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moondirti · 1 year

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animalic (1)

series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 1.9k summary: he won't stop until he gets you warnings: enemies to lovers, injuries, kissing, minor ATSV spoilers, size kink (?), mentions of gore and death, not spell checked nor edited, honestly not my best work but the horny is all that matters notes: stayed up all night for this because i had to get it out of my system before finals. there'll be a few more parts, i promise i'm not this cruel haha

“I thought grace was a prerequisite for your little spider-club.”

Your quip sounds disjointed – even to your own ears – entwined with wheezes that rattle your splintered rib cage. In all honesty, the circumstances don’t seem to be favouring you; he’s got you confined upon the wreckage of your own fight, hanging off the remnants of a crane that dangerously tips over a quarry. And though this isn’t the worst you’ve faced, Miguel’s presence always seems to make things more complicated than they need to be.

You’d had a stable hold on the beam, ready to pull yourself up and dematerialise to wherever he wasn’t. Until, of course, the asshole kicked your elbows off. Now, your fingers remain as your only attachment to the structure, shaking violently with their diminishing strength. Your torso isn’t faring any better, either – the bleeding both internal and trickling from the gashes in your hoodie.

(You wonder if he’s toying with you, like a panther with its food. Of the rare times he’s assigned another spiderman to pursue you, they didn’t tend to drag it out for this long.

But, you suppose, Miguel’s different.)

He takes a small step forward, lifting his foot over your digits. He could crush them like this, turn the bone to powder and keep pressing until it macerates in the gore. You can’t put it past him, really, not if you utter one more self-sabotaging word. You’ve seen him rip through steel and silk alike, fueled on the resentment that simmers deep within his very essence. Yours is merely the same fate that’s befallen every other obstacle that’s dared to come his way.

But the tension buzzes between you two, thickening until it’s palpable enough to taste. Miguel is quiet as ever, completely still save for the flickering light of his dimensional travel watch. You envy his position – that resolute stature, brimful of power as his shoulders square, his calf rippling with subdued strength, still stretched over your hand. You blame that, or the mask, slick with sweat and humid as it sticks to your nose. Or the glasses that slowly slip to reveal your squinting eyes. You blame anything apart from what it is; that fear that steadily begins to flood your senses, numbing it all into one, cohesive panic.

You’ve never been good at life or death scenarios.

“Or, maybe, the big boss thinks he can break his own rules?”

The air snaps. With an infuriated roar, he lunges at you, razor-sharp talons swiping at your face. In your frenzied dunk to avoid them, your fingers drop.

You plunge to the bottomless chasm below.

Okay. Let’s try to get this right, one last time.

Your name doesn’t matter. It hasn’t, not for a while now.

For the past year, you’ve been on the run from the Spider Society. You don’t exactly blame them for it, either. Every world you’ve crashed has gone to shit, despite serious lack of trying. Food-barren wastelands, borderless warzones. Truthfully, after the mantle of Earth 7BB-1 convected in on itself, you were inclined to turn yourself in.

Independant of the fact that Nueva York seems to be the only place you can’t fuck up. Regardless of the relatability you have with the residents of its lobby. You were bitten by a radioactive spider just the same, and for all the good you’ve tried to do, you’ve never been a spider-hero. If it meant that no one else got hurt, you really would have been able to cope with lifetime confinement.

(Greater good and all that.)

Would’ve. Could’ve. If it weren’t for Miguel O’Hara’s interjection, and his goddamn alternative solution, things just might have turned out that way.

You’re not dead.

The realisation whips your consciousness into high alert, eyes snapping open to survey your surroundings. You process the light first, its brilliance piercing through the bromine-doused cotton that stuffs your skull. Then, it’s the pain that, up until this point, had been thrumming in the background. It crackles, marrow-deep, tearing down the tendons in your shoulders to the throbbing area around your ribs. They’re in doubtlessly worse shape than they had been at the quarry, the ache searing across to engulf your spine too.

He had let you fall on your back, that dickhead.

But–

You’re not dead.

It doesn’t take you long to figure out why that is.

A red forcefield entraps you, droning its monotonous hum, partially obscuring everything beyond your own reflection. You can see the faint impression of a silhouette – no, multiple – stalking you on the other end, a great shadow court. They warp and grow with every passing second, gorging on your offered vulnerability, awaiting some wordless signal from the harbinger of death, to execute justice upon the one who’s been causing them so much trouble. Jess Drew. Hobie Brown. Ben Reilly.

(They’d been more forgiving, once. Willing to negotiate peace, to treat you more than the screw up you’ve proven to be.

His voice overrode theirs. Always.)

It’s easier to make out the devil himself – more so than the others. You’ve come to memorise the slope of those shoulders, how his fists clench at his sides as he circles you. You imagine the smug set of his jaw and those eyes, just as luminous as the cage you curl within. The puck at the base is recognisable, akin to the capture weapons he’s thrown at you previously. He’d saved your life, then.

On a technicality. You’ll bury that thought to rage over later.

“How–”

The question hardly forms before you’re ripped in two, the atoms of all but your spirit splicing into one another in a defect of blue and orange. The glitch exacerbates the fractures that threaten to knock you out, racking through your system as it rearranges your matter into amorphous forms. It’s only when something is thrown into the enclosure do you snap back to. A bracelet clatters to the floor.

“Didn’t know whether you’d be used to the glitching yet.” A disembodied voice remarks. It’s at a particularly whiny pitch – you assign it to Ben.

“We… tried to get it on you, kid. But you–” A feminine inflection crops up. Jess sounds the same since the last you spoke.

You glower at them from the corner of your eye – unsure if they can actually see you – and snap the day pass on. Your spectral abilities were handy at the best of times; to shift from the corporeal, coming into immateriality, makes the most complicated situations evadeable. You credit it for your continued survival, if nothing else. Yet to speak like you could control it, especially while unconscious, was pushing it. You clearly weren’t able to activate it when you needed it the most.

And now you’re here.

“I’m not going to ask what you want, so let’s keep this short– y-yeah? Either you let me go, or this Earth’ll be the next to unravel.” Despite your intentions, the demand escapes you in a long-winded croak. You hear Hobie snicker, the laugh teetering the edge of approval. Anyone can tell the promise has no foundation.

“That won’t be happ–”

“Leave us.”

The room clips into white noise. You fail to focus on anything but that echoing order.

His voice comes across clearer than all else, too, cadence resonating past any natural boundary, tugging your heart right where it’s tender. There’s that fear again, that singular dread, only ever triggered by his indifference. Perhaps more potent than fury, his patience gives away an all-assured determination. Deadly.

You bite your cheek, steeling your expression into one of similar apathy. It feels like a child’s attempt at dress up, grubby hands clutched around mother’s lipstick, painting on a clown’s complexion. Crackling apprehension brushes across your most vulnerable parts; layer by layer, you’re skinned as the group files out. Bare nerves are all that’s left for your faceoff with the hulking man.

He throws another puck to the floor. His own forcefield conjoins to yours.

His cheeks have gotten hollower, you notice, emphasising the cheekbones that are just as keen as everything else about him. He offers no smile, no grand boast of victory. Instead, he breathes – calmly, fixedly, and lets you absorb the overwhelming magnitude of his size once more. He’s aware of what it strikes in you, can see it in the way you falter upon every reintroduction. Miguel is colossal, a reality that has never been more apparent than in this cramped enclosure.

You know that if you stop to ponder it, it’ll ruin you.

Rearing on your heels, you bounce from your place on the ground, making a grab for his watch. He anticipates it, having caught the decision blaze in your pupils, and side steps, pivoting to gain the upper hand while your back is still turned. You rebound off the field wall, stumbling back when he yanks you by your hoodie. Your shoulder presses into his chest, and he moves to wrap himself around your form.

Your skin prickles. His body passes right through you.

His recovery time is nearly nonexistent relative to your last fight – quick learner – but you’re still swift on your feet, bolting to his watch again. It’s a millisecond too slow, for his talons sink into your forearm when you start to pull away.

Your pained yelp loses momentum as he slams your back against the wall, using a knee to pin your other arm in place, his free hand wrapping around your neck.

He’s close. Too close. Your stomach flips, pushing up on your oesophagus until you choke with the bile that sears its lining. Your breaths are as deep enough as his clutch will allow, index and thumb cutting off the circulation on both sides of your neck.

Ichor blooms from the puncture points at your wrist, the warmth puddling at your palm, not yet heavy enough to drip down onto the floor. You don’t think he realises how deep his claws are, how near he is to scratching bone. You don’t think you do, either. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and while you’re sure you’ll regret not prioritising it sooner, you don’t think– Don’t think–

“I-I’m not goi…going home,” You gasp.

“It’s not up to you, Wraith.” Miguel growls, chokehold loosening.

It hits you, then. Animalic. He smells addictingly animalic. Like musk, a blend of brine and hot air and hints of a patchouli aftershave that still clings to his jaw. Your eyes flutter, seeking all you can get of the latter. Unwittingly, you move in closer.

You haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time.

His expression oscillates between a sneer and a grimace, nose pulling up to reveal the very pointed ends of his two canines. Set side by side with plush lips, you zero in on the thought of experiencing the contrast with your own.

He’s huge.

Closer.

Completely overwhelms you, in size and presence and–

Closer.

Your ribs ache. Your back groans. You’re quickly losing feeling in your fingers, and movement – soon – if you don’t do something.

Your breath weaves with his. He doesn’t reciprocate when your lips brush, but he doesn’t pull away, either.

You kiss him for longer than you should. Longer than you need to. It’s firm, and not unlike what you expected.

(World-shattering, all the same.)

Your skin prickles. It takes all of your rationale to pull away – dematerializing out of his grasp, and into the portal you’d activated from his wrist.

chapter 2 →

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charliemwrites · 6 months

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Part 5 (it’s getting out of control) of Charmed Slasher Simon.

Part 4 is here. (Master list coming soon)

(Slight warning for a coworker being a bit of a pushy creep but Simon handles it)

“Riiiiileyyyy.”

Ah, that’s your naughty voice. It means he’s going to want to do awful, terrible things to you out of pure endearment for your cheek.

He turns, arches an eyebrow as you nearly skip up to him. Your hair is shorter.

“New haircut?” he asks as if his fingers aren’t twitching to bury in it and pull your head back.

“Yup! Thought about dyeing it orange, but decided it would clash with my flat.”

He snorts, gives in to the urge to curl a strand around his finger, watches it bounce back into place. You don’t seem to mind, sticking your cute little tongue out at him. (If you’re not careful, he’s going to put you on your knees and have you wrap it around his cock right there.)

“Sensible choice,” he replies, “yellow is more your color.”

You giggle, aren’t bothered by his flat, almost inflectionless tone. “You think?”

“Highlighter yellow. Or maybe banana.”

“Hey, I like bananas!”

He smirks. “Oh yeah? Big ones?”

You shove at him, face going hot. He doesn’t move an inch, not that you were trying hard. Touchy little thing. You remind him of those little birds that flutter around lions, picking and pecking right under their noses, amusing themselves with death.

“Don’t be icky, Riley.”

“Icky.”

“Gross nasty.”

“We’re name calling now?”

“It’s not name calling if it’s true.”

He clicks his tongue, ushers you into the building.

“There a reason for the new hair?” he asks, eyeing it. It’s pretty, don’t get him wrong. But he didn’t know you were getting your hair cut today.

“Fancy office party tonight,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “My stylist just managed to get me in, but now I’ve gotta rush to get ready.”

“Now who said you could go out?”

