally dared to meet eyes with him, you could see his gold being overtaken by black again, stare half-lidded and serene as he gazed upon you.

He was going to kiss you, and then probably much more than that, knowing him. So as his lips drew closer to yours, you reminded him in a volume just above a whisper, “We’re in a tree, Itto.”

“I don’t care…” he muttered, your words clearly not registering to him as he continued to drift nearer.

“Itto Arataki,” you addressed him, causing him to pause his motions yet that up-to-no-good expression remained. “Get us down from this tree or I will not kiss you.”

The oni nudged his nose against yours, humming out another one of those low, seductive chuckles that only spelled trouble. “Alright, princess,” he teased, sitting up and bringing you with him in the process. “I’ll save you from your tower.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, though held onto him tight as he dangled his legs from the branch and dropped down, hitting the ground with a flat-footed thud, keeping you safe in his arms.

“Happy now?” he pestered playfully.

“Put me down and I will be,” you stubbornly affirmed.

Itto gave a half shrug and a playfully stubborn, “Maybe I don’t wanna.”

“Itto. Arataki.” You repeated sternly, trying to suppress a smirk as you pointed a finger in his face. “Put. Me. Down.”

He huffed out a dramatic sigh, exhaling, “If you say so…” before giving in to your demand.

Or, at least, you’d thought he was going to.

Instead, he merely lowered you to the ground so he could assume his position overtop of you again. He was being quite cheeky today and, as much as harmless tormenting could be enjoyable, you wondered why he’d woken up with so much audacity on this day in particular.

“Now for your end of the bargain,” he reminded you, one of his palms lightly cupping your cheek, fingers weaving through your hair again.

Every time he kissed you, somehow, it got better.

Your shyness shed away another layer and your confidence stood a little taller. You two were coming to memorize each other in this way, Itto’s hands maneuvering over your body with familiarity, drawn to the places he knew you liked being touched the most, despite you never making this explicitly known to him.

It wasn’t long until your head was getting hazy and you were arching into his touch, more of those pretty moans and delicate little mewls spilling from your mouth whenever his tongue teased at your pulse or he dragged his canines over the raise of your throat, sucking new, brighter bruises over the old, fading ones.

You jolted when his sharp nails grazed over your ribs, ghosting over the dip of your waist and down to the soft raise of your lower belly. All your senses were lit ablaze with buzzing electricity, every sensation felt just that much stronger this time around for whatever reason.

Maybe it was because, unlike in the tent back at camp, out here, practically in the middle of nowhere, you knew you two were actually alone.

Your trembling little hands reached for him, palms dragging across every muscle etched into his abdomen, wanting to learn him in this new way too. And Itto, well…

Itto almost couldn’t handle it.

How many times had he dreamed of this? Of you touching him like this, with that lustful look in your eyes?

Too many times to count, if he was being honest with himself.

Guess some dreams do come true, he thought, quickly shimmying out of his jacket and undoing the harness crossing his chest, the spiked collar beholding his vision remaining like a reminder of his strength.

And you both just stared at each other then, taking in the sight that you’d been longing to see as if you would go blind tomorrow, branding it into your memory to carry with you forever.

“Wait— Wait, Itto…” you panted halfway through his next round of hungry kisses and grabbing hands.

The oni retracted, though only slightly, begging to every Archon he could think of that you wouldn’t want to stop again. He wasn’t sure how much more denial he could take.

“Can we just… I dunno…” you went on, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. “Can we just find somewhere a little less…” outside?

Itto glanced around, seeing not a single silhouette spotting the expanse of the horizon, and had to force himself to swallow down his dismissive responses of it’s fine or there’s no one here.

“Yeah…” he nodded, offering you a hand and pulling you to your feet as you both stood, helping you brush some of the leaves and dirt and stray flower petals from your back. He grabbed up his coat and said, “Yeah, I know a place.”

***

The den had been created after the first kiss you two had shared.

Itto had made sure to craft it as close to perfection as he could manage— with plenty of space and blankets and food, the nest tucked away in a hidden cove by the shore.

He’d wanted to make it special for you. Well, as special as the leader of a group of misfit runaways could manage. But it’s private and enclosed and the makeshift bed at the center actually looked comfortable, all the mismatched pillows and blankets arranged in a tousled yet inviting way, the perfect haven for the two of you to snuggle up in once all was said and done.

Itto stood by the entrance, which was located at the end of a winding, narrow pathway, one just barely wide enough for him to fit through, allowing you to enter first and give your approval. It was a wonder how he’d discovered such a place, how a cave this deep could still hold some capability of soft, cool light and a temperature that, while a little chilly now, would be perfect by the time you were sparkling with a thin sheen of sweat and nestled in his arms.

“Itto, it’s…” You turned slowly, taking in your surroundings, caught in awe by the rocky suite you had all to yourselves. Once you finally stood to face him again, you smiled, all honey-dripped sweetness, and said, “It’s perfect.”

He began to migrate further inside once you deemed all his hard work worthy, but still had to ask the question he was slightly afraid to receive an answer to. “Is this what you really want? I mean, are you really ok with this? With me…”

Then it was your turn to comfort him, much like he’d learned to do for you in his own quiet, gentle ways.

You approached him, reaching up to cup his cheek in your tiny palms. He leaned down a little so you could reach without too much strain, melting into your touch with one hand placed atop your own, his palm swallowing yours, tenderly keeping you there for his own sake.

“I want this,” you assured him, voice echoing slightly amidst the ambience of the cavern. “I want you, Itto. I want…” You pause. Hesitate. But then you blink the uncertainty away, finally saying what you know he needs to hear. “I want it to be with you. I… I love you and…” The night he’d rescued you from your squalor and starvation flashed through your mind, the first time you’d seen the bright gold of his eyes gleaming in the dark, reached out and accepted the hand that had been— still was— so much bigger than your own. “And I think I always have.”

Itto’s kiss is already there when you run out of words. But what more was there to say than that? 

Nothing, you realized, the words flowing through you thick and lazy, a syrupy kind of mindframe, there’s no more to say, only to do.

“I’ll be careful,” Itto promises, “I don’t want you to worry about that.”

You believe him and, this time, it’s you who takes the lead, guiding him by the hand to the bednest in the center of the cave.

Though the distance only lasts a few short strides for him, Itto feels like he can’t get there fast enough, unable to believe that this is finally happening. He tries to contain that boyish excitement of his as his heart flutters and soars in his chest, yearning to break free from his body and fly so high even the Archons can’t reach it.

Your own pulse is becoming a quickfire little thing, restless rabbit foot drumming in your rib cage as the anticipation latches its teeth onto you but doesn’t bite down just yet. Makes you wonder just how much it’ll sting once the fangs pierce your unmarked flesh.

But you trust Itto enough to know that he’ll be diligent in his promise, that he’ll be careful, that he’ll be as gentle as he can, and that, at the end of it all, he’ll take care of you.

His words return to you once you’re on your back beneath him, staring up into his sparkling eyes through the dim light of the cave.

Onis mate for life. Onis mate for life. Onis mate for life.

Perhaps it’s possible some humans do too.

Perhaps you’re one of them, linked by the bond that had been created all those years ago and now sealed in this vow, this act.

It was two strangers becoming soulmates, or, perhaps, two soulmates forgetting what it was ever like to be strangers.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this…” Itto mumbles into your neck, breathing in the scent of you and feeling his blood burn, igniting with the molten urgency in which his body carnally craves yours. “How long I’ve waited for you…”

His kisses start gentle, trailing up your neck, along your jaw, until his mouth is on yours in that hungry way you’ve grown accustomed to. You know his tongue nearly as well as your own by now, the feeling of it licking into your mouth natural, the way his teeth drag along your bottom lip tactful.

You become like warm clay under his hands, pliable and submissive to the sculptor’s touch, aiding him in undressing you, allowing him to strip you completely bare and admire you in your simplest form.

And he’s breathless from it— from the raw beauty that your body beholds, every inch, every feature, every curve, and every line of your being more stunning than he could’ve ever concocted in his own imagination during those late night fantasies.

You think you hear him say the words through a mystified sigh, “You’re beautiful,” barely lacing through his breath as he soaks in the sight of you, your mussed hair splayed against the blankets, slender neck exposed to him as you turn your head to the side, unable to meet the intensity of his stare while he studies your naked from, chest rising and falling fast but steady.

It isn’t until his vast shadow lifts from over you to discard what remains of his own clothing that you gain the courage to peek over at him, eyes squinting with idle hesitation one moment, then going wide once you see him, now just as exposed as you but nowhere near as vulnerable.

You swallow thickly, saliva sticky as it clings to the back of your throat, and for a moment you wonder if you can truly take him.

As he settles back over you, catching the way your stare rounds out before darting away from his intimidating manhood, Itto asks you again if you’re alright, if you still want to do this, and you say you do, pushing down the doubt.

“I trust you,” you assure him through a cracked whisper, nodding your head with tiny little motions. “It’s ok. I trust you…”

Itto explores your body, hands clumsy at times if he lets his thoughts wander in the heat of the moment, but, similar to when he fights, there’s a certain weightless grace to his movements when he concentrates. Overbearing and enthusiastic at times, yes, but not all reckless, brute strength when he makes the decision not to be.

“Gonna take good care of you, baby,” he mutters, mouth pressed against the underside of your breast and leaving a wet, sloppy kiss there. “Don’t worry…”

You squeak when his tongue lavs over the peaked bud of your nipple, whine when he sucks on it, your little hands pawing at him, not sure if you’re trying to push him away or hold him closer. He moans against you, the sounds emitting from him ones you’ve never heard him make before, some the low, feral growl of an untamed animal, others his own high-pitched whimpers, the latter coming when you grasp onto his horns, using them to anchor yourself to him when he gives the other side of your chest the same treatment.

His nails ghost down your ribs, following the curve of your waist, your hips, until his hand finds your lower belly and rests there, caressing that spot with a new kind of tenderness, all the while sucking more love bites along your flesh.

He thinks to himself how much he’d like to see you round with his child someday, an ethereal glow emanating from your entire being as you carry around a little Arataki inside you, showing everyone that you’re his, only his. He has to break from the idea before too long though. Allowing himself to stew in that desire could make him lose himself, lose control, and he knew neither of you wanted that.

As his hand moves lower, you feel that twisting sensation wind tighter inside you and cry out a broken, sobbing sound. Pawing harder at him, your little hands clutch his shoulders as mewling pleas of his name spill from your mouth. One of his long, thick fingers finds your wet folds, spreads you a little wider for him, glazing your slick up and down your cunt.

It occurs to him now, as he’s marking you with a particularly dark bruise, that he’s the first one— the only one— to ever touch you like this. The only one who’s ever been allowed to learn these parts of you. That only makes him more eager, loving the way he has you at his mercy, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs and massaging a few slow circles onto it, holding you down as your hips buck and your back arches, another helpless whine tearing through your throat.

“Itto, please—!” you beg, barely able to get the words out through your whimpering, your blood singing with a harmony of heat, a melody of desire, as two of his fingers strive to stimulate you, this sensation so much stronger than that first time when you’d tried to work yourself over the edge in his tent, pleasure drawn bowstring tight inside of you and threatening to let the arrow fly. You fear that, once it pierces you, there’ll be no way to pull it out.

The next word comes out as a hitched breath, a desperate plea of “Wait—!”

You can barely breathe, suffocating on the euphoria that rises higher and higher by the second, threatening to drown you in its blissful haze. But then Itto’s fingers retreat and you regret it almost immediately. “Want me to stop?” he asks, a decibel of disappointment resonating in the sentence.

Panting, waiting for that cruel, sharp fluttering to subside a little bit, you reply, “No… No… I just… I just need a moment…”

You prop yourself up awkwardly on your elbows, trying to lift yourself but struggling from your quivering limbs. Itto places a hand under your back for support, helping prop you upright the rest of the way until you can pull your posture into a sitting position.

Again, your gaze flicks to where his own arousal awaits, rock hard and blushing tip leaking pearly pre-cum. You feel yourself getting wetter at just the sight of it, that knot in your stomach twisting with both dread and desire.

“Can I…” you begin, voice velvet soft with just the tiniest shred of trepidation lining the edges. “Can I touch it…?”

You feel dizzy from the embarrassment, face so hot it’s nearly stifling. But then the heat of the humiliation tapers off into a balmy relief when Itto flashes one of those effortlessly charming grins and says with a slight snicker, “Course ya can! You don’t have to ask.”

Just like that, he’s back to being the affable oni that everyone in the gang has come to love. It helps put you at ease, ebbs the anxiety that was beginning to creep up your spine, that side of him so familiar to you. Although, it does nothing to lessen your rapid heartbeats as your little hand slowly reaches for him.

You let out a fragile gasp when your grip wraps gently around his length, feeling the silken texture of his flesh, the way the veins wind up the underside of his shaft, how it twitches in your hand when you increase the pressure even the slightest amount. You’re mesmerized by him, stuck staring in a wide-eyed trance and surprised to find that the thought of him being inside you doesn’t scare you nearly as much as it once had.

Itto places a hand over the one of yours that’s still gently gripping him, not in a way that’s forceful, but more so in an encouragement that you don’t have to be afraid.

“Hey…” the oni considers you with caution, brows knitted slightly as he cocks his head to one side, trying to meet your eyes. He takes his hand off yours then, brings it to lift your chin slightly. You flow with the movement, forcing yourself to meet his eyes even though it sends another stab of bashfulness through you. “I won’t hurt you. And, like I said, if you want to stop, we can… If you need to wait, we can—”

You shake your head, nuzzle your face into his shoulder, seeking comfort in his body heat and earthy scent, allowing his warmth to lull you back into a tranquil state. “I’m fine…” you murmur. “I— Just do what you were doing before. I can handle it…”

Itto rubs a hand attentively up and down your back, waiting until he feels you relax before lowering you to lay back again. He resumes his journey down your body, one of his fingers slipping into your tight little hole and feeling it clench around him when you flinch, just that simple intrusion bringing slight discomfort, but overall not an entirely bad feeling.

As he begins to slowly work you open, preparing you the best that he can, his head is lowering closer and closer to where his fingers are. You’re squeezing your eyes shut, trying to control your breathing and stay calm so you don’t have to stop him again, so you don’t even really realize how close his face is to your dripping sex until you feel something firm and wet press flat against your slit.

You moan when his tongue teases at your clit and it’s then that something inside Itto finally snaps, an animalistic instinct surging through his blood like a lightning strike, quick and violent, the musky scent of you mixed with the tangy taste awakening the piece of him he’d been trying to keep dormant this entire time.

He growls against you, both his hands holding you down by your hips as you jerk and buck against him, crying out high and loud as that coil winding impossibly tight inside you breaks, glistening arousal gushing as every muscle in your body tenses, fighting against Itto’s grip until you don’t have the strength to anymore.

You don’t even have time to come down from the high as Itto continues his assault on you, golden eyes wearing that wild, dilated gaze as his mouth migrates back up your form, seeming so much more dangerous than before.

“H-hurts, Itto—!” Your plea clips with a wince, weak little whine escaping through clenched teeth as his fingers flex into the meat of your thighs, branding you with even more bruises, though these don’t seem nearly as intentional as the ones from before. He scrapes his sharp incisors along your pulse, pausing over the valley between your neck and shoulder, his panting breaths humid against your clammy skin. “Itto, wait— Hold on! You’re—!”

A pained, broken yelp sounds from you when he sinks his fangs into the crook of your shoulder, biting down hard, slowly increasing the pressure as you writhe beneath him, tears flowing from your eyes and dampening your hairline as they stream down your temples.

“Itto!” You sob, knowing that, no matter how hard you struggle, you’ll never break free. Not unless he wants you to. Not unless he lets you. You grit your teeth, spitting through them as your jaw clenches, “Please— You’re hurting me!”

He breaks the skin, tastes blood, and as the iron and salt hit his tongue, he comes back to himself, having been completely lost in the lust fueled hysteria.

When he removes his mouth from you, there’s crimson staining his lips, more dark red welling and beading in the distinct shape of his bite on you, trickling down your shoulder and dripping a few spots onto the blankets below. You’re trembling, a weeping mess as pained whines fall from your lips, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears leak from them, too afraid to look up and see that feral gaze boring into you.

He’s mortified when he realizes what he’s done. Horrified that he hurt you after promising so intently not to. All the fire that had swelled in his chest, nearly consumed him— caused him to nearly consume you— is doused at once, leaving him cold and curled in on himself as he fervently apologizes, agonizing over his atonements as his words stumble.

“Oh, god— I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby,” he says, pulling you into his chest, lifting you like you weigh nothing, peppering tender kisses along your neck and the wound as he continues to speak in a low murmur. You hiss when his lips meet the bite, sucking on the blood a little, the sting of his saliva making you tense. Itto just keeps apologizing.

“Just wanted you so bad…” he rambles, smoothing back your tousled hair and gazing upon you with love instead of hunger now. “Don’t know what came over me— Just wanted you. I got carried away, I’m sorry— Won’t happen again…”

He wiped your tears, rocked you gently in his arms, and begged for forgiveness until you finally gave him an ounce of reprieve. “Does that normally happen?” you asked with a lingering quiver to your voice, clearing your throat and trying to regain some of your trust in him back.

“No, not usually,” Itto admitted, continuing to tend to you, thumb hovering over the wound as if he could seal it as easily as it had been created. “It’s just…” He gave a repentant smirk. “I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone before… Guess it comes with some unexpected side effects…” He gave a nervous cough and cleared his throat, giving you a look that anticipated your answer to the frequently asked question of “do you want to stop?”

But, even after the fright he’d just given you, you could still see the flame of loyalty burning steady behind his eyes, unwavering on the wick.

“I’ll control myself,” he solemnly swears, one hand coming up to press over his heart. “I can control myself.”

Before you were about to lightly reprimand him again, trying and failing to sound stern as you made it clear he had better keep himself in check, Itto cut in with, “I love you, too, y’know. When you said it before, I forgot to say it back, and that’s not because I don’t mean it…” He licked his lips nervously, gaze darting about as he searched his brain for what it was he was really trying to say. “I just— It just caught me off guard, is all. I didn’t think you’d be the one to say it first.”

Soulmates.

The phrase had crossed your mind before— crossed Itto’s a million times— but the way in which you forgave him so easily, so effortlessly, not even remembering making the decision to let it all go, how could it be anything other than some kind of celestial connection? A star-crossed devotion that bound you two no matter what you were up against?

It was a comforting thought, the fact that perhaps any and all issues would find a way to right themselves on their own, like a steady stream flowing clear and cool over jagged stones, nature wearing them down smooth.

“You better make it up to me,” you replied with a coy smile, craning your neck to try and see just how bad the damage was, but to no avail. You look up at him through your lashes, mischief playing on your tone as you tease, “What is Shinobu gonna think when she sees this? If I were you, I’d start rehearsing an excuse.”

There’s a fissure in Itto’s concerned expression one second, the remaining worry cracking completely the next as he lets out another one of those signature jovial laughs, your little chuckle mixing in after a moment.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” he assures you, lightly placing a hand on your cheek, feeling a little more of the weight lift when you lean into the touch, your smile widening. “I’ll make it up to you plenty.”

And with that, you both felt ready to resume. Itto’s kisses are gentle as they worship every inch of you, attentively returning to the imprint of his teeth that marks your shoulder, lightly licking over where the once bright blossom of blood has rusted over and begun to close the wound. You shiver slightly, the bite still tender, but are relieved to find the initial spike of pain has faded.

You tangle your fingers into his shaggy mane of white hair, gently combing through it until he does something to make your hands turn to fists and tug. All that does is earn you another one of his growls or groans, spurring him on to stay in certain areas for a little longer.

You learn his horns are a more sensitive place for him than you ever would’ve guessed. Every time your grip tightens on them his voice tapers off into a moan, so eventually you start doing it on purpose, which he catches on to, only forcing more whines from you in return.

You two go at it like that for nearly an hour, teasing and testing each other, Itto almost overdoing his promise to make it up to you as you’re left a breathless mess below him, entire body shining with saliva and sweat, eyes glazed over and shallow breaths filling the space between you two.

You should’ve known that it would be like this with him— indulgent and intense— but being barely even halfway there, you’re wondering just how much more you can take for the night. Itto still checks in with you, asking if you’re alright and if you can keep going. You answer in words when you can, eager little nods when you’re too spent to speak.

But you can feel how hot and hard he still is as he rubs against you, his pre-cum sticky where it’s leaked out against your leg, your hip. You don’t care. You’re both far from clean as it is, and you don’t doubt that a very thorough bath will be in order at the end of it all. Plus, Itto had no problem with you staining him with your arousal. If anything, all it did was rile you both up further.

“You can…” you begin, swallowing hard as you continue carding through his silvery locks, toying with the cherry faded ends of them, your face flushing a little as you force out, “You can put it inside me… I…” You both freeze, meeting each other’s stares. “I think I’m ready.”

The oni’s eyes hold on yours until you look away, going slack as you try and relax to counteract the nerves building inside of you again. Then his golden gaze sweeps down your body to where he’d just barely begun to become acquainted with.

Now it’s his turn to swallow, flicking his gaze back up to yours and saying, “Yeah. Alright. Just remember, if you need to—”

“I know,” you cut in, not wanting him to say the words and continue to bear the guilt that comes with them. “Just don’t stop unless I tell you to.” He blinks twice, slightly taken aback by the abrasiveness in which your reassurance comes, but is grateful for it nonetheless.

So his fingers go back to working you open, fitting two inside and giving you time to adjust until his thick digits can pump inside of you, scissor you open and make you hiss from the stretch.

He shoots you an unsure glance, which makes you remind him, “Don’t stop. I’m fine. I can— I can take it—” Your tight voice tapers off into a moan when he curls his knuckles just right inside of you, hitting a spot somewhere deep that patches up the pain with a weighted pleasure, the feeling washing over you and making your insides flutter, eyes rolling a bit when he hits it again.

He takes his time with this gesture as well, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible during what he knows is going to be a mostly uncomfortable experience your first time. But when he thinks he’s prepped you well enough that he can attempt to enter into your still too tight little hole, he lines himself up, cockhead kissing your entrance as more of your slick leaks out, further coating him and yourself.

“Let me hold your hand…” you request, stomach tensing and breath hitching in anticipation. Itto instantly obliges, intertwining his fingers with your trembling ones, feeling you squeeze his hands as he begins to sink in as slowly as he can manage, gasping and groaning when you clench around the little bit of his length that’s entered you.

You whimper, biting at your bottom lip as your eyes squeeze shut, gripping his hands even harder as the sting of the stretch increases to what part of you imagines is impossibly wide, but another piece also knows isn’t more than you can take.

“That’s it, baby,” Itto mutters, voice strained as a clipped whine claws up his throat, feeling your pulsing little cunt swallow another inch of his girth. “Atta girl— Fuck— Just like that… Takin’ me so well… I gotcha…”

Any warnings Shinobu could’ve given you would’ve never prepared you for this, the weight of him inside you unlike anything you could’ve ever imagined.

But you’re staying strong, holding out, his loving praises and soft kisses being pressed to your neck as he settles in even deeper getting you through.

“H-hurts—” you whine, feeling like there’s no way he can go deeper each time another inch of him roots its way into your body, reshaping you around his form. His chest is pressed against yours, your combined sweat allowing him to move easily over your body as he holds you close, not even seeming to register that your nails are biting into his hands, leaving little half moons indented into his skin.

“I know, baby, I know,” he grunts, sliding in the tiniest fraction further. “Almost there… You can do it… Good girl… Almost there…”

And then the pressure seems to shift, the pain flaring as the worst of it tears through you only to taper off into something less severe after Itto’s nestled all the way inside you, down to the hilt, leaving you lightheaded, your grip on his hands lessening as you feel your muscles relax for a moment, relieved that the worst is over.

You can’t think. Can’t speak. Can only just lay there for a moment and catch your breath.

Itto peeks down to where the two of you are connected, breathing his own exhale of relief. He flinches when you clench around him though, but then puffs out a weak chuckle as he sees the slight bulge in your belly, the way your stomach tenses almost rhythmically as your body tries to keep him secured inside of you.

Itto kisses away your tears, caressing your dewy face as he commends you in breathy whispers, “You did it, baby. You’re ok. You’re ok, I gotcha…” He asks you if you need a moment before he starts moving, but all you can give in response is a feeble shaking of your head and a light squeeze of his hand. Itto presses another loving kiss to your parted lips, murmurs of, “I love you so much, baby. I love you so much… Gonna make you feel so good…” exhaled into your mouth before he starts to move.

His thrusts are slow and careful at first, keeping watch on your face as his hips roll to meet your inner thighs to make sure you’re enjoying it too, and when your beautiful little mewls begin to pick up again, he knows he’s doing what’s right for you. It encourages him to pick up the pace a little, each time his pelvis drags against your clit drawing you closer and closer to the sharp edge of your next release. The next time you cum, it’s not as vicious, though still leaves you spent for a few minutes afterwards.

Itto has an idea then, pulling you up so that you’re straddling him and allowing you to sink down on his throbbing length once enough energy has returned to you. You set the pace that time, gripping his shoulders as you catch your bearings, the way you stretch around him nowhere near as unpleasant as the first time, your body quick to memorize the shape he carves out in you.

He’s entranced by the way you look bouncing on his cock, tits jiggling and eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering every time more moans pour out of your pretty, parted mouth. 

You two have long lost how much time has passed, the only way to separate one section of the clock from the next being each time a new orgasm washes over you. You hadn’t asked Shinobu— such a question would’ve never crossed your mind— but you briefly wondered if there was a limit to how many times you could cum. You stopped counting by your fourth one. Not that you minded, if Itto kept up with what he was doing to get you there.

He’d taken you in all sorts of ways, wanting to find the one that you liked best. By now, the scales of pain and pleasure were weighing far heavier on the side of the latter, filling you to the brim and spilling over time and time again. But then, on the very last round before you were sure you’d have to call it a night, if not take a very long, very well deserved break, it seemed like Itto had finally hit his limit too.