“What are you gonna do, stop me?” you laugh, clearly thinking he’s teasing. He’s not. If you looked at his face, you’d know it. But you’re busy fussing with your keys, trying to unlock your door.

“I might.”

“Oh, you stop,” you huff, shaking your head. “It’s not even movie night!”

He’s been coming over once a week to watch a movie and drink with you. One of you picks the movie, the other picks the takeaway. He always chooses a horror movie, likes how your eyes water when you get truly scared. You refuse to watch slashers (haven’t told ‘Riley’ why) but you’ll indulge paranormal ones.

It’s not movie night - those are on Saturdays. This is Friday.

“What if I just kidnap you?” he asks. “Keep you in all weekend?”

You hum as if in thought, glancing at him over your shoulder. “Could I go back to work on Monday?”

“Have to see how I’m feeling on Sunday.”

You giggle. “A tempting offer, but you’ll have to settle for kidnapping me just for Saturday.”

“I don’t think you understand how kidnapping works.”

“I’d be a terrible hostage,” you say. He arches an eyebrow, inviting you to continue. “I have to pee when I’m nervous, I’d be talking their ear off - and! I cry like, so much.”

Oh he knows. He thinks of tears running down your pretty face when he cums.

“Some kidnappers like the crying. Theyre sadists.”

You scrunch your face. “But it’s like… gross crying. Total mess. And I make dying seal noises.”

No, you don’t, not in his experience with you at least. But he’s not going to explain that to you.

“Didn’t you have something to get ready for?” he asks because he’s violently wrestling the urge to make good on his threat.

“Fuck!” You glance at your watch, brows scrunching. “If I’m late, I’m blaming you, Riley Simmons.”

“Oh no.”

You stick your tongue out at him one last time and disappear behind your door.

—

He hears you come back at 11:30, has been waiting up. Pauses when he hears two sets of footsteps, a man’s voice talking to you. A wave of bloodlust nearly drowns his better sense.

You brought someone home from a work event? Did you lie to him and go on a date?

“Well, thanks for walking me to my door, Brandon.”

“Was happy to. Don’t want anyone snatching you up off the street now, do we?” An annoying laugh. Yours sounding a little flat and strained joining him.

“Oh, hey, mind if I come in?” Brandon asks. So casually, as if the yes is expected.

Simon’s hands ball into tight fists.

“Ah, it’s pretty late…”

“Well, that’s what Saturday is for, right?”

Oh. That little roach. Simon’s going to hang him by his own guts.

“I have plans tomorrow, actually.”

Good girl.

“That’s alright,” Brandon persists. “Just one drink. Least you can do since I went out of my way, right?”

“I mean, you didn’t have to, I would have been fine.”

There’s some genuine annoyance in your voice this time. Simon’s proud.

“Nah, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you go home after having drinks?” Brandon chuckles.

“I didn’t have that many - and anyway I’m here now, so…”

“And so am I. At least a little something for my troubles?”

And Simon hears just the slightest, faintest ruffle of clothes.

That’s enough.

Simon yanks his door open and steps out. You’re nearly pancaked to your own door, head snapping to him with relief.

“Riley!”

Brandon takes a step back, expression stormy. Simon almost laughs. Little prick is barely taller than you, has done hard work maybe twice in his life. His hands look softer than yours. And he’s wearing a sweater vest.

“Did we wake you up?” you ask.

Simon saunters down the hall towards you. The closer he gets, the more nervous Brandon gets. But you seem to relax a bit more with each step, even shift towards him.

Very good girl.

“Was already up.” He doesn’t look away from Brandon, radiating menace.

You hum in understanding - know Simon keeps late hours. Brandon clears his still-intact throat and you jolt a bit, expression wilting.

“Oh, um. Riley this is my coworker. Brandon, this is Riley, my neighbor.”

“How do you do?” Brandon replies stiffly.

Simon’s not playing along.

“You try to push her again, someone will be pushing you in a wheelchair the rest of your life. Understand?”

Brandon sputters while your eyes go adorably wide, expression caught between horror and gratitude. Like you don’t know if you should be condoning his threats.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Not yet, but you will if I see you here again, yeah?”

Brandon’s face drains of blood. You press your lips together.

“Now get the fuck out. I’ve got her from here.”

Brandon, worm that he is, scurries away with a hasty “see you Monday”. You don’t reply, too busy blinking up at Simon with parted lips.

He chucks you gently under the chin, eyes narrowing in amusement.

“Off to bed. I’m kidnapping you tomorrow.”

You audibly swallow, then nod.

“Thank you.”

“Good manners.”

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #slasher ghost #charmed ghost #final girl reader

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thewulf · 1 month

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Bound by Shadows || Azriel

Summary: Request - I'm hoping you could write a fanfic where reader, Feyre's twin, who actually killed the wolf but let Feyre take the credit... and before she realizes what she's done Feyre is gone. She struggles with guilt and isolation in Velaris after the sisters transformation by the Cauldron.... Read Rest Here

A/N: OKAY I LOVE THIS. It got away from me a bit. I didn't realize how fun this world would be to dive into. Let me know your thoughts as always :)

Pairing: Azriel Shadowsinger x Female Reader (Feyre Archeron Twin Sister)

Word Count: 8.2k +

TW: General ACOTAR TW

Under the starlit skies of Velaris the City of Starlight pulses with a life of its own. Its vibrant lights reflecting off the river with laughter and music filling the air, breathing life into every cobblestone and corner. But for you the city’s brilliance only deepens the shadows that cling to your soul. Shadows that no light seems capable of dispelling.

You walked alone. Your steps aimless being driven by the restless guilt that gnaws incessantly at your conscience. Every whisper of the wind seems to accuse you, every glance from a passerby seems to pierce through the facade you barely maintain. The weight of the secret you harbor presses down on you with every step… the wolf, the woods, the dreadful slice of the arrow that was meant to protect Feyre not harm her. But Feyre stepped forward and shouldered the blame. She was taken from you in an instant and forced to face the horrors of the faerie lands. It was all to shield you her twin she thought of being too gentle, too fragile for the brutal truths of that world.

The transformation wrought by the Cauldron has only magnified everything. Every emotion, every fear, every shard of guilt. It was supposed to be a rebirth but for you it feels more like a slow descent into a nightmare from which you cannot awaken. The power that now courses through your veins feels like chains. A constant reminder of the price paid to the mother. Of the freedom you don’t believe you deserve.

As you wander through the bustling streets the sounds of celebration around you clash violently with the turmoil within. Families and lovers share warm, joyous moments. Their laughter echoing in the crisp night air while you drift among them. You were simply a specter unseen, untouched by the light of their joy. Your heart aches with a loneliness so profound it threatens to consume you whole. To reduce your existence to a mere shadow of regret and sorrow.

You find yourself on one of the many ornate bridges spanning the Sidra. A place you often found some sort of solace in. You leaned over the balustrade to gaze into the dark waters below. The reflection of the city’s lights dances across the surface, a stark contrast to the darkness that seems to stretch endlessly beneath. It is here in the quiet far enough away from the eyes of those who know you, those who worry over you, that your facade finally cracks.

Tears that were unbidden and unwelcome, spill over, tracing cold paths down your cheeks. You are tired. So incredibly tired of pretending. Of hiding the depth of your pain. You wish to scream so loud. To let out the anguish that fills you, but your voice is as lost as your soul feels in the face of your endless guilt. Instead, you just stare down at the dark waters with silent sobs wracking your body. It was better this way. You couldn’t let Feyre see you like this. She was finally so happy. So happy with her mate. Her Rhysand. You couldn’t threaten that happiness. You owed her so much more than that. You quite literally owed her your life. So, you would suck it up in solace. Cry it out on your own.

In the solitude of the night, you allowed yourself to feel your overwhelming emotions. To acknowledge the pain and the darkness. Little did you know you are not as alone as you believe. From the shadows an Illyrian figure watches you. His own heart heavy with unspoken secrets. Azriel was the spymaster of night court for a reason. He picked up on you disappearing for hours at a time when the others didn’t. He picked up on the fake smiles you threw everyone’s way. He seemed to pick up on it while the others didn’t… other than Feyre who seemed to watch you just as much as he did. He decided he would watch over you. For Feyre, his brothers mate. And for you. The woman who couldn’t seem to get used to being Fae as easily as your sisters did. The human turned Fae that consumed more of his thoughts than he cared to admit.

But for now, he waited behind his shadows. A silent guardian in the night recognizing that some battles must be faced alone before they can be shared.

You returned from the bustling markets of Velaris with arms laden with the myriad items Feyre requested. As you approach the townhouse the warm light from within spills out onto the cobblestones. It was a stark contrast to the dusk settling over the city. You pause at the door steeling yourself with a deep breath before stepping inside. Your smile as you hand the bags to Feyre doesn't quite reach your eyes. But she's too caught up in the moment to notice.

"Thank you so much," she says with a relief evident as she starts to unpack the food you’d volunteered to pick up for her. She pauses before she got too carried away giving you that look, the one you've come to know so well. The one that silently implores you to stay. To be a part of her world. "Will you stay for dinner? Everyone's coming over. Even Amren agreed to come. It would mean so much to me."

Her eyes are pleading and you know you can't refuse. Not when she's given up so much for you. With a nod you agree even as your stomach tightens at the thought of facing everyone. It was easy to fake your inner turmoil when it was only her or Rhys. But when it was the entirety of the Inner Circle it was harder to hide away. Inevitably someone would get you hooked in on a conversation. You haven't sat down with them since… well, since before the Cauldron. Since before everything changed. And that was almost an entire year ago now. You knew this request would come sooner or later. Though you were hoping for later you were going to suck it up for Feyre.

As the evening wears on the townhouse fills with laughter and conversation with everyone gathering in the familiar camaraderie that once felt like home to you. But now you feel like an outsider watching from the shadows even as you sit among them. At the dinner table you're terribly quiet. You were merely pushing food around your plate listening to the ebb and flow of conversations you can't force yourself to seem to join.

Feyre decided to sit beside you in hopes of calming your nerves. She notices. She notices the way your eyes were downturned. The way you occasionally nodded your head or smiled briefly pretending to be listening. The way you didn’t pick your fork up once. Her joy fades a little each time she glances your way. You didn’t notice the way her expression turned from mirth to concern. She squeezed your hand under the table in a silent message of solidarity and love. But even her touch can't pull you from the fog that's settled over you. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was your punishment? To live in a hazed state for thousands of years? Oh, how you wished to be a tiny little human again with the promise of dead after a hundred years or so.

Rhysand sat at the head of the table catches Feyre’s subtle, worried glances towards her twin. She meets his eyes with a silent conversation passing between them. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She needed help. He nods slightly. His expression was solemn, understanding the depth of her worry. His gaze then shifts to you filled with a quiet resolve. He knew you were struggling but didn’t pick up on just how much you were. You’d done a masterful job until tonight hiding it away.

Rhysand had felt the ripple of concern from Feyre long before she voiced it. Her distress over your withdrawal echoing within him. She watched you with a sister's keen eye and her silent worry bled into their shared bond. A testament to her deep care for you.

Azriel, Feyre is troubled by Y/N's state. As am I. Rhysand's thought reached out to his brother that was sitting next to you. There was a thread of urgency woven through the mental call. She's pulling away and Feyre feels it deeply. Keep an eye on her please? Help her if you can.

Azriel's presence in Rhysand's mind was immediate and calm. He was steady force amid the silent storm of concern. I'm already on it, Rhys. I’ve sensed it too, he assured. His mental voice as composed as the shadows he commanded. You don't need to worry. I’ve been watching over her not out of obligation, but because... because she matters to me. I’ll make sure she’s safe and supported.