He had your knees pressed up to your chest, fucking into you deeper and harder than he had yet, growling with every thrust and nearly losing himself again, his teeth starting to nibble at your unmarked shoulder.

“Hey!” you scolded, causing him to pause mid-thrust, eyes going wide and his open mouth stilling over you. “I said no biting!” Your admonishment has a certain playful lilt to it though, and you can feel Itto’s lips smile against you, nipping gently over the area his teeth almost just sunk into.

“Sorry…” he chuckles, though he sounds anything but apologetic. You hum out a giggle as his hair tickles your jaw, his head nuzzling against you. “Almost forgot…”

He continues then, working himself back towards his own edge. All it takes is your cunt giving one last, relentless clench on his overstimulated cock and then he’s filling you to the brim with his seed, the hot, sticky balm overflowing inside of you. He’s whining into your neck as more and more cum pulses out of him and into you, and you ride it out with your trembling legs wrapped around his waist and your hands clasped behind his neck, keeping him pulled close until he goes soft inside of you.

And things go quiet for a while after that, him pulling out and watching as more milky white drips from your abused hole, that fantasy of you bearing his children returning with more fondness than possessiveness this time. He’ll have to build a better nest, someplace where the sunshine can blanket its warmth over you and your future family.

Perhaps all in good time, if that’s something you want too.

You lay spent and drifting in the bliss of your post-sex daze, staring at the ceiling of the cavern with half-lidded eyes as the ambience that echos over the smooth rocks, sounds dancing on light, pirouetting feet, further lulls you off into what you imagine will be a very deep, sated sleep.

At some point, unbeknownst to you as your eyes fall closed, brain foggy and limbs sinking heavier and heavier by the second, Itto parts from you, but only long enough to carry some supplies to the private little hotspring that’s half hidden behind a stony partition at the far end of the cave.

When he returns to you, he thinks you might be asleep. He caresses your cheek, featherlight touch stirring you enough that you take a deep, slow inhale as your glassy eyes blink open, wincing a little as the pain hidden beneath the adrenaline and the overwhelming pleasure pulses in aches along your entire body, the apex of it between your thighs.

Truth be told, Itto could go again, already feeling himself getting a little hard when you smile up at him in your disheveled state, all angelic devotion as the glow of the cavelight refracts through the gemstones that glitter along the ceiling, cascade down the walls, speckling your glistening skin.

But he doesn’t— knows there will be plenty of time for that later— because right now what he needs to focus on is your comfort, your healing and recovery as he carries you in his arms to the hotspring, steam rising off the surface in swirling, misty tendrils.

You let out a satisfied hum when he lowers you into the water with him, keeping you close as he cleans you, washes your entire body and detangles your hair. The marks he’d made on you shine brighter under the water, some more splotches of plum and navy rising to the surface of your skin by the time you’re dried off, wrapped in a bundle of fluffy blankets, and tucked snug in his embrace.

As you float further into your sated slumber, Itto presses occasional kisses to the crown of your hair, your forehead, your shoulder. When he thinks you’re asleep— and you nearly are— he mutters, “I’ll always be here for you… always protect you… You never have to worry about a thing…”

You think you feel your lips turn up into the faintest smile, sigh out another tender, “I love you,” before sleep finally claims you for the remainder of the night. And even though he knows you won’t hear it, Itto says it anyway.

“I love you, too. Always have, always will.”

***

After that, the two of you are rarely ever apart, the newfound bond that had been forged in your secret little love nest stronger than ever. And somehow, things feel lighter now.

Itto’s laugh rumbles through his chest like a rockslide one night when the entire gang is sitting around a huge bonfire, trading stories and tales from missions recent and old. You sit beside him, close enough that he can wrap an arm around your waist and pull you just a tiny bit nearer into his side.

You’d noticed how he’d gotten braver about putting his hands on you in front of the others after you’d returned to camp from the cavern the first time, not caring who knew you were his, wanting them to know as if to challenge any potential suitors to try and pursue you now. He was protective and just the tiniest bit possessive, but it was for your safety and wellbeing above all else.

Shinobu knew the full story, by now. It hadn’t taken you long to tell her, revealing some of the particular details— like why you had Itto’s entire mouth imprinted onto your shoulder— when she asked.

But she’d been a good friend, and quick witted, telling anyone who asked the night you and Itto went missing that you’d both ran out on a last minute mission together. Something about a group of kairagi trying to expand their territory which had to be stopped.

You and Itto had stayed at the nest for almost the entire day afterwards too, not returning until sundown the following night, you hoping that your stiff stride wouldn’t give away the truth instantly.

Shinobu was there first thing, filling you two in on her cover story before someone asked Itto, “So, how did it go?” and him responding with a sly yet oblivious, “Well, wouldn’t you like to know?” You were both grateful for Shinobu’s ability to foresee these kinds of things so easily.

Though, you doubted you could use the same lie every time you two snuck back to the cave, which was becoming a more frequent occurrence as time went on.

That’s why Itto had to start letting the others know, whether by word or gesture, that there was indeed something more than a close camaraderie going on between you two. It only took ten days after that first time before the word had spread throughout the entire gang, and while this made you feel anxious and awkward initially, most of the others were quick to put you at ease.

“Been wonderin’ when the boss was finally gonna settle down,” Akira commented, giving a mischievous raise of his eyebrows as his gaze flicked between Itto and you. Then he gave his leader a playful punch in the chest, which barely even caused the oni to sway as he jokingly said, “Hope this doesn’t mean you’re gonna retire and run off to the countryside!”

“As if!” Itto replied, rolling his eyes and flashing a smile, giving Akira a nudge that nearly sent the guy toppling off balance. “Besides, I can’t leave Shinobu here to manage things all by herself. You really think this place could function without me?”

You almost made a sarcastic comment about how the only reason this place was functioning at all was because of Shinobu, but instead just let out an amused giggle as the two men started to play-fight, stirring up a ruckus as more people hollered and shouted from across the field, placing their bets on how long Akira would last in the fake competition.

When Itto started getting a little too boisterous you went to intervene, but was beat to it when Shinobu suddenly appeared, calling out to the oni until she grabbed his attention, pulling him from his childish wrestling match.

“Itto,” she began, hands on her hips and looking like she was up to no good. She nodded her head at you as she said, “Don’t you and her have a mission to be getting off to?” She gave you a wink and you felt your cheeks heat. “I’d get going if I were you. In the meantime, I’ll finish things up here. Don’t come back until you’ve scouted the outskirts of camp thoroughly.”

At first, the oni wore a confused look, as if trying to recall what mission she was referring to. But then, when Shinobu shot him a more pressing stare, gaze darting to you for a moment, he caught her drift.

“Oh—! Yeah, you’re right!” he chuckled nervously, scratching at the back of his head. Then he placed a hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing gentle strokes on your skin. “Guess we should get going then.”

You always found the cave exactly as you’d left it, though each time things seemed to become a little more tousled and tangled throughout your love making sessions. You’d try and tidy up but knew it was only a matter of time until Itto was messing it all up again, laying you splayed out for him and wrinkling the blankets you’d just folded or placed so nicely.

But that was ok. You sort of liked the little routine of straightening things up only to destroy them. It was almost like a game you two started playing— both of you trying to ruffle up the nest more and more each visit until there was a trail of blankets and pillows leading from one end of the cave to the next.

After a particularly exerting session, the two of you huddled together in the hot spring as was tradition in this place, you finally believed Itto when he reminded you that onis mate for life.

“We’re more than just members of the same gang, more than a family, you and I…” he tells you, rough edges all soft and smooth as he cradles you against him. You look up at him, meet the amber of his eyes as you listen intently to his most vulnerable confession yet. “You’re my entire world. My entire reason for existing.”

You shift to face him in his lap, rising on your knees to press your foreheads together. His fingers come to rest on your hips under the water, the way they fit against you so familiar now.

“I need you to know that I’d do anything for you,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper. “You do know that I’d do anything for you, right?”

You’re more than just his reason to live, reason to breathe. You’re the sun that breaks the dawn in his sky every morning. You’re the silvery moon and sparkling stars that guide him through the night, more ethereal and divine than any depiction of the heavens.

Back when he’d first found you and took you in, a part of him already knew things would turn out like this, could sense it rooted deep into his soul. It just took actually getting to know you, to learn and memorize and be able to recite you by heart, to accept that his intuition and instinct had been right all along.

“I know,” you say, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “And I’d do anything for you, too.”

And he knows, with all the sincerity and adoration you could possibly carry, that you would.

***

(Wow, ok, did not originally intend for this to be this long but I guess I was in the mood to indulge myself extra hard haha.

I absolutely love Itto and hope I did him justice. I tried to make sure his more playful and silly side got put in there since that’s what we see a lot from him in canon, but also wanted to explore this more caring, gentle, and seductive side of him as well.

Anyway, if you made it this far, thank you SO much for reading! I truly hope you enjoyed it. I’ll definitely be writing more for him in the future.

See you next time~)

[pantoneyoongi]

07 || mourning a story

series ; in love with love (with you)  description ; you’re a romantic. jungkook? jungkook is not. 

chapter 07 ; mourning a story  prev || next 

word count ; 2.1k

tags ; i love writing friendships, jisoo knows what’s up, a little shorter this week but jungkook is so cute in this one pls forgive me, pls go to main masterlist for more / general tags 

you will always say that jisoo being a morning person is her fatal flaw. she will happily go on a hike at the crack of dawn, would probably even wake up before dawn just to catch the rising sun. and she loves brunch. 

the food, granted, is a bit of a redeeming factor in all this as you sip your tea, seated across from jisoo. if you didn’t love her so much, you absolutely wouldn’t be here, preferring instead to wallow in yet another lost cause in the romantic partners department. maybe a pint of ice cream to yourself, sans jungkook. there is a distinct difference in hosting a pity party of one vs having the comfort of someone’s shoulder to lean on. 

but you are trying your best not to think of said shoulder, so you digress. it’s embarrassing enough that you called jungkook while drunk off your ass, choosing instead to chalk it up to habit after years of only having jungkook in town to take care of you. which he did. always. 

but anyways. 

“spill it.” 

you look up from your drink, both hands wrapped around the mug. jisoo tilts her head, eyebrows raising. 

it’s a curse that you’re so readable. heart on your sleeve and all that, especially to the people who have known you as long as jisoo has. but you’re not interested in having this conversation, because you’d rather not unearth what you’ve actively been hiding from. 

so you lie straight through your teeth. “i mean, it’s obvious,” you know it’s a lost cause judging by the entirely unamused look jisoo is giving you, but you follow through anyway. may as well commit to the act. “everyone knows i had a crush on yoongi for so long now.” 

a part of you does genuinely feel the loss somewhere in your chest, a mild pang at the thought of it. yoongi is handsome, kind, and ever the gentleman, after all. picture perfect. 

jisoo scoffs. like actually scoffs, disbelief coloring her voice when she says, “that’s bullshit, y/n.” 

you can’t say you’re surprised by the way she calls you on your bluff. jisoo is playful and cheery most times but she has no problems telling it like she sees it - and she sees right through you. 

“be honest with me,” she stretches a hand across the table, fingers tapping against the wood. “did you actually like yoongi? all these years, ‘cause i’ve never seen you actually upset about any of his exes. so did you like him, or just the idea of him?” 

you gnaw on your lower lip. the conversation is veering into dangerous territory. your food isn’t even here yet; the caffeine hasn’t sunk in either. but jisoo would never let you off the hook easy, and that’s why you’re such good friends. 

“y/n,” she leans forward. “are you mourning a crush, or are you mourning a story?” 

.

.

.

jisoo has a point. jisoo always has a point, so you probably should’ve known better than to get brunch with her so soon after yoongi’s announcement. but you weren’t exactly expecting jungkook to tell you that night “he does care about you, y/n. but not like you do. not the way you want him to.”

it’d hit every sore spot you thought you’d healed over.

you know he didn’t mean it to hurt you. jungkook is particularly clumsy with his words when faced with catastrophe (read: emotions); he never quite figured out how to say the right things when you needed them. when it comes to words of comfort, jungkook fumbles every time, his only saving grace being the helpless expression he wears, all his good intentions reflecting in his eyes. 

but still, it did hurt. 

you cave. you tell jisoo what jungkook said that night. she hears the echoes of all your failed relationships when you relay the story, and reaches forward to wrap her hand gently around yours. 

“it’s easier to be in love with an idea, you know?” you murmur. “it hurts less. yoongi’s so easy to pretend to be in love with because i know it’s never gonna happen. it’s - none of it is real. but…” 

when you trail off, your mind drifts for a minute. but jisoo knows exactly which ex you’re thinking of. the one who last left you, the one that had you standing pathetically at jungkook’s door after weeks of locking him outside of yours. 

you’d tried so hard not to need him. to need anyone, all your friends’ calls and messages left ignored during that time. you were too clingy. too childish. expected too much. you couldn’t keep running to them every time someone decided they didn’t love you. 

but it hurt so badly. you held for as long as you could before showing up at jungkook’s door, and he’d welcomed you into his arms so quickly, worry so evident in his eyes, and relief - like he’d really been hoping you’d show up sooner rather than later. 

and for once, he said the right things, even if he thought you were asleep when he said them. 

you’re enough. 

but still, the damage never quite healed over as much as you pretend it has. it’s an insecurity that lingers, hovers in the background and emerges every so often to remind you that people leave you because you want what isn’t real. you want the fairytale. you want too much. 

your head is lowered when you ask, quietly, “do i ask for too much?” 

why can’t anyone ever love me the way i want them to?

jisoo softens at the question. but then her grip tightens on your hand, a silent request for you to look up at her. “hey,” she frowns, shaking her head slightly. “you have every right to be loved the way you want to, y/n. you don’t ask for too much. least of all when you’re the one who has always given twice as much back. if you want the romance, if you want the person who will put the effort in the way you always do - you deserve all of that. and you’ll have it someday,” she quirks her lips. “you know i’ll never let you settle.” 

you huff a laugh out. “the whole squad would pull up with a runway of options like i’m in the bachelorette.” 

jisoo snorts. “worst comes to worst, we’ll just marry you off to seokjin.” 

you grin crookedly. “hobi will kill you.” 

jisoo shrugs. “jungkook’s still an option.”

you deadpan. “over my dead body.” 

.

.

.

you don’t know how, but you wind up back at jungkook’s place after brunch with jisoo is over. even after everything he said to you, even after your drunk escapade that ended with you crying on his shoulder to old movies, even after jisoo’s comfort settling your heart back to its (albeit shaky) place, you still find yourself on jungkook’s doorstep. like always. 

he feels safe. you won’t ever say it out loud but he does. no matter how many stupid things he says when you’re upset, jungkook has always been the safest place for you to rest your heart after its been bruised. 

he opens the door with messy bedhead and squinty eyes, decked out in iron man pajamas that you have to actively swallow down your laughter for. snickers still slip out though, and jungkook flushes. “can i help you?” he tries to scowl, but it’s not very menacing and you can’t contain your laughter much after that. 

he doesn’t bother to wait for a real answer from you, turning heel and leaving the door open for you to follow him in. you shut and lock the door behind you, peals of laughter bouncing around the room. 

“did you buy those yourself or do i have to stop laughing because your mom loves you a lot?” you cackle, trailing after him as he all but runs to his room. 

“shut up,” he throws back, prompting louder laughter because he did buy those himself, adorable little iron man figures patterned across the fabric. he closes the door to his bedroom before you can follow him in, only to reemerge in sweatpants and a plain white tee. 

“you didn’t have to change on account of me, mr stark,” you bat your lashes at him and he sucks a warning breath through his teeth, glaring at you. you bite your lip to muffle your giggles, but he can still see the amusement glittering in your eyes. 

he decides changing the topic is easier than fighting back this time. “coffee?” he offers, as you slide onto a bar stool at his kitchen counter. he’s already grabbing a second cup before you’ve even answered. 

you hum. “juice. i had brunch with jisoo earlier.” 

jungkook tugs open his fridge, passing you the carton as well as the glass. he doesn’t ask why you’re here - he chalks it up to your usual heartbreak habits. you always show up at his apartment to burn through as many sappy shows or movies as you can physically handle in a day. 

true to his assumption, you’re taking your juice and wandering into his living room. his apartment has an open floor plan, so he can see you turning on his tv, throwing ‘always be my maybe’ on. 

“don’t you have netflix at home?” he asks, even though he knows you’ll stay anyway - it’s what he’s counting on. 

“why?” you grin cheekily. jungkook suddenly regrets opening his mouth. “got a planet or something to save, iron man?” 

“you know what-” 

.

.

.

jungkook’s almost dozed off five times now. you’re both leaning up against his couch, jungkook’s legs sprawled out on the floor while you sit cross legged, knee pressed against his thigh. ‘always be my maybe’ is admittedly a very good movie but he’s seen it twice before and that’s plenty enough times for him. 

sasha and marcus have their big kiss scene and not long after the end credits are getting cut off, netflix already recommending the next movie to watch. before you can turn on ‘love hard’, jungkook is turning to look at you, nudging your shoulder and severely misgauging the distance between you and him. 

you turn your head, blinking in surprise by how close he is to you, instinctively leaning back. jungkook’s embarrassed by how fast he decides he hates that you moved away, even if it’s a natural response to being inches apart, so he pretends not to notice and simply asks, “why don’t we play video games instead?” 

you wrinkle your nose. knowing jungkook he only has bloody gory games and you don’t really want to play those. but jungkook already knows what you’re thinking, and he’s clambering off the ground to grab the nintendo switch he has charging on the console table, booting up animal crossing. 

he hasn’t played in awhile. with the switch, you’re only allowed one island, but he figures you’d build a prettier island than him anyway as he passes it to you, hiding his smile at the way your curious eyes land on the game, hands wrapping around the switch. 

‘love hard’ is already playing in the background, but you’re sufficiently distracted, squealing at all the cute villagers and the things you can build and do. jungkook should throw on his other games on the tv while you play on his switch but his heart feels fuzzy and warm in his chest watching you, so he can’t be bothered to do anything else. 

he lets you tug on his sleeve every time you get excited to show him something, or you need his help figuring out how to use the controls. the day passes like this, the two of you huddled together, jungkook not leaving your side even to make the call to the pizza parlor down the street for delivery. 

by the time you leave, it’s dark. jungkook insists on walking you home, the pair of you squabbling about it the whole way back to your place, and even when you get to your apartment you haven’t let up, face doing that thing where your nose scrunches up and your lips are downturned so far it looks like a sideways c. it makes jungkook grin, because in spite of it all you still huffily turn around in your building lobby, grumpily waving goodbye before disappearing around the corner. his heart is buzzing with affection and even though he knows, he knows you like yoongi and you only ever come over like this when you want his comfort or his distraction but he’s the one who got to put a smile on your face today, who made you laugh and your eyes shine; he’s the one who felt the familiar warmth of you pressed to his side, and he’s the one who got to spend the whole day by your side. so like an idiot, his heart feels like it’ll burst with all his excitement in the newfound territory that is having a crush on you. 

(unfortunately, he’s also the one who misses you as soon as you’re gone - but when he gets home, there’s a text from you, and the giddiness comes back tenfold.)

prev || next || series masterlist

taglist ; @ahundredtimesover @nadzzzblog @apollukee @codeinebelle @yoongimentita7 

[allthatisleftinthedark]

Does it ever bother you that you just left without saying anything at all? Do you even care that we waited twenty years to see if you would ever come back? Don't you know how much it hurts that you left and didn't tell us that you were okay? That you're still alive?

Do you think that we don't care about your wellbeing? That we cannot feel your absence, gnawing at our very soul? We miss you, and we just want you to come home, or *speak* to us at all!

Why did you leave me behind?

pretend to be someone my muse knows ! on anon, send a message from someone my muse knows. could be a family member, a lover, a friend, an enemy … or, you could even send a secret message from your own muse ! - accpt @offrozenmemoirs

In the Between, time naught exists, unlike the implied margins. The abstract truth of limitlessness fills the expanse between different worlds, planes, and pockets. Life is not a question in the material world but an experiment in the immaterial space. The question arises: what happens to permanence in places that are constantly changing? And what if there is no place at all?

The domain of abstraction is relentless on the concrete. Many names for this place are shaped by bruised lips. Suspension, limbo, unknown. To her, it's Lacuna—it is a gap and not location, according to her rational reasoning. 

In common tongues, it is known as dreams.  

Yet, for her, sleep does not usher in these sojourns. It is the relinquishment of autonomy, a surrender to the rift, that brings her here repeatedly. Conscious within this unconscious realm, she is deprived of imaginative euphoria, merely a chimeric dream. 

A deep, dark red soaked her sights, mimicking a black night's licks. Everbleeding is her still-open cuts from a barbed lashing. Consciousness clusters at the edge of reality and possibility; to awaken once is miraculous, but perpetual wakefulness is a curse.

In the rifts, she can still hear them. Once more, the nostalgia returns of thorns hooking into flesh, piercing through the sinew, and peeling away to reveal the beauty of life's bodily structure of viscera, muscle, and bone. 

"Does it ever bother you that you left without saying anything at all?" The less said, the better. Enough precious time was wasted on pretty words that cost the safety and sometimes the lives of others. "Do you even care that we waited twenty years to see if you would ever come back?" Twenty years are but specks in the hourglass of time, overshadowed by four decades of fidelity and sacrifice. "Don't you know how much it hurts that you left and didn't tell us that you were okay?" The hurt ebbs with time. Doing what must be done meant there is now the chance to reflect and mourn, to continue and exist without knowing what could've been. "That you're still alive?" Still in servitude is the proper answer. 

"Do you think we don't care about your well-being?" Care and love would never be denied, but things must be done. Is the life of one worth more than the lives of the village? No. "That we cannot feel your absence, gnawing at our very soul?" It heals with time. "We miss you, and we just want you to come home or *speak* to us at all!" The affliction will soon heal. No paths lead home.

"Why did you leave me behind?" Because in leaving, I saved everything I could from being consumed, including the essence of who I am.

Inside, something stirs.

A bright light floods her vision. A sigh breaks the silence, a release from the invisible shackles of solitude.

Gradually, the archivist feels the cold wood beneath her palm, gripping the intricate carvings of the table for balance. The room's gravity anchors her, her knees weakening as she leans forward.

"Blasted--" she murmurs, steadying herself. Her forearms rest on the table for support, causing ripples across its glass-like surface.

Gazing into the scrying pool, she beholds the cosmos' reflection and her own visage – short, purple hair with pink highlights interspersed with incongruous black and white strands. Beside her reflection is the skeletal form with cobalt bones peering into the water.

Once again, she is in her body and in the company the other resides within, beside her -- the commensal, if you will. 

A skeletal finger uncurls, dark eye sockets focusing on her. As its jaw opened, a guttural whisper invaded her thoughts."██████, you're losing your graces."

"Living up to your title of discovering the obvious, are we?" The woman retorts through nearly gritted teeth, the red bags under her eyes betraying her fatigue.

"No matter how often sleep may find you, you are remarkably restless," the skeleton observes, curling its finger back. "My keen deduction suggests it only exacerbates your irritability." 

She runs her fingers under her golden left eye, a frown forming. No words follow, just a brief glance at the skeletal figure.

"Stripped bare to your core like an apple, and all that remains are those cyanided seeds," it muses, pressing its digits together. A loud, satisfying crack echoes through the space.

A lump forms in her throat. "Discoverer, it's louder than ever," she confesses softly.

"And it will fade as quickly as it came," the cobalt cadaver chuckles lowly.

[sortofanobsession]

I’m Begging you to be my Escape - Ch. 10 Epilogue

Author’s Note: Happy Ending Time! Epilogue. Thanks for sticking with me for so long. It might be a bit shorter than I planned, but it just seemed to wrap up so well. Thank you to everyone who commented and kept pushing me to finish this. I needed the encouragement, and I appreciate you all.

Content warning: Fluff, adorable under the cut!

Tag list: diazbuckleysworld, chitownwolf

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8 , Chapter 9

AO3

Chapter 10: So were you (Epilogue)

“Surprise!” Everyone shouts as Buck walks through the doorway. 

The omega lets out a shocked laugh as he takes in the scene he’d just walked into. 

It was his house, but in the few hours he’d been out with Maddie, it was decorated with streamers and balloons.

“What’s all this?” He looks at Eddie. Eddie gestures to Bobby.

“Congratulations, you’re officially an LA Firefighter,” the alpha prime says as he hands him the official documents stating exactly that. 

“They didn’t even tell me yet,” Buck says.

“We figured it would be more fun this way,” Eddie grins.

“You knew?” Buck looks at his alpha in shock. 

“Uh…” Eddie is suddenly very unsure if this was all the best idea. “It was Chim and Maddie’s idea?” It comes out more as a question.

“Did you just try and throw us under the bus to save your skin because you didn’t tell your mate about something?” Chimney asks.

Maddie laughs at the three of them. “You guys are ridiculous. Congratulations, little brother.“ She hugs him before going over to high-five Christopher.

Athena walked over, and on her hip was an adorable little girl with a head full of bouncing brown curls pulled into pigtails. The little girl making grabby hands at Buck. The omega's smile could rival the sun as he beams at her. 

“Da! Da!” the little girl reaches for the omega. Her tiny fists flex as she makes grabby hands at him.

“Not sure if she excited for you or if it’s the sugar-filled punch her brother snuck her while these fellas weren’t looking, but either way, this hyped-up pup is all yours,” Athena smiles as she hands the little girl to the omega. Buck takes his daughter with ease and kisses her temple. “I’m proud of you, Buckaroo,” Athena says as she squeezes his arm. “You’ll be giving those two heart attacks and not following orders like the best of them in no time.” She gestures to Bobby and Eddie. In an instant, Eddie goes from smoothing a few of his daughter’s loose curls back as she clings to his mate to staring at Athena. His inner alpha now gnawing at him. 