Azriel’s vigilance came not from an order but from a place of quiet solidarity. His attunement to the nuances of emotion and the unspoken had already drawn him to your side. Rhysand’s request merely echoed the actions he’d already undertaken. His actions were born from a blend of duty and a deep, personal concern that Azriel rarely let show. In the face of Feyre's distress and now Rhysand’s request, he became a silent sentinel for you. He needed to ensure that you were not only protected but also truly seen and understood.

Dinner continues around you as you withdrew into yourself. The laughter a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. You're barely aware of Azriel's presence on your other side until you feel him beside you. His chair slightly closer than usual. His voice is soft, almost lost in the surrounding noise, as he leans in. "You don't have to be anything you're not, not here," he murmurs only for you to hear. "It’s okay to just be. To just breathe." His words meant to comfort felt like a lifeline in the sea of your tumultuous thoughts. You didn’t look at him for you were worried tears might spill over. But you nodded in acknowledgement letting him know that you heard him.

The evening slowly winds down and as the others linger over drinks and stories Azriel stays by your side. His presence a steady promise of understanding and patience. He doesn't push you to talk nor does he expect smiles. Instead, he offers the silent support you didn't know you needed, becoming a guardian not just of your safety, but of your peace.

Feyre watches this exchange with a glimmer of hope lighting up her worried features. Perhaps with Azriel's help you might find your way back to them. To yourself. Tonight, though, is just a small step in your journey back to yourself.

As everyone departs for the night you linger in the living room feigning interest in tidying up the small mess left behind. Feyre watches you for a moment with that same concern etching her features. But she decided against speaking, sensing your need for space.

Once the house is quiet you decide to step out for a walk under the night sky of Velaris. It had become your favorite routine. A routine that kept you grounded. A quick walk to your favorite spot on the Sidra. The city's soft lights reflect gently on the river casting dancing patterns on the water. It's beautiful yet the sight does little to ease the tightness in your chest.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't notice Azriel's approach until he's almost beside you. His presence is calming and somehow it doesn't startle you. Perhaps because in your heart you know he understands the need for quiet. His own demeanor is often just as reserved.

"Good evening," he says. His voice a low rumble. "Care for some company or would you prefer solitude tonight?"

You consider his offer for a moment. Company might not be so bad even though this was usually just a place for you. But it was Azriel. Someone who respects the silence as much as you do. "Company sounds nice, thank you," you reply with your voice softer than you intended.

Azriel nods falling into step beside you. As you walk his shadows play at your feet. It was a subtle yet comforting gesture. At one point one of his shadows curls around your hand. This small, almost imperceptible touch from his shadows offers a silent, comforting presence that envelops you in a sense of security. Neither of you speaks as you walk along the riverbank. The only sounds was the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the distant hum of the city. The silence between you is more than comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding that words can sometimes be too cumbersome.

After a while though Azriel speaks up. He wasn’t looking at you but staring out at the water. "It's easy to feel lost in this city… even with its lights and crowds. Sometimes it feels like being surrounded by shadows even in the brightest part of the day."

You glance at him, surprised by the reflection of your own feelings in his words. "Yes, it does," you agree. You were feeling a weight lift slightly knowing that someone else understands.

He nods slightly at your words, "The shadows aren't all there is though. There are places, moments like these, that can offer some respite. And not all shadows are bad." He smiles looking down at the ones that clung to your feet.

His words make you look at him anew. You weren’t just seeing the spymaster or the warrior but someone who also seeks to find balance between the light and the dark. It makes you wonder if perhaps in this shared moment you might find a way to navigate your own shadows. They might not all be bad you had to agree with him.

You don't say much more as you walk back to the townhouse, but the silent agreement hangs between you, comforting and promising. Maybe, just maybe, you're not as alone as you thought.

The dawn is still a whisper of light across Velaris as you sit quietly by the Sidra. The gentle murmur of the river a soothing background to your thoughts that never seemed to shut the hell up. Lost in the reflections of the dancing water you hardly notice Azriel’s approach until he’s beside you. His presence as quiet as the morning. It was becoming a routine for him to join you on the river it seemed. Not that you minded. He might be the one person you’d happily accept to intrude on your solitude.

“You’re up early,” he remarks softly not wanting to startle you. His tone as gentle as the river’s flow.

You look up with a soft smile on your face. His familiar, reassuring presence is a comfort. “Just needed some air,” you reply with a yawn. Your voice carrying the weight of another sleepless night.

Azriel nods, understanding. He looks out over the water for a moment sharing the silence with you. Then, turning back to you, he suggests, “Come with me. I think I have something that might help clear your head. Help you to focus a bit.”

You’re hesitant. The idea of doing anything but sitting quietly feels daunting. But there’s something about his offer. The promise of relief, however temporary, that nudges you to your feet.

“It’s just training,” he adds. seeing your uncertainty. “Physical activity can be a good way to let out some of the emotions that are harder to express in words. We’ll take it slow. You set the pace.”

Trusting Azriel’s judgment, knowing he wouldn’t push you into something without reason, you stand and follow him towards the training grounds. The city is quietly waking around you and the walk is silent but comfortable. His presence a steady reassurance by your side. Something you were slowly growing to cherish.

As you reach the secluded training area the first rays of sunlight begin to warm the cool morning air. Azriel gives you a small, encouraging smile. “Let’s start simple. No pressure. Just you learning to trust your strength again.”

The training starts at an easy pace. Azriel guiding you through basic maneuvers. His patience was evident. But as your body begins to warm up with the activity and your focus sharpens on the movements. There was that sense of release you never knew could come. It was unfamiliar yet welcome that starts to take hold on you.

As the morning sun climbs higher the training session progresses under Azriel's watchful eye. You find yourself gradually syncing with the rhythm of the physical exertion. Each movement flushing out the restless energy that has been building up inside you. Azriel's guidance is firm yet encouraging and you start to feel a rare sense of accomplishment as you slowly master each new maneuver he throws at you.

But as the session intensifies Azriel begins to push you harder, increasing the pace and complexity of the drills. His softness changed into some else. You knew he was only pushing you to help but it was starting to become a little too much. You’d only been Fae for a year to his centuries. "Come on, Y/N, focus. You can handle this," he urges. Throwing a series of rapid, controlled strikes that you're meant to block and counter.

For a moment you rise to the challenge your movements sharp and sure. Yet the physical strain is relentless. All too soon it starts to mirror the inner struggled you've been trying to manage. The boundaries between physical exertion and emotional pain blur… each block and dodge feeling more like a fight against your inner demons rather than a simple training exercise.

Suddenly, one of Azriel's strikes comes a little too close, a little too fast. It isn't meant to hit you and it doesn't but the rush of air as it passes by your face triggers something within you. Panic seizes your chest and the walls you've been holding up begin to crumble. Your movements falter. Your hands drop to your sides rapidly as your breath catches in your throat.

You step back abruptly with short, ragged breaths. Azriel stops immediately, concern replacing the intensity in his eyes. "Hey, are you okay?" he asks all too softly this time. He watched with concern as you struggled to compose yourself.

You nod rapidly trying to blink back the tears that want to rush out. “I’m fine. Just tired.” You murmur. It didn’t even sound believable to you. You turned you back to him so he wouldn’t see the distraught look on your face.

He steps forward with a sadness etched deeply on his features. "It's more than just tiredness, isn't it?" he asks gently as he reached out but stopped short, giving you space yet showing his readiness to support.

You shake your head again trying to compose yourself. Willing yourself to rebuild the barriers crumbling around you. "I'm fine, really, just got a little carried away," you offer weakly with your back still turned, fearing that facing him might reveal too much.

But Azriel doesn’t retreat. Instead, his shadows do what he physically refrains from—they reach out for you. You feel a cool, soothing sensation as one shadow gently curls around your arm, not binding but comforting. It was like a silent message of empathy and support. The unexpected kindness, the soft touch of darkness that doesn’t demand or judge, only seeks to comfort. But it undoes you completely.

Your defenses shatter at the tender contact. Tears finally spilling over as you turn back to face him. The floodgates opened by the gentle brush of his shadow. "I'm not fine," you admit, your voice choked with emotion. "It's all just... it's too much sometimes. I feel like I'm drowning in what I had to do. In what Feyre had to endure because of me. All because of me."

Azriel listens with his gaze never wavering. His eyes were filled with compassion and a profound understanding. His shadow retracts slightly giving you a moment, respecting your space while keeping the silent promise of his presence.

He nods his head willing you to continue. "Let it out, Y/N. You don't have to carry this alone," he says quietly finding the courage to step closer now. He opened his arms to you in an offer of comfort that you no longer have the strength to refuse.

As you step into his embrace, allowing yourself to be held, the warmth of his body contrasts with the cool touch of his shadows creating a cocoon of safety around you. "I was the one who killed the wolf that started this whole mess," you confess through sobs. Your words muffled against his chest. "Feyre took the blame to protect me... because she thought I couldn't handle the consequences."

“It’s okay,” he whispers. His voice close to your ear. “You were never meant to carry this alone.” He pauses. His hand gently lifting your chin so you can look at him. “Feyre’s path was her own. Fate had a hand in it. She was meant to meet Rhysand through Tamlin. To find her way to the Night Court. It couldn’t have been you, Y/N. Your path is different and it’s still unfolding.”

You shake your head feeling the weight of it all. “But-“

Azriel’s hold tightens reassuringly. His wings stretched around you before he stops you. “She did what she believed was right, out of love. And now you need to allow yourself to be loved and supported, too. Let your family be here for you. Let me be here for you.” he pleads, his tone imbued with a promise. In the safety of Azriel’s wings with the gentle embrace of his shadows, you feel a lightness you haven’t felt in a long time.

Beneath the shelter of his wings Azriel holds you close feeling the profound shift within as your eyes meet. In that moment a golden thread previously unseen but always present tightens, binding your soul to his. The mating bond ignites with a radiant force, undeniable and transformative.

This newfound connection stirs a deep protectiveness in Azriel, an urge to cherish and guard you that feels both ancient and freshly awakened. Love pulses through this bond unspoken yet palpable aligning his heartbeat with yours. He experiences a profound sense of belonging, understanding now that every moment with you, every shared concern, was leading to this revelation.

With the emergence of the bond, Azriel, who often cloaked himself in mystery, finds in you a clarity that illuminates his existence. This bond does not overwhelm; instead, it completes him, brightening his path forward. The world around him expands promising a journey not walked alone but side by side, in step with each breath.

Yet, the magnitude of this discovery brings a mix of elation and a daunting sense of responsibility. You are vulnerable, your soul laid bare before him, and he is cautious not to burden you further. Internally, Azriel grapples with the desire to declare the bond versus the need to provide you with stability and support without the shock of this revelation.

He resolves to keep this monumental discovery to himself for now, focusing on being your steadfast support. His shadows as a subtle extension of his will, curl gently around you both. They offered a protection and comfort without overwhelming you with the truth.

Azriel knows he must seek Rhysand’s counsel to navigate the complexities of this bond with sensitivity and respect for your emotions. As he holds you he silently vows to take this journey at a pace that honors both your readiness and the bond’s potential. Wrapped in his embrace, Azriel stands as your guardian bonded by fate yet guided by a deep respect for the journey your heart needs to undertake.

"You've been strong today," Azriel whispers into your hair as he senses your grip tighten. "Let's head back home. You need rest." His voice is as soothing as the twilight and his offer is tender, without any urgency that might hint at the truth simmering beneath his calm exterior.