“Yeah, I don’t think they’ve thought this one through all the way,” Hen says over her shoulder. Laughing at the concerned look on Eddie’s face. She pats the alpha on the back hard enough he glares at her. “Don’t worry. At least you’ll be the first one to know when he does something dramatic or stupid. Knowing you two, it’ll be stupid.” 

After the party is over and cleaned up, thanks to Bobby and Athena staying to help with the aftermath. Christopher was picking out something for them all to watch as they put their daughter down for the night.

Buck smiles down at her, brushing the now unbound curls from her face.

“She’ll need a haircut soon,” Eddie says as he steps up beside him.

“I know,” the omega laments. “It’s just so cute when she has those little pigtails.”

“Just wait,” the alpha chuckles quietly, “In no time, she’ll be getting into everything, and everything will end up stuck in those adorable pigtails.” 

“My baby girl? Never,” Buck grins. “She’s too perfect.”

The alpha covers his mouth with his hand to not laugh out loud and wake the sleeping sweetheart. “My omega, I love with all my heart, but you know that’s exactly why she’ll find every possible ounce of trouble she can. She looks at the world with those big doe eyes and is just waiting for someone to set her down so she can find every tiny thing we missed babyproofing like it is her job.”

“Well, now I’m starting to think going to work is a bad idea,” the omega mumbles. 

“Too late now,” Eddie grins. He knows that’s not true. If Buck really wanted to stay home, he could. They’d make it work. But he also knows that his mate isn’t one to sit still for very long. He half drags the omega out of the room. “I know it’s hard to do, but you’ll be glad you did. She has to get used to us not being here every moment of every day. I know it feels like you’re leaving a piece of your heart at home because you kind of are, but it gets easier.”

“Does it?” Buck genuinely asks.

“It does because, honestly, there is nothing better than coming home.”

“And you can’t come home unless you leave first,” the omega admits. 

“Exactly,” the alpha grins.

“And you don’t mind being stuck with me 24/7, even on the job?”

“Oh, I’ll be there to make sure that bleeding omega heart of yours doesn’t send you over the edge without a guide rope.” 

“You love my bleeding heart,” the omega states.

“I love every bit of you,” the alpha admits. “Especially that gorgeous ass of yours in those fitted uniform pants. How will I endure?”

“Smart ass,” Buck laughs.

“No, this was about your ass,” Eddie winks.

“You’re an idiot, but I love you.” The omega can’t help but smile.

“Because I’m your idiot,” the alpha points out. “And I love you too.”

[idabbleincrazy]

Stay, Just a Little Bit Longer

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Rating: T

Pairing: Spike & Darla

Word Count: 541

Warnings: some hurt/comfort, dialogue fic, distressed Spike

Summary: Now that Angelus has left them behind again, Spike is desperate to keep what's left of his family together, even if it's just for a little while.

A/N: written for lj comm nekid_spike for the Paired Up challenge with the Spike/Darla square.

Squares Filled: "Please don't leave me" ( @badthingshappenbingo ), "Find me a reason to stay" ( @anyfandomangstbingo ),

China, 1900

"You're leaving us, too, now, aren't you? Just like him!"

"Find me a reason to stay, Spike. You don't need me anymore. You've proven that well enough, defeated a Slayer all by yourself. You're a master vampire now, in your own right. You can take care of Dru perfectly well."

"What if I don't want to? Christ, woman, we've been a family for twenty years now! Twenty years, and you wanna just throw that all away? What, jus' 'cause Angelus couldn't be arsed to stick around? You'll get over it, you did the last time. So will Dru. But not if you leave us, too. She'll go totally 'round the bend. Please, don't leave me…don't leave us. I can protect you better than that bat-faced Sire o' yours -"

"Don't you dare speak of the Master like that, William! You don't know…what he's done for us, for me, after the shame Angelus almost brought upon us all."

"What shame?! Why do you still refuse to talk about what happened with him? Two years, it's been, since the first time he scarpered off on us, in Romania, and I still don't have a ruddy clue as to why! He was supposed to be my Sire, Dru's Sire, an' he just fobbed us off on you…an' now you're doin' the same bloody thing. I won't have it, Darla, not this time! I won't 'ave Dru go through that again; you remember what she was like."

"Spike, I can't."

"You can, and you bloody well will. She nearly died the last time he left us. Wailing and screaming about sparks an' all that soddin' rot all bloody hours of the day. Havin' to stop 'er from walkin' out into the sun twice a fucking week! I won't lose her, but I won't do it alone! I love her, more than anything, but I'll lose my bloody mind if I have to go through that alone. You will stay, Darla, you will not break this family apart more than it already is."

"I'm just so tired, William. Why didn't he love us enough to stay? Why didn't he love me enough?"

"Shh, hush, pet. Angelus loves you, I know he does. I've seen it, seen how he cared for you, even when you were gnawing at each other's throats. I don't know why he left, you won't tell me, an' I won't keep pressin', for now. But look, luv, look at me. If you leave us now, you'll never come back, I know it. 'M not stupid. I know that 'Gelus was the only reason you ever left the Master's side; weren't me an' Dru, that's for certain."

"Spike…"

"No, don't. I'm not mad over that. Just don't leave us. Not now, so soon after we've lost him again. She won't recover this time if you do. I know she won't. 'S bad enough she's lost the one thing I can't ever be for her, if she lost you, too...I'm not strong enough to save 'er from herself on my own. So please, if you ever cared for us, stay, just a little bit longer, at least until Dru can handle it."

"Alright, William. I'll stay, for now."

"Tha's all I'm askin', Darla."

~~~~

All Things Spike: @leatafanfiction @captain-peroxid3

Other: @countblucas (for the sparla)

[xf-grxmviridicn]

the lure of darkness | event i.

dreadful confusion. it was the first thought, the first sensation to come to mind as the darkness with which cerenia now found herself came into being, enveloping her in perpetual shadow. had she taken a wrong path again? despite her knowledge of the boundary’s existence, just along the edge of the wooded area, gradually creeping forth to swallow all she may hold dear, cera had yet to know a place among them to be so abysmally empty. so devoid of life and feeling. it drew the very essence from her bones, dug into the marrow of her soul — a gnawing, almost painful stirring held in her gut.

⸻⸻ “oh, my little flower! haven’t you any thorns?” it screeched. the gaping abyss which was the monster’s mouth hung open, splits of golden light tearing through the shadows. the entity held out its shadowy tendrils, a steady trickle of black sludge falling to the floor.  ⸻⸻

it startles her, the frightful call from depths she cannot yet bear witness — not until the seeping light that marks its gaping maw shows through horrendously, cera’s doe eyes widening in abject horror as quivering lips struggle to spill the words that catch in her throat. she’s petrified to near silence save for the deafening pounding in her chest, her legs giving out the only sense of action her trembling form can manage right then. she wants to run. to hide in the warmth of safety, another’s arms. but there’s no one there to protect her, to shield her from this apparent nightmare. and in the moment she might imagine anyone at all, the sludge from which they’re born seems to warp and twist them enough to where they're no longer recognized. her sister, her father, the creatures she knew to be kind. they become malformed and mutilated, strange. unknown. she doesn’t want this anymore. the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, something like a sob slipping through her lips. much like anything else, it isn’t quite as it should be. she wants to go home. she buries herself in trembling knees, wrapping her arms around them as if they might aid her somehow.

“please .. let me —” her voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. her body felt drained, tired. “ .. let me go home. i want to go home.”

⸻⸻ “deep down, you know that you’ll never free yourself from those woods as long as your mother remains that thing,” it said. “does that thing even recognize you anymore? you can never stray too far, never go off on your own adventures! because in the back of your mind, you know the mortals can round up their pitchforks and torches to slay mommy dearest.”  ⸻⸻

her mother. the word seems to pull her from tears, drag her from despair briefly. whatever this horrid creature wished of her, certainly it wasn’t a spark of hope at the mere mention. she loved her mother, entirely. unconditionally. no matter what became of her, how the woman may hate some part of her, how the woman may curse her. cera’s love would pour through. she would save her. she knew it in her heart. no one would hurt her so long as cera could draw a shred of breath. she couldn’t stand it.

⸻⸻ the noxious ooze bubbling on the floor multiplied in size, mutating into the writhing hydra nora soteira had become. but, each head had the human face of cerenia’s mother. “c...e...r...a?” croaked the monster. the boundary levitated overhead, thrashing in delight above the twisted reunion.  ⸻⸻

the human chimera is repulsive, grotesque down to its very core. cerenia knew, of course she knew .. or believed she did, that this .. thing, wasn’t really the woman who held her, that kissed her goodnight, that showed her the world as she knew it still  .. but it had her voice. and began to hum the very song only she would know, albeit rather distortedly. still, it mimicked her music box completely. how could that be?

“.. mama.” she cries, reluctantly drawing near on stumbling feet, wishing to .. just to be closer, perhaps. “mother! i’m coming, i’m here!” it shifts, falling away from cera, crawling on distorted limbs. “.. mother, please wait. i’m coming, i promise! don’t .. don’t leave —” again. not again. she couldn’t bear it. not again. “m —” just then, as cera might be within reach, another figure draws forth, shooting up from the darkness in a way that has the woodland girl stumbling backwards, landing on her backside in a loss of balance.

staring curiously, the figure doesn’t distort as the others had, holding form enough to actually be known. and cerenia swears, there’s no mistaking him, “eras—” her voice breaks, tears forming again, and the figure shakes its head, a finger to its lips, as if to tell her not to go further. either in speaking or in following towards whatever thing the boundary created. cera finds herself in awe and ever so vaguely annoyed that even her subconscious couldn’t seem to disregard the man, the image of his memory, even as she swears he’s forgotten her entirely.

⸻⸻ “don’t you want to save her?” it laughed. “don’t you want to snip the last thing that tethers you to those wretched woods? or will you really deny your mother salvation, little rabbit? i know that all you’ve ever wanted is to be truly free.”

the boundary approached her again.

“i want … just a piece of you,” it whispered. an outstretched hand reached for where cerenia’s heart should be. “i want it so badly, i swear to grant your wish.” as if stung, the boundary recoiled back. it slowly disintegrated into darkness, leaving her alone in the nightmare where illusions and old memories lurked around every corner.

“won’t you … accept my offer?”  ⸻⸻

she had almost overlooked the beast residing with them still, completely mesmerized by what her mind dared to conjure, until the bizarre creature’s distorted speech ripped through and drew back honey brown hues. its misshapen form and trickling tendrils didn’t seem to alarm her as much anymore, however, a strength found within herself to deal with this figment of nightmare and imagination. even as it thought to approach and nearly touch her, her eyes shutting tightly momentarily and skin crawling at the very attempt.

".. no.” she begins softly, summoning her courage as her uncertainty wavers. “.. no, i won't. i'll find a way, you'll see. i have good people helping me. i won’t need to rely on you.” at this, cera seems to glance towards the shadowy make of her old memory, some semblance of what one could perceive as a smile apparent in their features. as it helps her to her feet and soon dissipates, presumably returning to where it came, cerenia’s focus shifts entirely to the boundary .. or whatever it might be. “now, shoo. go away, you rude, rude thing."

as if on command, the world of darkness distorts and disappears. cera is found on the forest floor, collapsed in a ring of light and curled in, peacefully slumbering and ignorant to the world.

[magravenwrites]

Finding a Fellowship:

Chapter 3: A Lesson in Life

A/N: I'm so sorry for the lack of updates on this fic, but I'm back at it now and hopefully back to a semi-regular schedule of updating.

Find Part 2 here

Thank you as always to @axe-does-writing for beta-reading this for me your amazing! 💕

Chapter Trigger Warnings: Child abandonment, mentions of a deceased parent, angst, mild threat, theft, mild panic attack. Let me know if you think I have missed any!

This is quite an angsty chapter, so sorry in advance but I hope you enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------

A few weeks passed and winter had well and truly set in, the cold biting at anyone who dared venture outside.

Yet the people still braved the freezing weather every day, the market stalls selling what little they could to get everyone through the winter.

There was still no sign of Killiel’s mother.  No word that had reached her ears, nor any sight of her about the town.

Killiel’s panic at her mother’s sudden disappearance turned into a constant state of worry, something that gnawed at her mind at every opportunity.  The thought that her mother wasn’t ever coming back ate away at her.

The questions in her head went from ‘She couldn’t leave me, could she?’ to ‘How could she leave me?’.

A trace of bitterness started to creep over her.  It was something icy that spread through her veins.  She couldn’t describe it.

‘Why the hell would she just up and leave with no word as to where she was going?  Surely if it were to do with being in danger she might have taken me with her or hidden me somewhere or given some warning to be careful!?’

Tauriel’s weapons were still at the house, now locked away in her mothers room so she would not have to see them every time Killiel went for her own.  The constant reminder was too painful.

The only explanation that seemed plausible anymore was that her mother had left to be with her father again.  The only consolation being if she was happy with him again.

‘But I am fourteen, how on Middle Earth am I supposed to just take care of myself with no warning?  She still had more to teach me, about… Everything – life, weapons, money, trading, travelling, about father and where I came from, my family…’

It hurt.  More than anything it hurt.  The pain in her chest grew at the thought her own mother could abandon her.

‘I can’t have meant all that much to her if she could leave so easily – and with no warning.  No goodbye, no note, nothing!  Did she not love me enough?  Did I do something wrong?’

‘Stop it.’  There was the voice again.  It had been her saving grace these past few weeks.  It had stopped her from freaking out completely.  It spoke calmly, firmly, with purpose.  It had thawed the ice spreading in her veins and hardened her resolve so she could keep functioning.  Remain strong.

It did not matter what had happened; she would have to deal with it.

Lock it away in a chest in her mind and shove it as far out of reach as possible, until she had to deal with it again.

Killiel had made a regular thing of trading her game.  Every day she would go to the market and sell two or three items, always keeping something back for herself.  The man on the market stall who had helped her the first time, whose name she learnt was Orthund, welcomed her extra stock.

She had made a bit of money off it now.  It wasn’t much, but it was something.  She had thought to buy some chickens or livestock so she could have fresh eggs to eat and sell too.

The added bonus was Orthund had never asked for her name.  As long as she kept supplying him with things to sell, she hoped he never would.  She wasn’t sure if she should give her real name, it didn’t sound very human, but she didn’t know what other name she could give.

On her way back from the market one afternoon, while she was thinking about the pile of logs she would have to chop for firewood later, a man stepped out in front of her in the street.

She stuttered to a halt, watching him.  He was tall but skinny.  He looked like he could use a good meal or two.  He was eyeing the money pouch she had in her hand.

“Where are you off to girl?” he asked gruffly.

She stood taller, squaring her shoulders to make herself seem less afraid than she actually was, trying to keep the fear from showing on her face.

“I was going for a walk before heading home, my parents will be expecting me home soon” she lied.  It tasted bitter in her mouth.  She had no one at home waiting for her.  No one to look out for her.

‘Don’t think about it, don’t let him know.’

She would have to choose her words carefully if she were to get away with no trouble.  It was better for the man to think she had people waiting for her.  It was also wise to not let the man know where her house was, not knowing if he would follow her and rob the place.  Hungry bellies led to desperate acts.

“Who are your parents?  I don’t recall seeing you here before, and I haven’t heard of any new families moving into the area.”  He took a step toward her.

Killiel took a step back.

“You wouldn’t know them, but we have been here a while, we like to keep to ourselves.”  It wasn’t an outright lie.  If only her mother had taken her to the market more often, at least people would have seen her.  It would have been better than her turning up out of nowhere.  Made her less of a target.

Killiel had quickly come to realise that her mother probably hadn’t told anyone she existed.  No one she had met knew where she had appeared from.  She didn’t know why her mother hadn’t told anyone; was it so bad for an elf to have a child with a deceased father?  It couldn’t be that outlandish.  Still, Killiel kept the secret of who she was.  Her mother must have had good reason to have not told anyone.  Though her mother hadn’t told her everything, there were things she had kept from her, what else had she hidden?

Her heart started to pound in her ears as the man took another step closer, menacingly.  His eyes darting back down to the pouch in her hands.

“Where did you get all that money from?  Steal it from your parents?”

“No!” she defended.

“It’s just a few coins – it's our earnings from the market that’s all, we use it to buy our food.”  Her voice raised an octave in her distress.

She regretted leaving her bow at home, but she thought a fourteen year old walking around with a weapon would look odd to the village.  If only she had something to defend herself with.  It was getting harder and harder to keep the panic from her voice, everything in her screaming at her to run.

If she could make it back to the market, if she could get to Orthund, he would help.  She just had to time it right.

“Why don’t you hand over the money, eh?  You look well fed, it’s not like you’ll be needing all of it, I’m sure your parents won’t even realise there’s a few coins missing.”

He reached his hand out to her, waiting for her to hand them over.

Her hand tightened around the bag, her palms sweating.

‘Run!’

It was all that was going through her head.

‘Run!  Run and don’t look back!’

So she did.  With no warning she turned on her heel and sprinted back towards the market, hearing his pounding steps behind her as he tried to catch up to her.

She dodged through the people, a benefit of being younger and smaller than the thief.

She was panting now, her eyes blown wide and her grip on the pouch so tight her knuckles turned white.

‘Find Orthund!  Find Orthund!’

Killiel glanced behind her to see if she could catch sight of the man that was still following her.

She suddenly felt her body slam into something solid.  Or someone.  A hand gripped her arm tightly to prevent her from falling backwards.  Her head shot up to look at the person.

Orthund.

His brows furrowed in confusion as he took her in.

“Whatever is the matter, child?”

She was still panting too hard to reply.  Though the question was answered for her when the man that was chasing her approached them.  Her body tensed and she unconsciously stepped closer to Orthund.

Orthund seemed to catch on quickly, looking between the two of them. 

“Can I help you sir?”  Orthund asked.

“My quarrel is not with you, hand over the girl and I shall be on my way.”  the brute snarled back.

“Why, what is it you want her for?”  His hand moved protectively to Killiel’s shoulder, keeping her in place.

“She has stolen money from me.  I would like it back.  Now hand her over!”  His voice raised in frustration.

Killiel’s mouth dropped open in shock.  How dare he!?

“I have not!  It’s my money that I collected not ten minutes ago.”  She defended.  Her confidence back now she was not alone.  She wanted to kick him.

Orthund’s hand gripped her shoulder tighter, as if he could read her mind and prevent her from doing something stupid. 

“Why you lying, thieving little – ”

“– That’s quite enough” Orthund cut him off.

The man glared at him.

“The child’s money is her own.  I know this because I was the one to give it to her.  Now I suggest you leave us in peace before we do something we both regret.”  He continued.

Killiel couldn’t help but smirk as the man skulked away.

Orthund’s hand released its death grip on her shoulder as he turned to face her.

“Are you alright?  He did not harm you?”

She shook her head in response.

“Thank you” she tells him earnestly.

“It’s no trouble.  There is no honour in thieving.  And it’s plain wrong to threaten children.  If you’re ever bothered again, you are to come find me do you understand?”

She nodded once more.  Reassured she had at least one person looking out for her.

“Good, now be off with you before he decides to come back looking for you.”  He smiled ruefully.

Killiel gave a grin, scurrying off home.

----Time Skip----

Preparing dinner that night, Killiel tried to stop her hands from shaking.

It had been a few hours since the would-be thief had chased her through the market.  As soon as she had got home, the empty home, everything came crashing over her and she had burst into tears.  Sobs wracked her body.  It had affected her more than she thought it would, given nothing had actually happened.  But it had still shaken her.

She just wanted her mother back.

The tears had long since stopped falling, but she couldn’t stop her blasted hands from shaking.

When she tried and failed to chop the carrot yet again, she flung the knife onto the table surface with a scream.

Her arms braced against the table as she took a breath.  She would not cry again.

‘Calm down.  You’re safe now.’

It felt like someone had draped a blanket over her shoulders.  She had no idea where that second voice came from.  It always seemed to appear when she most had need of it.  It calmed her.  Maybe she was going insane, hearing voices.  But at this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Killiel realised that being on her own meant she would have to learn to defend herself properly.

She couldn’t go running to Orthund every time she ran into trouble.  What if she couldn’t find him?  What if someone came to the house?  What if she was too far away?

No – she would have to learn to stand up for herself.

She could shoot with a bow, that was no issue.  But she couldn’t carry a bow around with her everywhere, and it wasn’t great for close combat.  She had a little experience with knives, and a sword, but it was limited.  Her mother had only just begun to train her with them, claiming blades were too dangerous for children.

She would need a teacher.  Her own weapons too.  There was no way she was using her mother’s.  She couldn’t even look at them; hadn’t looked at them since they had been locked away.  Out of sight, out of mind.

There were rumours about the local blacksmith.  That he was an ex-soldier, a weapons master.  Maybe he could teach her.  If the rumours were true at least.