The walk back from the training grounds is quiet, filled with a companionable silence that speaks of shared struggles and mutual care. As Azriel guides you to Feyre's studio, where she immerses herself in swathes of color and light, his touch lingers reassuringly on your arm. It's an affirmation of his presence, his support, his unspoken pledge to be there for you, come what may.

You offer him a soft smile. One that acknowledges the solace his presence brings even though you were still oblivious to the tectonic shift in his inner landscape. Azriel returns your smile with a quiet intensity, a vow that when the time comes for the bond to reveal itself to you he'll be there, just as he is now—steadfast, protective, and utterly devoted.

A subtle shift in Azriel’s demeanor as he prepares to leave catches Feyre's sharp eye. There's a fleeting tension, a trace of something potent and profound flickering in the depths of his usually inscrutable eyes. It's a glimpse of vulnerability. An undercurrent of panic that he's quick to disguise but not before Feyre takes note. Something significant has unsettled the shadowsinger and it likely had to do with you.

With a nod that holds more gravity than usual Azriel turns to go. His steps are measured but the urgency in his exit is apparent to anyone who knows him well. Once he steps beyond the view of the townhouse his wings unfurl, a dark silhouette against the Velaris skyline. He takes to the air with a speed driven by the need for counsel. For understanding the newly realized bond weighing on him with a mix of awe and anxiety.

He lands at the House of Wind with an intensity that is uncharacteristic for him. His feet touching down on the stone with a thud. There's no time for hesitation as he makes his way to where he knows he'll find Rhysand, perhaps Cassian too. The door to the study bursts open under his force and he stands there as a figure riddled with the shock of his own heart's awakening.

Inside the study, Rhysand and Cassian pause mid-conversation as the unexpected clamor announces Azriel's approach. Concern flickers over their faces. A stark, thunderous arrival is not Azriel's way.

"Are you alright, Az?" Cassian is the first to react. His voice tinged with concern as he notes Azriel's agitated state.

Azriel pauses before catching his breath. His demeanor one of a man grappling with overwhelming news. "It's the mating bond," he manages to say with his voice tight of emotion. "With Y/N—it just... it just snapped into place."

Rhysand rises from his chair. His expression shifting to one of understanding as he processes Azriel's words. The air in the room thickens with the significance of his declaration and there's a moment of collective stillness as they all absorb the meaning.

Cassian’s previous levity fades into a solemn gravity, reflecting the seriousness of Azriel's revelation. "That’s... big news, Az. How are you feeling about this?" he asks as he stepped closer in caution.

Rhysand, maintaining his composure, offers a supportive nod. "This is a momentous time, Azriel. We’re here for you, whatever you need," he assures him embodying the role of the leader who understands the profound implications of such a bond.

Azriel exhales deeply the reality of the situation settling in. "It's overwhelming," he concedes. A frown creasing his brow. "I mean, I hoped, maybe even wished for it. But now that it’s here, it feels... heavy." He looks up. His expression serious. "She’s still healing. I need to be careful. Need to make sure this doesn’t overwhelm her."

Rhysand gives a supportive nod. "Just keep being there for her, Az. You’ve always managed to support her without pushing. This doesn’t change your approach just your understanding of the connection."

Cassian smirks, pushing off from the table and clapping Azriel on the back with a bit more force than necessary. "Look at you all serious and broody—more than usual, I mean. Come on, Az, you know you're probably the only one who can handle this with the perfect blend of mystery. Besides," he adds with a wry grin, "have you seen the way she looks at you when you're not looking? That’s not just gratitude my friend. It’s like she’s hit the jackpot and she doesn’t even know it yet."

Azriel can’t help but crack a small smile despite the turmoil inside. "Thanks, Cass. I just don’t want to mess this up."

"Don’t worry so much, brother," Cassian chuckles, his tone light but earnest. "You’re doing fine. Plus, if you start floating around like a lovestruck bat, I’ll be here to pull you back down."

Rhysand laughs softly before shaking his head at the general. "He’s right, though. Take it step by step, Azriel. Let her come to terms with her own feelings. When she’s ready it’ll be right for both of you."

Feeling somewhat lighter Azriel nods appreciatively at his brothers. "Step by step," he repeats, firming his resolve. With a final nod he steps back into the night bolstered by the mix of Cassian’s humor and Rhysand’s leadership. He was ready to face the future with a heart full of hope and a mind cautious of the delicate balance he needs to maintain.

Back in the townhouse Feyre greets you with that mischievous grin that heralds some sisterly teasing. She sets her paintbrush down before wiping her hands on a cloth as her eyes sparkle with playful curiosity. "So, what did you do to him?" she teases with a smirk on her face.

You frown genuinely puzzled by her question. "What? Nothing, I... we were just training, then he said he had to go." Your voice trails off mirroring your confusion over Azriel's sudden change in demeanor.

Feyre chuckles, shaking her head as she picks up her brush again. "That man is always so mysterious. But don't worry it's probably just Azriel things. Or maybe, just maybe, you're the perfect distraction for our dear spymaster."

"What are you on about?" you ask while feeling a mix of amusement and bewilderment at her jest.

"Oh, please!" Feyre laughs, her brush dancing over the canvas. "He looks at you like every moment you spend together is something precious. Like you're a rare painting he can't quite believe he's stumbled upon."

"You're imagining things," you dismiss her. Shaking your head with a smile. "Azriel is just being kind. He's like that with everyone."

Feyre gives you a knowing look. Her smirk broadening. "Sure, he’s kind to everyone, but with you it’s different. He doesn’t look at anyone else quite like he looks at you. Like you’ve cast a spell on him and he’s trying to figure out how to live with the enchantment."

Her words make you pause. The playful insinuation tugging at the edges of your thoughts. Despite your dismissal Feyre’s observation lingers. A teasing possibility that maybe there's a hint of truth in her playful assertions. The room fills with your laughter, a sound that masks the flutter of curiosity her words have sparked.

Unbeknownst to you while you puzzle over Azriel's sudden departure, Feyre's mind is swiftly connecting with Rhysand's. A silent inquiry flits through their bond: Something's up with Azriel, he seemed... off. Did I miss something?

Rhysand's mental response comes with a chuckle that Feyre can almost hear: He’s fine, love. Just had a bit of a revelation. He’ll share when he's ready.

A spark of mischief lights up Feyre’s eyes as understanding dawns on her. Her lips curve into a sly, knowing grin. But she carefully masks any hint of her newfound knowledge from you. "You know, I think we deserve some fun today. Just us twins. You’ve been pushing hard with all that training and brooding," she suggests. Her voice bubbling with an excitement that piques your curiosity.

"Really? What did you have in mind?" you ask. Your earlier confusion over Azriel's behavior giving way to intrigue at Feyre's sudden enthusiasm.

"Oh, just a day for us to unwind and maybe get into a little mischief," Feyre replies, winking. "We can leave the mysteries of shadowy spymasters behind and focus on spoiling ourselves."

You laugh while nodding in agreement, relieved to set aside the morning's puzzles. "That sounds perfect, actually."

As the day unfolds with Feyre leading the way with her occasional secretive smiles and the warmth of her company envelop you, making you feel cherished and a part of something larger than just sisterly bonding. Every now and then she throws you a look filled with unspoken laughter as if she's in on a joke that’s yet to be told adding an intriguing layer to your day out.

"Enjoy today," Feyre says at one point. Her grin infectious. "Because who knows? Tomorrow you might find yourself swept off your feet in ways you never expected." Her words are light, but they dance with implication, leaving you wondering about the possibilities that tomorrow might bring.

As the days unfold since your training session you begin to notice an unusual shift in Azriel's behavior when he's around you. Always the quiet, stoic presence, he now seems to carry an air of nervousness that is both surprising and endearing. It's as if he's forgotten how to be around you. His typically smooth demeanor replaced with an awkwardness that sends a ripple of amusement throughout your days.

During your daily routines, whether you're practicing combat skills or just strolling through the lush gardens of the Night Court, Azriel is consistently by your side. Yet, his typical quiet confidence seems to falter. Today when he hands you a training sword his fingers not only linger but also tremble slightly against yours. The contact is brief but the moment his skin brushes against yours a visible blush creeps up his neck coloring his cheeks in a rare show of discomposure.

"Sorry," he stutters. Quickly retracting his hand as if scorched by the brief contact. He averts his gaze making sure to look anywhere but at you. His discomfort palpable in the tight set of his shoulders.

You can't help but tilt your head eyeing him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Azriel, are you alright?" you ask with a hint of a smile on your lips. Your voice is soft though hoping to ease some of his evident tension. The gardens around you bloom vibrantly. A stark contrast to Azriel’s suddenly flustered state.

He clears his throat attempting to regain some of his usual composure. "Yes, I'm... fine," he manages. His voice a notch higher than usual. He meets your gaze again holding it for a moment longer than he intends. The intensity of his stare both confusing and thrilling.

Just then as if to spite Azriel, Cassian strolls by and upon noticing Azriel's flushed face and your puzzled expression he can't help but let out a snicker. "Lost your cool, Shadowsinger?" he teases, winking at you before continuing on his way with a chuckle. "You’re usually smoother than this, brother!"

Azriel shoots Cassian a brief glare but there's a resigned humor in his eyes that suggests he knows just how out of character he must seem. As Cassian’s laughter fades into the distance Azriel finally turns back to you attempting a sheepish smile.

"It seems I'm a bit out of sorts today," he admits. His voice finally steadying. "Nothing to worry about, really."

Watching Azriel grapple with this uncharacteristic awkwardness only endears him more to you. There’s a sweetness in his struggle. A reminder that beneath the composed façade of the Night Court’s spymaster lies a depth of emotion rarely seen but profoundly felt.

On a tranquil afternoon in the Night Court, you find yourself relaxing in one of the quieter gardens alongside Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel. The air is filled with gentle laughter and the soft rustling of leaves. Cassian and Nesta are notably absent, presumably because Cassian has taken it upon himself to "help" Nesta with some errands—a pursuit that everyone knows often ends in playful bickering and affectionate banter.

Elain has also opted for a day out with Lucien exploring new botanical gardens on the outskirts of the city. Her passion for plants and Lucien's support in her endeavors showcases the growing bond between them.

The conversation flows easily until Rhys, with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, steers it towards Azriel’s recent scouting mission. "Azriel here stumbled upon something quite intriguing recently, didn’t you?" he teases while watching Azriel closely.

Caught off-guard Azriel’s response is delayed, his eyes widening slightly as if Rhys had tread into forbidden territory. "It was nothing out of the ordinary," he finally mutters. Though his voice holds a trace of unease.

Feyre jumps into the fray. Her tone laced with playful curiosity. "Oh, but I heard it was quite the discovery. Rare and fascinating… something that might deeply engage a man’s interest."

You laugh completely oblivious to the underlying meaning and look at Azriel with raised eyebrows. "What was it, Az? Some kind of hidden gem or a lost artifact?"

There’s a brief moment where Azriel’s composure falters under your direct gaze, his eyes meeting yours before quickly glancing away. He recovers quickly, however, a slight flush on his cheeks. "Yes, something like that," he agrees, his voice steadying. "A discovery that could indeed change one’s perspective for a lifetime."

Rhys doesn't miss a beat adding with a light chuckle, "Let’s hope it’s not kept secret too long. Such treasures are better when shared, right?"

Feyre nods enthusiastically. Her eyes dancing with amusement. "Especially when they bring people closer together, right, Az?"

Azriel meets Feyre’s gaze. His expression settling into a subtle smile that hints at his deep thoughts. “Indeed,” he replies quietly, the single word rich with unspoken meaning, affirming the sentiment with his usual succinct eloquence.