Tapping her fingers on the table in thought, she resolved to find him tomorrow morning, to ask if he could train her.

---------------------------------------------------

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@axe-does-writing @solinarimoon @meow-cinders

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S PRICE - CHAPTER 56

*Warning: Adult Content*  

If you can call six bags packed with drive-through breakfast foods a 'feast,' then Julian Hart comes, as Shanti says, bearing one. 

He also comes with a warm, dry change of clothes for Noah Hunter, including a fuzzy pink sweater with a picture of a llama on the front. 

It isn't his judging by the size and color, Noah would say it's Chloe Foley's but he doesn't care, it feels like he’s being snuggled by a cloud. 

He might have to ask Chloe where she got it. 

They sit on the floor in the only clear space in the shop, a small area in front of the old desk with the antique cash box and indulge in a variety of exceptionally unhealthy food while filling Julian in on what he's missed. 

Shanti alone eats nothing, eyeing the array with mild distaste. 

Usually, Noah would avoid such epicurean horrors himself but at the moment he can't imagine anything more delicious than the greasy breakfast sandwiches, fluffy ‘if flavorless’ hotcakes and crispy hash brown squares Noah is stuffing in his face. 

At the same time, as Noah’s Wolf's metabolism and the hot food, warm clothes,and comforting atmosphere combine to speed him towards a swift recovery, his guilt grows teeth and begins to gnaw at him. 

Noah ran. 

He ran and he left his Mate behind. 

And he can't help thinking that, faced with a similar situation, Dane or Freya would not have done the same. 

But he’s not Dane or Freya, Noah reminds himself and he did run and now there's nothing to do but get himself well, listen to Shanti's tale and hope that by the end of it there's still a chance to save his Mate from the danger he left him in.

"Spare yourself such unkind thoughts, my friend," Shanti says, reaching over to touch my hand as she seems to read my mind. "Courage is not the only virtue. Perhaps it would have been courageous to stand and fight, but it was wise to flee. You are no match for a rakshasa and it would have been cruel to force the one who loves you to watch you meet so violent an end, even if it was an end met in loyalty to love. You have chosen instead a way of compassion, for yourself and for those who love you, for it is clear that the Dragon is not the only one who does."

She looks between Dane, Julian and Freya  and they each nod in turn, two pairs of amber eyes and one of amethyst but all equally bright.

"Mom and dad, too, Noah, not to mention Travis and Martin," Dane says, naming the other two-thirds of my triplet set. "And poor Monty," he adds. "He'd cry for the rest of his life if something happened to you."

"There are eight of us, Dane," Noah reminds him. "Statistically, one of us is gonna die, eventually."

"Yeah, well, we're all gonna die, eventually, but I'll be damned if it happens on my watch," he growls, "and doubly damned if it's you."

Julian leans to rest his hand on Dane's knee. 

Something passes between them, quick as a spark and Dane relaxes.

"Anyway," he turns his attention back to Shanti, "you were gonna explain some shit, right?"

As far as Noah knows, Dane had an exemplary record as an officer and then as a homicide detective but from what I've witnessed of his interview skills so far, he’s beginning to wonder if he didn't just rely on scaring the more impressionable suspects into confessing their guilt.

"Indeed." Shanti offers him a serene smile before turning her attention once more to me. "Let me begin with an apology. I am sorry, Noah, for I must confess that I am partly to blame for the fact that you are here at all. You remember when we met, when you first chanced upon this place, that I said I had cast a small spell of attraction to draw the right sort of person here?"

Noah nods.

"Well, it was a very specific spell, in fact. It was a spell to attract you and only you, although I did not know it at the time. It was a spell to attract a Dragon's heart."

Noah swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat.

"Why?"

"To understand that," she says, "we must begin further in the past."

Resting against the side of the tall desk at her back, Shanti crosses her legs and pulls her long hair forward over her shoulder, beginning to weave it into an intricate braid as she speaks.

"What I am about to tell you is a tale I have pieced together over the years, from the recollections of others and from my own memories and it begins some years before I was born. In the last decade of the 19th century, two men set out on a quest for the ultimate prize, the magician's equivalent of the 'philosopher's stone' something that would impart the dual gifts of immortality and a heart's desire. Rowan Oakfield and Aengus Thorne devoted their lives to this goal and by extension the lives of all those whose destinies tangled with their own. Even so, despite their dedication, talent and the wealth of learning they each accumulated, it seemed their efforts would be in vain, for the prize remained as elusive as smoke in their grasp. Their hopes of finding it began to fade and as the pair entered middle age, they had all but given up and resolved themselves to more attainable pursuits. 

Then, one day, when the air was so thick with fog that one could hardly see one's own feet in it, Aengus Thorne chanced upon a strange little shop down a dirty side-street in London, the sort of place inhabited by 'foreigners' and those for whom Aengus would have had worse names and into which he would, under usual circumstances, never have ventured. On this day, though, to escape the fog a while, he went in. The shop was crammed with curios and old, outlandish tomes in strange scripts. Intrigued, Aengus began to browse this odd collection and so happened, by chance, it seemed, upon exactly what he had been looking for, a book that spoke of dragons, the elemental serpents of water, fire, earth and air and of how to summon and speak with them and to bargain for their favor. The man who owned the shop wondered at the wisdom of releasing this knowledge but such was his custom, he did not take it on himself to decide if knowledge was 'good' or 'bad,' or to judge the intentions of those who came seeking it. He only provided it when it met a seeker's need. 

So, Mr. Thorne was allowed to depart that day, book in hand and the strange little shop vanished with the fog. Aengus, at least, was never able to find it again, though he searched every corner of London many times. It took some year, but at last Rowan Oakfield and Aengus Thorne were ready to make their attempt. Aengus' wife had borne him a son, whom he adored and a daughter, whom he did not. The daughter, though, was what he had been waiting for,  the final ingredient in his great spell. That little girl, as you have deduced, was me. My mother was Rosie Macleod, after whom your Ambrose was named. She wanted to call me 'Katyayani' which was her own mother's name but 'Katherine' is the nearest she was allowed. Disliking this, she called me 'Kitty' instead. I remember little of that time, save a vague impression that my mother was gentle and kind, that she loved me and that did not deserve the cruel fate forced upon her by a man she had not married by choice."

Shanti's voice has so far remained even and calm, light and serene as bells sounded by a breeze but now it takes on a harder edge. 

Her face is set, her expression unreadable and she sits still as stone, only her lips moving as she speaks.

"And so, having everything they needed, seven fellow supplicants, a medium, and a sacrifice, Aengus and Rowan made their attempt. Over the waters of a sacred lotus pond, built for that purpose, Aengus summoned a great serpent and the Naga king came or, more accurately, he spoke through his native element to my mother, whose mind was receptive to such things. Then, of course, Aengus made his mistake and attempted to exchange the life of his child for the extension of his own."

Shanti pauses and pulls down the front of her green silks a little, revealing a scar above her left breast.

"This is where he struck me, aiming for my heart. By fortunate chance, he missed, though I was gravely wounded, nonetheless."

Rearranging her garments, she continues.

"Thinking me slain, my mother went mad with grief. In her rage and despair, she set herself alight, attempting to extinguish her pain and to destroy her tormentors in furious flame. The water lord, too, was righteously enraged, doubly so, for it was from his own store of knowledge, in the form of a strange and humble little shop, that Aengus had discovered the very spell by which he was now bound. With my mother's destruction, though, Nagaraja was freed of the ritual's constraints. He might have departed, then, instead, as my blood spilled into the sacred pond through which he gazed, he saw that I yet lived and was moved to pity, for without aid, the minutes of my life might be counted on one hand. 

Struck with guilt and a sense of responsibility for having supplied Aengus with the means and inspiration, however misinterpreted, of causing such harm, he resolved to help me, if he could. All water is one water, to the Nāgas and so, possessed of his full freedom and power, Nagaraja manifested himself in the lotus pond there, amidst the roaring flames. Taking me in his arms, he then retreated to his native realm once more, to heal and raise me as his own. He nursed me himself, male Nāgas being able to produce milk, if needed and by such sustenance I was endowed with and acquired all the traits of his nature. By the time I could speak, I was as much a nagi as if I had been born of one.

"So," she concludes, "I lived, and was raised in the jewel-like lotus lakes of the Naga realm, never dreaming I was not the same as the brothers and sisters with whom I played."

"Nagaraja never told you where you really came from?" Julian asks.

Julian has been leaning against Dane, half in his arms and seeming half asleep as Dane strokes his hair with one hand. 

The sight has been causing Noah pangs of irrational jealousy and longing, as he remembers that he might be asleep in his own mate's arms right now, if he just hadn't been so damned curious. 

Then again, Aengus might have been watching them from within the walls the whole time, waiting for his chosen moment to strike. 

The thought makes Noah shiver even as Shanti answers.

"He told me enough but human or nagi, I was a child and did not understand. It was not until years later, after Aengus disappeared, that Nagaraja revealed the full truth."

She pauses a moment, taking a breath and half-shutting her eyes.

"After the tragedy of my mother's death," she goes on, "Nagaraja imagined that Aengus had learned his lesson and that the harm was done, so when he learned that, in his hubris, Aengus had not only attempted the ritual a second time, successfully but had bargained with a Lord of Fire, Nagaraja took it on himself to watch over him and those of his circle, to ensure that the knowledge he had provided was not further misused. When Aengus disappeared, however, Nagaraja grew concerned. It was then that he told me of my history and determined that care of this place..." she gestures at the shop around her, "as well as responsibility for the knowledge it contains, should pass to me."

"Seems kinda cruel," Freya comments, "to put that on you."

"Nagaraja's remorse is deep," Shanti replies evenly, "and I owe him not only my life, but a life that he filled with love, kindness, and delight. When he asked me to take on this duty, I was honored to accept, for it was no longer a task he felt himself fit to carry out. Like all such elemental beings, my father can only cross the thresholds between realms at certain times, for certain purposes, or when summoned by powerful magics. Because of this, there were long stretches of time in which he was absent from this world, and it was during one of these that Aengus vanished. I, on the other hand," she adds, turning her dark eyes on me, "being partly human, may pass between realms as often as I like, and remain in either for as long as I choose."

Noah rubs his hands over his face and sighs. 

Despite feeling much better for the hot food and warm clothes, nothing can change the fact that he still smelt like fishy lake water, that he hasn't slept in twenty-four hours or that during those twenty-four hours he had almost died... twice. 

He’s exhausted and worried and what he wants more than anything is to see Ambrose and know that he's okay.

"So...once again," Noah asks wearily, "what does all of that have to do with what's happening now? How are you involved with the thefts and why did you need Ambrose to find his 'heart?'"

Folding her hands in her lap, Shanti regards Noah with a slight frown.

"You must understand that there are limits to what I can do to interfere in the affairs of this world," she says. "Noninterference is a central tenet of the Naga race, and I could face dire consequences for breaking it. That is, in part, why I banished you from this place for a time, and sought my father's advice: I needed his permission to act as I have now, and to reveal all this to you."

"The cat's paw stamps," Noah says. "That was you?"

Shanti nods.

"When I learned of Rowan's death, and then the thefts began, I sought ways to warn the others of their imminent danger without revealing myself or taking direct action. I have a small gift of foresight, imparted, strangely enough, from my mother's side and so I was able to predict when and where each relic would be taken. I thought the cat's paw—the reminder of my name and of that first failure, would serve as a warning,but it did little good. None of them were willing or able to do what was needed to prevent the theft of their precious gifts. At last, at Thaddeus' party, I risked a more direct approach, attending myself but I was too late. Thaddeus was already poisoned and dying when I came upon him. I did my best but I could not save him. Most fortunately, your Fae brother," she nods at Julian, "escaped a similar fate, thanks to Ambrose Thorne."

"Ambrose..." 

Noah thinks back to that night and to what and how much, he might have known. 

"Did he burn Thaddeus?" he asks.

To Noah’s dismay, Shanti nods.

"Aengus Thorne was blessed with two Dragons'-children, Ambrose and I and yet he can call neither his own. Through his actions, I am Nagaraja's daughter, while Ambrose has always been Ainach's alone."

She pauses a moment, playing with the end of her now complexly woven braid.

"I did not know until quite recently, until the night that Brutus met his end, that it was Aengus who was behind it all, as he had always been. As for Ainach's involvement and why I sought to draw his fated heart to me... perhaps he himself can tell you."

"Ainach? What do you.. ?" Noah glances up sharply but at almost the same moment the door of the shop swings open.

As one, they turn and framed in the doorway, Noah sees something that makes his heart take flight even as it freezes with fear. 

Ambrose stands there, his clothes torn and his long hair wild, three long gashes marring the right side of his face and blood staining his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves. 

His eyes meet Noah’s and light with sparks like coals that are blown upon,and the young man’s breath catches in his throat. 

For a moment, a heartbeat, the time it takes a piece of ash to be torn apart on the air, Noah hesitates, not sure whether to be hopeful or afraid. 

Making his choice, he rises and speaks Ambrose’s name and reaches for him and with a sigh of relief, his Dragon-born mate stumbles forward and falls into his arms.

[lore369]

Yarrow Oneshots: One

So, I might've forgotten about Tumblr - oops. I figured I might post some of the writing I've been doing. Enjoy the suffering of one of my newer OC's/DnD Characters - Yarrow. TW: Cults, Sacrifice, Implied Death, Guilt, Violence, Manipulative Relationships [Let me know if the warnings need to change :))

Yarrow had fucked up. Big time. How did she know this? Well, it might have been the cold iron cuffs that dug into her skin or the fact that she lies naked on an altar. Chained would be the better word - she’s not exactly there willingly. At least she’s alone, for now. Not that it helps much, as all she can do is struggle uselessly against the chains as she quietly drowns in her thoughts, adamantly ignoring the panic and dread that rises with each passing second. In retrospect, Yarrow realises with a certainty that almost hurts; she should have seen all this coming. There was never any chance of escape. That prospect died the moment this Godsforsaken cult had her held down and marked with their deity’s symbol. Once, she had seen the twisted, jagged, but somehow ornate antlers tattooed onto her back with pride. Maybe even love. But now? Now, they burned, and all she could feel was this twisting sense of revulsion gnawing away at her. She had no one but herself to blame for this. She should have seen the signs that her ‘lover’ - Mara Varithyn - was more than she said she was. 

Mara. Oh, Mara. It’s a shame, Yarrow thinks, that she won’t be able to watch the light fade from her eyes. She’d like that a lot. Mara was the one who led her here, after all. Mara was the one she trusted. Mara was the one who listened and believed her when she came knocking that one night. When Yarrow had no one else, she could go to for help. When she admitted that she’d gotten tangled up in a cult and she didn’t know what to do. Mara’s whispered words of comfort felt more akin to poison now. Even as she lies on the altar, a small part of her hopes that Mara will come and save her.  A laugh, one full of bitterness and hate, bubbled up inside her, bursting out of her lips before she could stop it. It echoed throughout the chamber, yet Yarrow found that she didn’t care. She was such a lovesick fool. How Mara put up with her, she’d never know.

An ice-cold hand caressing her cheek had Yarrow snapping back into reality. She’d recognise that touch anywhere, even if it wasn’t usually this cold. Mara.

Fuck.

“Hello, love-”

“- Don’t call me that.” Yarrow cuts her off before she can even begin, too angry to think about the consequences of interrupting her. Mara merely sighs in disappointment, which somehow is enough to shut her up. Yarrow despises that even after everything, she still craves Mara's approval and love. 

It must be written across her face as Mara smiles, her hand running through Yarrow's hair in what feels distinctly like a mockery of how she'd use to do it in those quiet moments of peace they'd steal away together. Then it would comfort her; now, it just makes her sick.

"This is quite the predicament you're in, isn't it, love?" Mara murmurs, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, and she shudders. Yarrow wants to turn her head and rip her tongue out of her mouth. She wants to scream and curse her in every way she knows how. Yarrow does none of these things. She instead lies there, staring at the ornately carved stone ceiling. She instantly decides that whoever designed it did not intend this place to be housed by a cult. Who carves flowers onto the ceiling where people get sacrificed? 

Unfortunately, she doesn't get to think of an answer to that as painfully cold lips meet hers. For a terrifying moment, all the air leaves her lungs. Black spots dance in her vision, and Mara's too-perfect features blur and mix. For that moment, instead of the raven-haired and green-eyed elf, it's someone else. Someone much worse. Yarrow's blood runs cold at the madness blazing in Her eyes. She'd scream if she could. A whisper floats to the forefront of her mind, it's deceptively gentle, and something in Yarrow's gut twists into a thousand knots. "Soon, little doe, soon."

The kiss finally ends, and Yarrow gasps down desperate gulps of air. She's trying to ignore how badly she's trembling and the dampness that wets her cheeks. The relief she feels when it's Mara - not Her - who wipes the tears away feels like poison in her veins.

"I know, I know you're scared, love. Don't be. It's going to be over before you know it," Yarrow wishes she could believe Mara, but deep down, she knows that's a lie. It's not going to be quick. "you won't feel a thing, I promise."

When Mara pulls away, Yarrow catches and stifles a whine. She will not show weakness like that. Not now. Not as various other cult members start to fill the room. Their eyes burn into Yarrow's skin as they watch her. She'll claw their eyes out, too. That would feel just as cathartic as ripping out Mara's poisonous tongue. 

Yarrow tunes whatever else is said next out. Candles are lit, prayers are murmured, and Yarrow dozes throughout. At least that way, she avoids the steadily mounting panic that squeezes her like a vice. A gentle hand on her shoulder has her stirring awake, and Yarrow swallows back the tears and anger. She's not going to have much of a use for them in a bit. So what's the point?

"Close your eyes, love," Mara murmurs, and for once during this ordeal, Yarrow doesn't mind the gentleness. It might make what comes next a little easier to handle. 

It doesn't.

[volchizta]

she finally got her tags up folks

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.  

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.  

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”  

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

[emperor-palpaminty]

Hello Minty! Congrats again on the 900 followers!!! 🥳🎉

I hu- I intended to ask for my beloved Fives, and then I thought about Din too and I can't choose 😭 So I trust you with this, pick whoever inspires you the most!

For the prompts, may I ask for 96.Your voice is so relaxing (love prompts) / if you called just to get off on my voice, i'm hanging up. (NSFW prompts), and for the genre, smut + softies would be nice 🤧

Thank you, ily! 💚

- @hellothere-generalangsty

AAAH THANK YOUUUU I'm v happy that people think enough of me to follow my rambles!! Have some Din ;) I could welcome some sexy sexy Mando voice.

You paced the hull, listening to the footsteps echo in the small room. Metal did not often absorb sounds, you found, and your anxiety echoed like your steps, silvery tinkers of slight panic.

You had not heard from him all day. Usually he took time to say least shoot you a quick call via comm. Maybe you missed it...? No, that wasn't possible. You had the comm in your iron grip, speaker exposed, and there was no blinking of missed notifications. Your fingers had re-polished the entire gunnery so many times that the weapons were essentially sparkling. The kid was antsy too, as if he knew something was wrong.

You squatted down to the little green child, pulling some of your ration bar from it's package. "Here, little guy." You smiled at him, watching him plunk down and gnaw, his six fingers grasping to it for life. You began to sink down as well. Your knees bent and you sat, heels resting on your hanches, bouncing slightly as the child ate with ruthless vigor. "You ate like... Twenty minutes ago."

He hissed.

You raised your hands and stood, sighing in surrender. "Mando will be back soon, kid." You turned and climbed up the ladder to the cockpit, simply to re-check all of the controls and status of the ship. Mando had put the Razor Crest through hell and back, you had no idea why he didn't get a new ship. You rapped on he metal inner hull, fighting the urge to hum and fill the space.

Mando was always so quiet. The ship was deathly quiet even with him in it, but it was still complete, or felt complete. Without him though, the silence was deafening. 

It was sliced through with a steady high thrumming- the comm.

You raced for the ladder and scrambled up the rungs. Yours hands scrambled blindly and you found the comm, answering. “Mando?”

“Hey.” His voice was dark, raspy. “I’m fine. Following the bounty.”

“Where are they?” You sat down in the pilot’s chair (this was something you could only do now, as Mando was defensive of his seat). “You’re staying quiet, right?”

An airy huff that you recognized as a laugh escaped him. The noise was shockingly sweet to you. “Yes. I’m staying safe. Following at a distance.”

“Mm.” You sunk back into the chair. It creaked under you. “You need a new ship. This one sucks.”

“Hey, that’s not what I need to hear. Talk about good things.” He sighed quietly. You could imagine him in the dark, lurking and waiting for his bounty, listening to the comm. 

“Huh. You like my voice?”

“You could say that. It does a lot of good stuff for me.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it wouldn't shock you if he heard it. "Good things, huh?" It clicked in your head and you sat up. "You're flirting."

"Only because I can't wait to get back to you."

You stiffened some in the seat. Mando had been gone for several days- he was on the down low, no fights yet, and had a bunch of pent up energy. "So... You want me to talk sexy?"

A hum escaped the comm in your hands. "Yes."

"You want me to tell you all the things I wanna do with you? To you?" Your voice dropped into a salacious purr that you didn't know it could get down to. That hand that rubbed him the wrong way in the most perfect of ways.

There was silence, followed by an agitated huff. "Yes. But I can't do anything here. Gotta wait-"

"Oh, it'll have to hold off, then."

"No, I can-"

"Mmm gotta hold off! Sorry! Save it for when you get back! Bye!" You hung up, grinning, laughing as you set the comm down. You hurried to the ladder again and climbed down, hearing the kid skittering somewhere in the ship.

Your holopad beeped from the little chair it was resting on. You glanced back for the child and then hurried over, picking it up to glance at the notification. From Mando. You smiled, setting the holopad down, the words still reflecting behind you as you went to chase the child.

"This isn't over yet."

You were betting that was a promise.

[sugamamacustard]

Let me help you

Pairing:  Alpha! Toru Oikawa x Omega! Reader, Alpha! Hajime Iwaizumi x Omega! Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, Hurt/comfort.

Request: Because I like a bit of hurt/comfort, and I love the idea of an omega depression, I'm curious on how alpha third years on Aoba Johsai (so like Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Mattsun) would do in response to their omega being in an omega depression.

Summary: Because of unseen circumstances, you drop, and you drop hard. How does your alpha help you/redeem himself?

Author’s Note:  Oikawa’s got really long, so I didn’t include Mattsun or Makki. If you wanna request a part 2 I’ll get on it right away!

Requests: Open!

Toru Oikawa

➵ Truth be told, it was kind of his fault. 

➵Right after you both bonded, he immediately seemed to drop any redeeming qualities he had while courting you.

➵He skipped out on dates, stayed later and later at practice, gave the mile to his fangirls.

➵And while you could get over that, the worse thing you realized was when you went to cheer him on at one of his games. 

➵His bond mark was covered with a scent gland bandage and when Iwaizumi noticed it (He knew of your bonding), he sent a worried glance your way.

➵He could practically see the heartbreak from his place on the court. 

➵What was worse was that you didn’t make a scene. 

➵You stood, turned and left. That was it. 

➵ Oikawa was busy doing his pre-game whatever to notice, making the situation even worse.  

➵Iwaizumi wanted to follow you but the whistle of the ref called him back. 

➵ You didn’t want Iwaizumi to follow you anyway. 

➵You felt numb. So, so numb. 

➵Like anything you previously felt-- any longing, or wishing for your alpha-- reduced to a numb buzz that kept your body moving. 

➵You felt like you were on Autopilot. 

➵Toru made it fairly obvious that he wanted your bond mark on display, so why weren’t the same standards held to him? It wasn’t against the rules of volleyball-- several alphas had theirs out on proud display with their omega cheering in the stands. 

➵Was it you?

➵God, you felt so empty. Like your will to live was dripping away. 

➵You felt your omega lay down, whining as they tried to figure out what was wrong. Where did you go wrong? 

➵You barely felt the soft fleece of your blankets as you settled into your nest for who knows how long. 

___

 Toru was lost. You were in the stands during warm-up last game, but was gone by half-time. Okay, fine. Maybe you had to pee. But then you didn’t show up at all after that.  While at the time it took a back burner-- because we all know how Oikawa plays-- it was now front and center. His alpha was on edge and snapped on him twice already, sending sharp throbs of pain to his temples. It had been three days since Toru had seen you, his mate, so Toru could tell that was a big reason for his frustration. But Toru didn’t know why you had been gone for three days. 

If you were sick, why didn’t you text him? Were you injured? Toru didn’t know.  His neck burnt with anticipation at the thought of you in any peril. 

Where were you?

 Shoving his way past a few fangirls, Toru made his way into the gym, racking his brain for any sort of hint. Vacation maybe and you just forgot to tell him?

 “Iwa-chan! I need your-” Toru paused, huffing when Iwaizumi roughly shoved past him. His alpha was on guard immediately, making Toru growl loudly.   “What’s you issue, Iwa? Blue-balled or something?” 

The laugh that left Iwaizumi made even him, the head alpha, shiver. “My issue? What’s yours?! You absolutely destroyed your relationship last game and ask me for help?! What the hell is wrong with you, Oikawa?!”  

Oikawa swallowed. There was no nickname. No sense of friendship in his words. They were straight malice, laced with acidic venom meant to hurt him. 

When Oikawa didn’t immediately answer, Iwaizumi continued. “You make them wear their bond mark for all the world to see, but cover yours up? What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?! How in the hell you got someone like them to glance your way for more than a second is beyond me, let alone bond you; but when you do, you fucking destroy them. You’re a failure of an alpha, Toru Oikawa.” 

Truth be told, Oikawa thought that him covering up his bond mark would save you from trouble. The less people who knew about him being mated the less people to harass you. But he was your alpha. He was supposed to make sure that didn’t happen anyway.  Fuck, Iwa was right. He was a failure. This became evident as more and more things came hurdling back at him.  He didn’t even grab his duffel before he was, quite literally, sprinting out of the gym. He didn’t care who he pushed over. He didn’t care who he snapped at. He didn’t care. He only care about one person and one person alone. 

___

You whined as hunger continued gnawing at your gut. You wanted to eat, really, but you just didn’t have the energy. You didn’t have the will. 

You still felt so numb and didn’t know where to go from here. At this point, it was clear you were in the midst of an Omega Depression, and to be fair-- that scared you. You wanted to spend the evening in your nest, restart and reboot, before talking to your alpha about it the next day. You truly didn’t mean to drop. 

But here you were. The aspect of ...starvation scared you. The aspect of no closure for yourself scared you. Death scared you. But you couldn’t fight yourself to fix it. Couldn’t bring yourself to even lift your head or stay awake for more than an hour. 

The door to your room slammed open, but you didn’t look up. It was probably your guardian coming in to try and get you to eat again. But you wouldn’t. 

Your heart dropped when the smell of burnt plastic invaded your sense. 

“No- no, no, no, no no- Please god no-” Oikawa felt his heart shatter at the sight of you. You looked like you had both feet dangling in the grave, hanging on by a loose root you grabbed onto in a last ditch effort. 

He continued repeating no while running his hands through his hair, already crying before he even set foot in your room.  When he did dare step closer, that was all it took before he was running to you, pulling you in close despite your whines of protest.  His grip on you was bruising, but he couldn’t risk letting you slip. Not again. 

“Please- please don’t leave me.” He sobbed into your shoulder, your own eyes stinging (Dehydration keeping tears from falling).  “I- I can fix this- I can fix us. Fuck- Please Y/N. Please omega, let me help you. Let me make this right!”

Though you didn’t say anything, the grip on his jacket told him all he needed to know. And though it would be a long road to recovery, you and him would conquer it. 

➵ Completely contrary to Oikawa, your drop wasn’t anyone’s fault.

➵Maybe the school systems, if there was blame to be put. 

➵So much had gone on in such a short period. 

➵You and your alpha, along with his team, had been bombarded with practice and paperwork in preparation for the upcoming tournament. 

➵But just because volleyball picked, doesn’t mean school drops off.

➵ You had essay after essay due, Unit exams which would soon fall into Final exams.

➵You and Hajime had barely even seen each other all week.

➵You both still sent each other good morning and good night texts, and if you see each other in the hallway you’ll give each other a quick peck. 

➵Honestly, it was obvious everyone was on edge. 

➵Teachers didn’t care though, they just kept piling on more, and more, and more work.

➵ And volleyball just kept getting closer and closer.

➵You stumbled into the gym with a chirp, trying to sort through the multitude of papers in your arms. 

➵Your back was aching and your arms were strained, but you couldn’t drop them. That would be a disaster. 

➵ The coach sent you a raised brow, offering a hand to help. You waved him off, sitting on the bench with a grunt.

➵Everyone was already sweaty and panting, practice in full swing. 

➵God, everyone looked so tired already. 

➵You could feel the waves of exhaustion.

➵ As they were just in deep in your bones as they were in theirs. 

___

“Did you finish filling out the registry forms?”

You looked up to the coach, nodding slowly before riffling through your papers and pulling out the ones you were looking for. You handed them to the beta, quickly going back to your notes once more. 

You noted the stumbled steps and slowed reflexes, but simply made it a point to emphasize rest with the boys. Maybe a day with no practice would do them more good then practice. 

Hajime was doing well, as usual, somehow keeping his head and energy high. You know he hasn’t gotten much rest either, and you felt for your alpha. Honestly, you just wanted one day with just you and your alpha, where you both could sleep the day away and come back good as new. 

That just sounded glorious. 

“You wouldn’t mind filling out the ref sheets either, would you?” The beta smirked, already handing you the sheets. He knew you had a tough time saying no to people older and/or bigger than you; and had you doing several things that most mangers would never touch.

It was tiring.

You reluctantly took the sheets, already starting on them. The notes you were working on were yanking from under you, the coach reading over them. 

He scoffed at your note of possibly skipping a practice. “Are you serious?” 

“I’m sorry?”

“Take a break?! These boys are on the brink of a skillful breakthrough, and you want to stop them?!” 

You closed in on yourself at the yells, trying to focus on the ref sheets. He continued yelling and berating you for the notes you made. You could feel the teams stares on you, but you also knew they wanted you to learn to stand up for yourself. They had been giving you a few minutes to try and collect yourself and if nothing happened they would step in. 

It only took seconds for you to finally break down, sobbing into your hands as the coach’s yelling reached a breaking point. The team took very time to act then and there. 

Oikawa and Kyoutani were snapping and growling, pushing him back and away from you while Hajime slid onto his knees in front of you, pulling you to his chest and kissing your bond mark. He rocked you side to side, purring and letting you cry. 

You sobbed and sobbed while the coach tried backtracking, but it was too late. The pack was on defense. One of them was in danger and they were going to make sure they all were safe. 

___

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, your in Hajime’s arms, which are wrapped tight around your waist. 

Oikawa was on the other side of you, head on Hajime’s thigh, Makki and Mattsun were cuddling together a little to the left of you. Kyoutani was closest to you (He had a soft spot for you, almost like you were another older sister to him). You ran a hand through his hair for a moment before taking a deep breath in and out. The rest of the team was scattered in the puppy pile around you, and the gym was dark. 

In fact, everything was dark. There were chairs propped up by the door, just in case you supposed, and there were jackets littered everywhere. Your heart fluttered at the thought. 

Hajime’s arms subconsciously tightened around you, luring you back into sleep.

You, your alpha, and your pack.