As the conversation moves on the jokes and laughter continue, your heart warmed by the newfound perspective you found with them. Azriel watches you with a gentle, albeit slightly wistful smile. He noticed how much more you're around, how your laughter fills the air more often, and how your vibrant personality begins to shine through once more. His heart fills with a mixture of relief and deep affection, seeing the signs of your healing. In these moments he cherishes the progress you've made feeling hopeful about the future. He was ready to support you every step of the way as the true nature of his discovery waits to be shared with you.

As the weeks blend into months, the connection between you and Azriel deepens. It was nurtured by shared moments and his unwavering support. On a crisp evening as the sun begins its descent painting the sky with strokes of pink and gold, Azriel brings you to a secluded hilltop that overlooks Velaris. This spot was known only to him and offers a panoramic view of the city as it starts to twinkle with the first lights of evening, the natural grassy surface underfoot soft and inviting.

Standing close by his presence was both comforting and solid, Azriel shares a story, his voice low and warm, recounting a humorous mishap from his early days as a spymaster. The tale is endearing, revealing a less guarded side of him and laughter bubbles up freely from your throat.

As your laughter transitions into a soft chuckle, you turn to face him. The last rays of the sunset bathe Azriel in a warm, golden light that illuminates his features, casting a glow that outlines him like an ethereal halo. His eyes that were filled with affection and a hint of amusement, meet yours. In that instant something profound shifts within you.

It feels as if a key has turned, unlocking something wondrous and overwhelming. The mating bond, which has been delicately weaving its way through each of your interactions, now clicks into place with perfect clarity. The sensation is electrifying yet profoundly comforting. Resonating through your very being.

Your breath catches and your heart races—not just from the shock of the realization but from the undeniable rightness that surges through you. Azriel, noticing the subtle transformation in your expression halts his story. A flicker of concern crossing his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks with his voice tinged with worry. The humor from his story now replaced by attentive care.

A mix of joy and amazement washes over you as you feel a comforting swirl of his shadows around your feet. Like curious creatures affirming this new connection. "Azriel, I think... I think the mating bond just…," you trailed off unsure how to continue. Your voice was filled with awe. The realization brings a new depth to your smile as you meet his gaze which is now shimmering with a mixture of relief and happiness.

"That's what I've been feeling," Azriel breathes out, a tender smile spreading across his face as he steps closer. He reaches out gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "I've been waiting, hoping you would feel it too when the time was right."

Taking his hand, you feel a warmth that goes beyond physical touch. A connection that seeps into the depths of your soul. "I’m glad it’s you," you say quietly, sincerely, the words flowing easily.

Azriel’s other hand comes up to gently cup your cheek. His touch feather light. "And I’m honored it’s you," he responds. His gaze locked with yours. The world around you—the city lights, the soft whisper of the evening breeze—fades into a gentle backdrop to the profound connection you share.

In this moment with Azriel’s shadows dancing around, playful, and protective, you feel a sense of completeness. A promise of endless possibilities. Together, bonded not just by fate but by a mutual understanding you know that whatever the future holds you'll get to navigate it side by side.

As the realization of the mating bond settles between you, Azriel's shadows seem to take on a life of their own. They swirled around you both with a newfound enthusiasm. The delicate tendrils of darkness weave around your legs and occasionally brush against your hands as if testing and reinforcing the connection that has just been acknowledged.

Azriel watches with a tender amusement as his shadows interact with you, their movements more animated than usual. "They seem to have taken quite a liking to you," he comments. His voice warm with affection and a hint of pride. "They're not usually this... attentive."

As the shadows continue their gentle dance around you, one particularly daring tendril snakes up your arm, its touch lighter than a feather. You can't help but laugh. The sound echoing softly in the quiet of the evening. With a delighted grin you reach out to trace the path of the shadow with your fingertips, marveling at the cool, tingling sensation it leaves on your skin.

Azriel continues watching with an affectionate roll of his eyes accompanying his half-smirk. "You're going to spoil them," he teases. His tone light but full of warmth.

Encouraged by your positive reaction another shadow playfully darts forward and mimics the motion of a gentle kiss on your cheek. You giggle with joy, your hand touching the spot in mock surprise and then you're both laughing. A shared moment of joy and wonder at the peculiar yet endearing behavior of the shadows.

Azriel shakes his head, but his eyes shine with amusement. "Now you've done it. They're going to expect this king of attention all the time," he jokes as the shadows around him swirled in what you swear could be shadowy laughter.

"You know, I think I'm okay with that," you respond still smiling as you watch the shadows retreat slightly, as if bashful from the attention. "They're quite charming. Just like someone else I know." You glance up at Azriel with a playful smirk. Enjoying the light flush that colors his cheeks at the compliment.

The shadows, seemingly pleased with their role in this light-hearted exchange, settle more calmly around you both like a contented sigh after a bout of laughter. The protective circle they form feels like a gentle embrace not just from Azriel but from all parts of him.

As the laughter fades Azriel's expression turns tender, his gaze softening as he searches your face looking for any sign of unease. "But seriously," he says with his voice low and earnest, "are you really okay?" His concern is palpable. The bond between you making every emotion, every nuance of feeling that much more intense and meaningful.

You meet his gaze feeling a surge of warmth from his sincere concern. Smiling gently, you nod, the tranquility of the moment filling you with a profound sense of peace. "I really am okay. For the first time in a long time," you admit. Your voice steady and sure. The confession feels like a significant acknowledgment of the journey you've been on and the role Azriel, and his shadows, have played in it.

Azriel's smile in response is radiant. A look of relief and happiness that brightens his entire demeanor. "That's all I’ve ever wanted to hear," he murmurs. His voice soft with emotion. He stands closer, his hand gently squeezing yours. "Come on, love," he whispers with a twinkle in his eyes. "Let's fly home."

With a graceful motion Azriel unfurls his expansive wings, the dark feathers shimmering under the starlight. The sight never fails to take your breath away. He wraps an arm securely around your waist, his touch reassuring. "Ready?" he asks. His voice a low rumble filled with excitement and anticipation.

With a nod you cling to him, feeling the rush of air as he leaps into the sky. Velaris unfolds below you. It was a gorgeous tapestry of lights and shadows. The wind was cool and exhilarating against your face. Flying with Azriel, held close against his chest, the city sprawling beneath you is an experience that feels as if it straddles the line between dream and reality.

The flight is swift and smooth. The quiet only broken by the rushing wind and the steady beat of Azriel's powerful wings. The world seems to shrink away, leaving only the two of you soaring through the night sky. As the House of Wind comes into view Azriel’s descent is gentle, a reminder of his skill and care for you.

You land softly on the balcony, the cool night breeze playing around you, still wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. Just as you touch down the laughter and lively banter of the Inner Circle reach your ears from inside.

As you and Azriel step through the grand doors of the House of Wind the lively atmosphere of the Inner Circle greets you. Cassian's booming voice fills the foyer as he spots you descending from the balcony. "Finally decided to join us, huh? Or were you two plotting to take over Velaris with your love-struck scheming?" he teases, winking not so conspicuously.

Rhysand joins in with a sly grin. His eyes twinkling with mischief. "I think they were busy weaving shadows and starlight. Look how they landed, like a pair of night-blooming flowers." His voice was laden with humor and draws a round of chuckles from around the room.

Feyre, Nesta, and Elain watch from the side, their expressions varying degrees of amusement and affection. Feyre's eyes meet yours and she gives you an approving nod. Her smile suggesting she understands more than she lets on. Nesta’s smirk is more enigmatic but supportive while Elain’s gentle gaze is filled with romantic delight at the scene unfolding before her.

Amid the teasing Azriel keeps you close, his arm remaining protectively around your waist. The warmth of his embrace reassures you. His presence a calming force against the good-natured ribbing. "Ignore them," he murmurs softly against your ear, just loud enough for you to hear over the laughter. His voice is rich with affection and a hint of playfulness that only you are privy to.

"You make it sound so easy," you whisper back, unable to suppress a smile feeling buoyed by the love filling the room.

As the evening progresses the light banter continues, with everyone occasionally casting teasing glances your way, making playful comments about the inseparable duo you and Azriel have become. Despite the jests there’s an underlying current of genuine happiness for you both. A celebration of the deepening bond that everyone seems to recognize and respect.

The night unfolds with shared stories, laughter, and an occasional clinking of glasses in toasts, not just to the night but to new beginnings and magical connections. As you stand by Azriel’s side, surrounded by friends who are more like family. You feel a profound sense of belonging and happiness. Here in the heart of the Night Court, under the watchful eyes of the stars and the soft glow of the city, you are home—not just in place, but in heart, bound by love, laughter, and the eternal dance of shadows and light.

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silent-stories · 2 months

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𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: Eddie's father didn't react well when Eddie accidentally dropped a bottle on the ground and years later, he still expects a violent reaction to an incident like this.

Warnings: violence (eddie gets beaten by his dad), blood, angst, fluff.

Eddie slowly opened his bedroom door, careful not to make too much noise and looked around, trying to identify the figure of the man who had returned home about an hour before, around three in the morning.

Probably, it was not a suitable time for a father of a seven-year-old boy and husband of a dying woman in hospital to come back home, even Eddie understood that.

He used to come back home late and drunk when his mother was still with them and he didn't stop doing it even when she got sick.

The blue socks on Eddie's feet cushioned the few steps he took forward, in the dark. His sleepy gaze, due to the late hour, scanned the room as he brushed aside a curl that had fallen over his eyes with his small, thin fingers.

His hair was getting too long again, he knew his father would soon order him to cut it.

The man's snores were guttural, punctuated by occasional coughs that rattled the room. The bottle lay discarded on the floor, its contents drained, a silent witness to the nightly ritual.

The television flickered in the corner, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Eddie’s mother’s favorite show played—a distraction from the harsh reality outside. But she wasn’t there to watch it anymore.

Eddie knew that when his father woke up in the morning, he wouldn't remember the bottle of whiskey left at his feet and would most likely drop it when he got up.

Only a few weeks earlier it had happened and Al had blamed it on the boy, saying that when he saw the bottle, the kid should have picked it up and thrown it in the trash when he was sleeping.

Eddie walked over to the couch where his father lay and grabbed the bottle in his hands. It was sticky and had a smell that the boy had found nauseating at the time.

He headed towards the kitchen, thinking whether he should leave it on the table, throw it in the bin with the remnants of the reheated pizza he had eaten for dinner, or go out and throw it in the rubbish bin on the street in front of the house.

The TV program came to an end and the screen went black for a few seconds, plunging the room into total darkness.

Eddie was sure that chair was a few steps ahead, he could have sworn it.

Probably, he should have waited for the light on the screen to return before taking any more steps.

His body hit the chair. The bottle slipped from his hands.

The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, emitting a deafening sound in the silence of the night and the man who was previously sleeping thoughtfully woke up with a start.

"What the hell..."

The child's eyes filled with tears even before his father reached him, staggering.

"What the hell did you do!?" The man barked, his deep voice seeming capable of shaking all the doors in the house.

"I'm sorry! I just wanted to throw away the bottle and I didn't-"

The man's fist came in contact with Eddie's face before he could finish his sentence.

The boy stumbled back, leaning against the wall behind him to keep himself from falling on the ground.

A terrible pain spread across one side of his face and he felt something warm dripping from his nose, the blood mixed with tears that he couldn't hold back.

“You never do anythin' right.” His father spat out.

Eddie sniffed, his lower lip trembling as he spoke. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Shut up!" Al shouted from a few inches away from the child's tear-stained face.

Eddie closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting for a second shot that didn't come. A sob escaped his lips and the fear that another punch would come soon didn't go away.

“Look at you,” Al chuckled, “weepin' like a girl.”

"I-I'm sorry-"

“You keep fucking sayin' that but you're doing nothin' to fix your mess!” The father shouted, grabbing the kid by the shoulder, with a grip too firm that would surely have left a bruise, pushing him towards the place where the bottle had fallen.

"Clean up." Al ordered.

Eddie nodded, knowing his voice wouldn't come out the way he wanted it to.

The silence received in response only further angered the man who, after reaching the child again, grabbed his face with one hand, squeezing it between his fingers.

"What is wrong with you? I said fucking clean up."

"Yes- sir." The boy sobbed.

Al released him with one last push, gave him one last look before heading towards his bedroom while the boy tried not to step on the pieces of glass around the room, which would easily pierce his old socks.

"Useless, fucking useless" Eddie heard his father say, "He can never do anything fucking right."

Finally, he closed the door of his room behind him and, only after Eddie heard the sound of his snoring reaching all the way to the kitchen, he started sobbing like he had never done in his life.

He spent the last hours of the night and early morning cleaning the pieces of bottles from the floor- cutting his hands two or three times in the process- and wiping away the drops of blood that his nose had left there.

He went to bed when the sun was already up, his hands had been bandaged as best he could and his nose had finally stopped bleeding.

The sound of the bottle shattering and his father's shouts seemed to haunt him even during his sleep.

That was the case for several days.

The memory of that night has never been erased. Not even thirteen years later.

"Eddie, we didn't buy any basil!" You exclaimed, looking up from the open recipe book on the table. “I knew we forgot something!”

The kitchen was warm, the aroma of simmering tomato sauce filling the air as Eddie stood by the counter, his hands dicing onions.

You were surprised that he hadn't cut any of his fingers yet and that he seemed to be putting all his effort into the task you assigned him.

"I have all kinds at home, if you really wanna add some... herbs."

You threw a rag at his head, making him laugh under the fabric.

"Hey!" He complained.

"What does "hey" mean? You wanted to put fucking drugs in my sauce!"

"“I thought that was our sauce.” He smirked.

You laughed at the way he said it, as if he was actually offended and hadn't spent the last hour laughing even though he was chopping onions.

“It depends, are you done with those?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. "All yours, my lady."

When he turned around, his elbow accidentally hit the glass bottle of olive oil, making it crash onto the tiled floor.

You never do anything right

Shards scattered like stars, reflecting the dim light.

After the sudden deafening noise caused by the bottle, the room seemed almost too quiet. He felt your gaze on him, but he didn't dare meet your eyes.

His heart raced, memories of that childhood night flooding back. His father’s rage, the jagged edges of broken glass, and the fear that had etched itself into his soul. Eddie clenched his fists, berating himself for his clumsiness.

His hands shook, the tremors echoing the chaos within. The room seemed to close in, the walls pressing against him. He suddenly felt like couldn’t breathe.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, "I'm sorry."

You keep fucking saying that but you're doing nothing to fix your mess.

He knew you weren't like him, not even remotely. He knew that he was no longer with him, that he was far away, that he couldn't hurt him.

What is wrong with you?

Despite this, he held his breath for a moment without even realizing it, as if he expected you to yell at him, to insult him, to tell him that he was no good at anything.

Useless, fucking useless.

"Shit, I have to clean up." He breathed, ducking ready to grab the pieces of glass with his hands.

He didn't even notice when you knelt in front of him, almost without making any noise.

Your touch was gentle as your hand met his, preventing him from grabbing the glass pieces.

"Hey. You're gonna cut yourself."

Your voice was calm and sweet, your tone almost sounded like one someone would use with a scared animal.

You weren't mad at him. You knew something was wrong with his reaction, and you weren't mad at him.

"But-"

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “Just a bottle.”

Your thumb ran over the back of his hand, drawing a couple of circles.

Eddie thought he might burst into tears right there in the middle of the kitchen covered in bottle pieces.

He expected anger, frustration, maybe even a shout. Instead, you reached for a dustpan, your hand never leaving his. Together, you swept up some of the shards, the silence broken only by the soft clink of glass. Eddie’s breaths steadied, and he realized that maybe, it was going to be okay.

His words stuttered when he spoke, still caught between vulnerability and fear. “You’re not mad?” he asked, his voice raw.

“No,” you replied, you gaze steady, still soft as ever. “I’m not mad and I have no reason to be. I don't know what was going through your head and I'll be here if you ever want to tell me, but really, it's just a bottle for me. It's okay. We’ll clean this up together.”

Your smile has always been one of the most beautiful sights for Eddie and in that situation even more so, if possible.

He couldn't help but gently push you against him and leave a light kiss on your forehead, without saying a single word. Now he knew you understood him even without them.

In your small kitchen covered in broken glass, Eddie realized that it was impossible to erase certain bad memories but that, if you gave him the opportunity, he would spend the rest of his life creating new ones with you.

When you finished cleaning and the sun went down, neither of you really cared that you hadn't finished cooking.

When you went to bed, Eddie held you a little tighter than usual.

His dad was no longer part of his life.

You were. And you loved him.

Eddie didn't need anything else.

A "thank you" was whispered during the night.

Tags: @jacklesbrainworms @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat @michaelfuckinglangdon @flawiette @needylilgal022 @bubsonnobx @yujyujj @findmeincorneliastreet @kennedy-brooke @witchwolflea

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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rainba · 2 months

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What's Rightfully Mine (Yan. Kairos! x GN! Reader)

A/N: OOuuuhh... I've read over this a billion times and I figure I may as well go ahead and upload it. ^^;;;;;;;;;;;; Matching artwork with the story...! Woohoo! (*´▽`*)

TWs: very graphic depictions of violence, disturbing yandere behaviors, mild gore, kidnapping, 18+ content....... Kairos being Kairos. Slight mention of virginity (but it's just Kairos' virginity) MDNI.

Wordcount: 2300~

((And thank you @x-v0id-x for reading over the fic for me before I posted it!!! ☆:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:☆ ))

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Kairos never meant for this to happen.

He swears up and down that he never wanted to do it– he promises that he never intended to hurt anybody.

But he did anyway.

However… Can you blame him–?

You are Kairos’ one and only, his soulmate, his beloved, the reason he breathes, the reason he wakes up every morning, the reason why he’s still alive– you’re his everything! Was he supposed to just let you run off into the arms of another man without even attempting to fight back...?!

The way you looked at that filth– that disgusting, foul, no-good other man… It made Kairos sick to his stomach.

What even was that guy’s name...?

(####)? (######)? (######).

Yes, that’s his name, Kairos is sure of it.

It repeats itself in Kairos’ mind over and over again, piercing his skull like a blade that twists and twists until he’s left screaming for mercy at the top of his lungs.

“G-get out of my head! Get out! Get out get out get out! Leave me alone!”

Countless nights end in him violently waking up from the same nightmare– a nightmare where you and (######) run off together while he helplessly watches. And in the nightmare, you smile so brightly, but you’re only smiling at that bastard. It’s like Kairos is invisible as he desperately crawls towards you. He’s sobbing and begging for you not to leave him, but it’s as if you can’t hear him.

However, (######) can.

(######) spits on him, jeers at him, then laughs as he carries you far, far away.

In Kairos’ nightmares, the other man stomps on his neck as he spits out callous remarks.

“Nobody could ever love you.” He sneers.

“You’re nothing but a disgusting freak.”

Kairos knows he’s heard these things before– but he can’t remember who once told him that.

He feels so powerless when imagines you with (######) as he sleeps, and he can’t stop himself from thinking about it when he’s awake– it’s a never-ending tragedy that haunts every second of every day. The bags under his eyes have grown horrifyingly darker. Kairos had to make this stop.

He was desperate.

Kairos didn’t have a choice as he broke into that man’s house, sneaking in through the first-floor window and trudging down the darkened halls.

Kairos didn’t have a choice as he crept into the shadowy bedroom with a silver blade placed firmly in his hands, his back pocket harboring a rag soaked in chloroform.

The two of you were sleeping together so peacefully– you and that disgusting bastard.

That man looked so carefree; his chest rising and falling at a perfectly even pace. His arms were wrapped so warmly around you, holding you close in a tender embrace. The blankets covered your lower halves, and the man’s face was buried in the back of your neck.

The scene was so peaceful. Way too peaceful…

With tear-stricken eyes, Kairos couldn’t help but wonder: “why can’t that be me?”

Why does this man get to live a happy and carefree life, but not him? Why does this man get to hold you tightly in his arms, and not him? Why… Why…

Why does Kairos never get what he wants?

This feeling– this god awful feeling that Kairos is constantly haunted by: envy.

Envy… The one emotion he’s all-too familiar with. He doesn’t want to feel this way anymore– for once in his life, he wants to have something, and not just yearn for it.

In this moment, he knows that the only way to obtain happiness…

Is simply to take it by force.

Kairos had to be fast– because if the man woke up before he could stun him, then he’d be quickly overpowered.

Before he focused on taking him out, Kairos tiptoed over to your side, his gaze softening for just a moment. He pulled out the rag from his back pocket and placed it gently under your nose, covering all your airways. He knew he had to wait a few minutes– he had to make sure that you won’t wake up any time soon. So, while he stood there, he lovingly petted your hair and left little kisses on your forehead. When he was certain that the chloroform settled in, his heart started to tighten in his chest.

Adrenaline struck him like lightning as he snuck around the side of the bed, his purple eyes locked in on his target. For the first time in his life, Kairos was no longer the victim.

Nervous sweat dribbled down the sides of his face as he held the blade up high, positioning the pointed end towards the man’s exposed throat. Kairos could have turned back– he could have easily put the knife away and let you both go free. But he loved you too badly. He needed you too badly.

This was it.

He jabbed the knife deep into the man’s neck, hoping that would prevent any screams.

And it worked.

(######) jolted awake in horror as his mind raced to figure out what was happening. He threw his hands onto the wound and tried so desperately to stop the bleeding, but it was futile. It was so, so futile. Gurgled sounds bounced off the walls as a bloody rampage ensued right beside you.

Seeing the red gushing out flipped a switch in Kairos’ mind. He doesn’t know why he lost control– he doesn’t know how it happened– but it did.

Kairos’ vision went black as he fully jumped on top of the bed, plunging the knife into (######)’s body over and over and over again.

Slash, slash, slash.

A horrifying symphony: the sound of flesh being sliced apart.

The man’s muffled cries were like music to Kairos’ ears.

He choked and he gagged, whimpered and wailed, but coherent words of pleas were unable to escape his mouth. Every time he tried to kick Kairos off, Kairos would stab him in his legs. Every time the man tried to push him off, Kairos would slash the palm of his hands. Kairos thought for sure that he’d be overpowered, but the adrenaline in his veins gave him strength that he never knew he had.

And there was blood.

Blood everywhere.

“M-mine, mine, mine… They’re mine...!” Kairos mumbled manically under his breath, his focus flipping back and forth between you and his victim. But– it wasn’t just Kairos that looked over at you. Your partner did as well.

His shimmering eyes stared at you longingly– so lovingly... Too lovingly.

It made Kairos’ blood boil.

Through gritted teeth, he spat out, “n-no, you don’t get to look at them...! Don’t look at them ever again!”

Then… Slash.

The silver knife plunged deep into his eyes– thick blood spewing out from the wound.

Kairos can barely remember what happened after that. All he knew was that, eventually, the man ceased to struggle.

His black hoodie was now soaked in blood- his quivering hands completely red. It dripped from his cheeks and onto the corpse beneath him– the entire world was spinning dizzyingly fast.

(######)’s body was painted in deep lacerations, and his face was disfigured to the point of him being unrecognizable. Something about it was so… So…

Exciting.

It was done now. It was over.

There was nobody in this world who could take you away from him.

And the thought of that made him smile.

Kairos laughed– he laughed so joyously, laughed so carefree.

Kairos’ mind was an incoherent mess. A horrible, horrible mess.

And he doesn’t know why it happened– he doesn’t know how it happened– in one moment, he was attacking that man, but in the next…

“M-mine… Mine… You’re f-finally mine!”

His pale hands were shaking as they savagely tore away your thin clothing. Kairos pushed your ex-lover’s corpse onto the floor as he kissed your lips with the intensity of a starved animal.

Your lips were so much softer than he imagined– so much sweeter, too. He couldn’t contain his excitement anymore– after all, this night marks the beginnings of a new and wonderful life!!

And now, he also just gave you his first kiss!

The silver light of the moon was glowing on his face, illuminating the dark red blood that stained his skin. He was a monster– a selfish freak that craved your love more than anything else.

There really was no rhyme or reason to anything Kairos was doing. At that moment, he just wanted to feel good; he needed to feel your warmth.

In one second, he was desperately humping your leg while holding your hips in place. In the next, he was kissing your stomach and fervently licking your chest. He knows that you can’t feel it, but that’s beside the point– he uses this time as practice, so that when you are awake, you’ll be feeling nothing but bliss! And besides… You just taste so good; he can’t help himself.

Kairos kisses and bites at your neck and collarbone, leaving behind a faint trail of needy marks. Without thinking, he pulls out his cock and begins to jerk himself off. He parts his mouth and rambles to himself.

“I’ll… I’ll m-make sure nobody finds you! Nobody!”

Kairos sticks out his tongue and licks over your left nipple; he does it a few more times before fully sucking on it. The lewd act sends a shiver down his spine.

It’s so hot, so naughty, and ultimately entirely new to him. He’s never been so turned on before.

“W-we’ll live happily together, alone in my apartment! And you’ll be s-so happy!”

He speaks as if you can hear him– and deep down, he almost wishes that you could. Kairos crawls up further onto the bed and digs his knees into your shoulders, the shadow of his cock looming over your perfect face. It’s so close to you– so, so close– god, he still wishes you were awake right now. But he knows you’d fight him off if you knew what was going on.

“I’ll f-feed you every day, and– And I’ll learn how to cook for you! I– I can watch videos online… I promise I’ll learn… J-just for you!”

He strokes himself even faster, soft wet sounds echoing off the bloodied walls. Kairos lifts the chloroform rag away from your mouth but keeps it over your nose. He presses his tip against your lips as he keeps going, his precum slowly dribbling down your chin.

“W-we can make love every single night...! I’ll… I’ll make you feel so, so good… I…” A shiver runs up and down his spine as a whiney moan escapes him.

“M-my virginity… It’s… It’s all yours...! Ahh…”

His eyes squeeze shut as a hot sting of pleasure surges through him.

“D-doesn’t that sound wonderful!? I’m all yours, my love!”

Kairos pushes his cock a little closer to your lips– but he does it a bit too aggressively, the tip of it scraping against your teeth. God, he would give anything for you to suck on it– even if only for a fraction of a second.

“Th-then we can have a family one day!! I’ll– I’ll get my job going, I… I’ll m-make more money! Lots of money! W-we can adopt… We can…”

With his one free hand, Kairos reaches down and begins to stroke your hair, leaving blood stains all throughout it.

“J-just us two, only u-us two… Nobody… Else!”

The pace of his hand quickens as his head starts to tilt backwards, his breathing growing out of control. His chest heaves as he erratically chases his high, yearning so badly to feel it hit him all at once.

He can’t help but imagine how wonderful the future will be– your all's future together. Then he imagines the way you’ll be all tied up in his bed, completely naked and vulnerable for him…

Just like you are now.

“F-fuck..!”

It’s all too much– Kairos’ cock twitches as he cums all over your face, some of it pouring into your mouth and on your cheeks. He squeezes as much of it out as he possibly can, craving to see you drenched in it. Throughout it all, you still sleep so peacefully… All thanks to the chloroform.

He can’t help but think that you look so cute when you’re knocked out and covered in his cum.

Ah… if only he could draw you in this state.

Even though he so badly wants to collapse by your side and cuddle you, he knows that he has to move. There is quite literally a dead body in the room and blood on his hands– he has to clean up.

And he also has to find a way to sneak your body to his broken-down car outside.

Very reluctantly, he kisses you on your forehead, smiling sweetly. “I’ll… I’ll be back, my love!”

After a while of stumbling, he finds himself entering the bathroom.

When he looks in the mirror, his eyes widen partially in horror. Kairos knew this side of himself existed deep within him… He knew there was a disgusting monster that laid dormant in his chest, but he had never before seen it come out so fiercely.

His pupils were small, his purple eyes hauntingly beautiful. And on top of that, he was grinning.

It was the first time he had genuinely smiled in weeks– maybe even months.

Kairos turned on the sink to wash off his face, but he only seemed to be making more of a mess. Blood streamed down the sides of the sink and pooled in the drain. Despite how macabre it all was, he just couldn’t stop smiling– because now he has everything he could ever want: you.

All to himself… Forever.

Until death do you part.

#teehee #silly kairos moment #yandere oc x reader #yandere #yancore #yandere male #yandere fic #male yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere x darling #kairos art

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vanteguccir · 2 months

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Speak Now | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where it's Y/N's wedding day, but Matt isn't the groom. During the ceremony, an act of impulse on the boy's part changes the fate of everything.

Warning: Slightly angst, but with a happy ending!

Requested?: Yes, by anon.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The cool orange color of the corner lamp lightly illuminated the walls of Matt's room, painting the room with a serene aura. He was still in his bed, mentally preparing himself to get up and start the day slowly, his thoughts still hazy from sleep, a low voice reminding him of the tasks he had to do - writing the script for the next video, answering emails, and posting his collaboration with Prada.

For a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the feeling of tranquility, but that peace was abruptly interrupted when the sound of his bedroom door slamming open echoed through the walls.

Matt turned abruptly to the source of the sound, frowning and opening his mouth to curse whoever had barged into his room so suddenly, but the words caught in his throat when he saw Nick standing there, his eyes wide and his hand holding an envelope tightly.

"Nick, what the fuck?" Matt's voice sounded hoarse and rough from lack of use as his eyes traveled from Nick's face to the envelope and back again.

"Matt... It's from Y/N." Nick muttered apprehensively.

The boy sat down abruptly on the mattress when he heard his ex name, watching Nick slowly approaching and leaving the envelope on the crumpled comforter that covered the younger boy's legs.

"I don't know what it's about, I just found it on the floor in front of the front door."

Matt took the paper delicately, a feeling of apprehension growing in his chest as he recognized Y/N's elegant handwriting on the sender, his own name, and his brother's in the recipient field. His mind wondered why she had sent that, who even sends letters through mail in 2024?

With shaking hands, he tore open the envelope and removed the paper inside, barely noticing Nick's silent exit. His heart sank when he noticed that it wasn't just any paper. It was an invitation... a wedding invitation.

The words printed in embossed letters and in gold color on high quality paper, announcing the day she would become the wife of her current boyfriend, or rather, fiancé.

An overwhelming mix of emotions hit him head-on. Matt gasped, holding the invitation as if it were a precious artifact, but also a knife that pierced his heart. He could feel the bitter taste of regret filling his mouth as his memories with Y/N flooded his mind.

He found himself transported back to the happy days when they were together, each moment shining in vivid colors before his eyes. The shared laughter, the hugs on cold or hot nights, the whispered promises of eternal love... Everything seemed so close, and yet so far away.

Tears threatened to flood his eyes as he struggled to process the magnitude of the situation. He bitterly regretted letting Y/N go, letting his insecurities and fears ruin what they shared. He knew he had no one else to blame but himself for his own loneliness.

A violent internal struggle unfolded within the boy. A part of him wanted to throw the invitation through the window, refuse to witness the ceremony that would tear him up even more inside. But another part, a stubborn and masochistic part, insisted on attending, as if seeing Y/N unite with another man was the punishment he deserved for his failures.

Matt clutched the invitation tightly in his hand, lightly crumpling the expensive paper, feeling fragile and broken. Every beat of his heart echoed with the weight of a decision he didn't know if he was capable of making. He felt the weight of loss pressing down on his shoulders, the pain of a wound that never seemed to heal.

Silent tears streamed down his cheeks as he fought his emotions in turmoil. He loved Y/N more than anything in this world, and even though he had already lost her the day he saw her walk through his bedroom door for the last time, he still held on to the narrow thread of hope he had in him, but now he was in danger of losing her forever, and it tormented him to the core of his soul.

With an anguished sigh, Matt finally let out a choked sob, pressing his hand against his mouth to muffle the ugly sounds, quickly glancing at the door left ajar by Nick. The last thing he wanted was to worry his brothers.

He knew he had no choice but to face the painful reality that Y/N would move on without him. He wished, with all his being, that things could have been different, that he could go back in time and right the wrongs he had made.

But now, all he could do was accept the invitation he held in his trembling hand and prepare to witness the love of his life being given to someone else.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Matt took a deep breath as he, along with his brothers, entered the imposing church where Y/N's wedding was about to take place. The decor details seemed to jump out, a lush fusion of fresh flowers - Y/N's favorite - and delicate fabrics, creating a fairytale atmosphere, exactly as he and Y/N had fantasized about for so many nights.

The rows of chairs were lined up precisely, each adorned with a floral arrangement. Matt watched the carefully planned details, feeling a pang in his heart.

As he rotated his gaze around the space, his eyes met Y/N's parents accompanied by her fiancé, who was already looking back at the triplets. Matt's eyes widened slightly when he noticed the man open a gentle smile towards him, a strange feeling of resignation and envy flooding him almost automatically.

Victor, who he saw so much of only through Y/N's social media, was tall, with slightly curly brown hair that shone in the light, and vibrant blue eyes that seemed to reflect genuine joy. Matt couldn't help but notice how he perfectly fit the stereotype of the type of man Y/N always seemed to prefer - an observation that left a sour taste in his mouth.

The boy wondered if Y/N really had a specific type or if it was just a coincidence that he and her fiancé shared similar characteristics.

He forced himself to look away, his mind a mess of conflicting emotions and his heart screaming that he should just turn around and go back home. With a resigned sigh, Matt followed his brothers as they found their assigned seats.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Matt's heart was in turmoil as he anxiously awaited the long-awaited moment of the bride's entrance. His eyes darted nervously around the church, his breath caught in his throat as he tried to control the flood of thoughts that threatened to consume him.

And then, as if time had slowed down, soft music filled the air, announcing Y/N's arrival. His breath seemed to catch as he saw her appear in the aisle, a glimpse of ethereal beauty in her stunning wedding dress. His heart was filled with a mix of joy and pain when he saw her so perfect.

Matt thought he would only see her in a wedding dress on their own wedding day.

Tears threatened to blur his vision as he fought to hold them back. He wanted to scream from the rooftops and release all his pent-up anger, but his words were lost in the void of his silent anguish.

"Matt, are you okay?" Chris asked beside him in an almost muted whisper, only receiving a short nod in return.

As she approached the altar, Matt felt his leg begin to bounce involuntarily in a mixture of anxiety and hesitation. Every step she took seemed to sound like an echo in his own broken heart, a constant reminder of what could have been but would never be.

He had to do something.

When Y/N finally reached the foot of the altar, Matt clenched his right hand into a fist tightly, his teeth biting his thumbnail in a desperate attempt to contain whatever was wanting to come out. He watched with a lump in his throat as she and Victor turned face-to-face, everything sounding muffled against his ears.

He had to.

Every word spoken was like a knife in his heart. He wondered if Y/N could feel the intensity of his emotions, if she could see the love and sadness mixed in his eyes as her own eyes circled the room momentarily, carrying a mix of nervousness and anxiety.

Silence hung in the church, heavy and dense, as the priest finished his solemn last words.

"If anyone has anything to say against this union, speak now or forever remain silent." Finally came the phrase so feared and long awaited.

The priest's voice echoed through the sacred space, resounding off the walls as the guests held their breath. Matt felt his heart hammer in his chest, almost hearing it in his ears, a tumultuous mix of fear and determination swirling in his mind.

He needed to.

And then, before he could think twice, before he could stop the urge that welled up inside him, Matt stood up. His body acted on instinct, his chair scraping with a harsh sound against the floor at the abrupt movement of his body.

The loud sound cut through the silence like a knife, causing the guests to turn to his figure in shock, eyes wide in horror. The priest raised his eyebrows in surprise, his words frozen on his lips as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes.

Victor, Y/N's fiancé, looked at Matt with flaming hatred in his eyes, a completely different expression than the one he displayed moments before the ceremony. He knew who Matt was, and he knew Matt would mean trouble for him.

But Matt ignored all of this. At that moment, all that mattered was Y/N. His blue eyes brimming with fear and love looked intensely into Y/N's shocked ones, who seemed frozen in place.

"I-I..." Y/N began, clearing her throat and turning to face the sea of guests. "I need a moment."

And then, without waiting for a response or further intervention, Y/N got down from the altar and turned around, starting to run towards the back of the church. Her footsteps echoed in the silence with the click of her high heels against the floor, each beat of her heart matching the frantic pace of her run.

"Matt!" Nick called through gritted teeth, quickly glancing at the people around him as he raised his right hand, holding Matt's wrist tightly. "Sit down, now."

Matt barely had time to process what was happening before his instincts took over again, pulling his wrist from Nick's grip quickly. He ignored the confused murmurs of the guests accompanying him as he ran after Y/N.

He had to reach her, had to find a way to explain himself, to convince her to listen. He couldn't let her go without a fight, not after everything he had risked.

Matt's feet pounded the church floor as he ran, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He barely noticed Victor's screams echoing behind him, barely noticed the dirty looks that glared at his back as he chased the only love he'd ever had. All that mattered was reaching Y/N, holding her hand, and never letting it go again.

Matt pushed open the back doors of the church hard, his mind spinning in a whirlwind as he prepared to face whatever was on the other side.

He was expecting the worst - a furious face, eyes full of rage, cutting words thrown his way. But what he found was the complete opposite of that.

Y/N's figure was there, just a few feet away. She held her heels in one of her hands, her veil was lying on the floor next to her bare feet, and her beautiful dress was rumpled, but there was a huge smile on her face, and her eyes showed an intense relief.

Matt frowned in confusion, his own mind in turmoil as he tried to process what was happening. The boy expected her to confront him, to blame him for interrupting her perfect day, for destroying her dreams. But not that.

Before he could do anything, Y/N dropped her heels onto the delicate veil before running towards him, her steps quick and purposeful. She stopped before Matt, her eyes shining with an intensity that left him speechless.

Without hesitation, the girl raised her hands towards his face, cupping his red, hot cheeks, her fingers touching his skin with a tenderness that made him shiver. And then, so suddenly, she pulled him towards her, her lips meeting his in a deep, desperate kiss.

Matt felt the world disappear around him as he gave himself over to the gesture, all his questions slipping from his mind, his hands finding their place around Y/N's waist almost automatically, as if it was marked into his soul.

He could feel the warmth of her body against his, the soft touch of her lips against his own, and Matt had never, until that moment, truly understood how much he missed that.

Matt's lips gently parted from Y/N's seconds later, his eyes remained fixed on her face, as if trying to decipher a complex riddle. He felt the euphoria of the moment still pulsing through his veins, but a sense of confusion was still mixed with the intensity of it all.

"I... I don't understand." The boy murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to find the right words to express the whirlwind of thoughts that assaulted him.

Y/N shook her head, a soft smile still playing on his lips. She pulled away slightly, maintaining eye contact with Matt.

"I know this is all very confusing." She began, her voice soft and comforting. "But I'm so happy, Matt. So happy and relieved that you're here."

Matt's confusion deepened even further as he took in her words. He couldn't understand how she could be so serene and happy after everything that happened and what he did with her special date.

The boy felt a weight on his shoulders and an immense desire to look behind his shoulders towards the door, feeling as if someone would open it at any moment and expose them to the public.

"When I sent the invitation." Y/N continued. "I felt scared. Scared that you wouldn't show up, that you would choose not to be here. But deep down, I knew you would come. I knew you wouldn't let me down."

Her words hit the brunette like a wave of comforting heat. He watched her intensely, his racing heart overflowing with love as goosebumps ran through his whole body.

"Don't get me wrong, Victor is an amazing guy, but... Matt, he's not you. He never was. No one will ever be you." She unbuttoned her lace sleeves before rolling them up, ripping off the flower that was attached to the fake belt at her waist and throwing it over her heels.

She really was something.

"Y/N-"

"Run away with me?

Y/N's suggestion left Matt speechless. His body remained static as his eyes stared at her, his orbs filled with shock and disbelief. He never imagined that she could suggest something so radical.

"Matt, please, we have to go. Run away with me."

A smirk slowly grew onto Matt's face before he took her right hand in his, pulling her close tightly and picking her up in one quick movement, his right arm supporting her back and his hand gripping her waist tightly, while his left arm held her legs beneath her knees, pressing her against his body.

A squeal escaped Y/N's throat, who wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her hands on the back of his head tightly, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder, a loud laughter passing through her lips.

"You're unbelievable, pretty girl... Come on, let's go."

So glad you were around when they said: Speak Now.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

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anlian-aishang · 6 months

Text

Tags: levi ackerman x reader, mutual pining [coworkers] to smut, only one bed, non-sexual spitting, alcohol mention, reader wears levi’s shirt, cunnilingus, penetration, modern AU, fem!reader Word count: 10,000 A/N: thank you to @lostinwildflowers for betaing this! Birch is one my writing idols, so I am truly honored. I hope you enjoy <3

This can’t be happening.

Unknowingly, the two of you shared a silent sentiment. After a late taxi, long lines of airport security, and racing to the terminal only to be delayed for several hours, the cherry on the shit sundae - as he would put it - was the midnight arrival to a hotel with only one bed.

“You’re sure?”

The look on the nervous teenager’s face conveyed the answer before he even uttered the question. Still, Levi knew he had to ask, audibly enough for you to hear - just so you would know that he did. In the face of liability, you had to acknowledge that he had tried his best.

“I’m really sorry, sir.” Their eyes were darting in panic between you and Levi as if you were the antidote to this angry customer. But he wasn’t angry, at least, not at them. Wasn’t the brat’s fault that Erwin booked the wrong room. “I have that in the afternoon of September the 15th, E. Smith booked a single king bed for one adult guest.”

“Two adult guests.”

They shared a lengthy eye contact. From the background, you watched their miscommunication unfold and cringed with secondhand embarrassment. You nearly burst into nervous laughter when they shrugged, “I can provide you with extra complimentary toiletries.”

At his sides, Levi unclenched his fists in defeat, “...We’ll manage.”

The plastic key cards made a satisfying sound as the receptionist slid them across the marble countertop - equal and opposite to the dissatisfaction on Levi’s face. In one smooth motion, he handed you your copy while simultaneously whipping out his cell phone. Two clicks - speed dial and call. Two rings - Erwin answered.

You couldn’t hear the other end, but you had your guesses.

Hello?

“You fucked up.”

Sorry?

“As you should be.”

For what?

“Stuffing two adults in one bed, what made you think we’d appreciate that accommodation?”

Given the looks you’ve been giving each other at the office, I thought you might.

Levi violently snapped his phone closed in hopes you couldn’t hear that. Thrusting his phone in his pocket, he used his free hand to snatch luggage from yours. “Give me that.”

A kind gesture, but irritation in his voice made it confusing. You thought to grab it back and insist that you could handle it, but instead, held your tongue. Clearly, he was steaming. Any objection, even a well-intended one, you doubted it would better his mood. Walking towards the lift, you concluded that nothing you had to say would supply ice to his ire. Though, the walk, time, and your calming presence, seemed to be working, you thought as you watched him delicately pad the UP button.

In the intimacy of the elevator, Levi allowed himself one venting word, “Idiot.” He sighed, placed his thumb and pointer finger on each of his temples, and rubbed wrinkles into his skin. “As if we haven’t already been through enough.”

Today and long before, the two of you had been through plenty together. Tonight was the first time you would pin it on Erwin. All other times, it had been your own selves and each other to blame.

He loved the way you looked in those small pencil skirts and see-through tights, but he hated what it did to him. Meetings in which he could only stare, absorbing nothing. In the middle of a phone call, when you walked by, he would forget its purpose and stammer aimlessly. Nights kept awake, staring at his ceiling, a blank canvas for projecting his wandering thoughts: how you would look with the skirt yanked up and the tights pulled down, how you took your outfit off after work, and if you wanted his help with that.

Countless times, you had cursed the man you crushed on. The way he ran his fingers through his hair when overworked made you want to try it yourself, to take his stressors away - or better yet - serve as the relief to them. On hot days, he loosened his top button. On lucky days, the top two. On his way out the door, he would tug his tie out from under his collar, creating a loop wide enough for you to slip your hand through and use it to pull his lips to yours - or so you imagined. Each day, Levi had fed you tastes. Over time, your craving for him had grown unbearable.

Ultimately, this out-of-town assignment was a test, and a final exam at that. Years of studying one another were culminating in one night, on one bed. The chime of the elevator interrupted your thoughts as if it was a warning: ground yourself. The plain of Levi’s expression and calm in his pace on the way to room 845 echoed its sense: he was unriled, uninterested.

Your read was wrong. Levi was thankful that you trailed him: with his back to you, you could not see his rouge tint, the bite of his lip, or the twitch of his cheek. As he pressed his key to the reader, held the heavy hotel door, and slugged both of your belongings atop the desk and dresser, you admired the way he moved so suavely - when actually, he considered his motions stiff, careful, and calculated.

Neither of you bothered to turn on the light. Taxed bodies, tired eyes, and tempted temperaments shared a desire to finally climb in bed. No need to delay things any longer. Levi unzipped his suitcase, the sound garnered your attention. Immediately, you noticed now neatly he had packed, admired his organization and pristine folds, then planned that when it came your time to unpack, you would aim to shield your messy methods from the clean freak’s vision.

A gray cotton tee - matching his eyes, black sweatpants - same shade as his hair. A navy canvas travel bag topped the pile. Levi leaned effortlessly against the white bathroom door and stated, “I’ll change in here.”

You nodded vehemently, as if he had ordered you on an important mission, “I’ll be out here.”

Cute. And at that intrusive thought, he silently ducked away.

Unbuckling his belt, tugging his zipper, freeing his legs from his slacks, Levi tipped his head back against the wall and sighed. Every muscle in his body finally untensed, he was set free from one cage of many. His business-casual confines had been done away with. Now, he just had professionalism, work relationships, and his fucking hormones to maintain.

His boxer briefs were agitatingly taut, struggling to constrain years’ worth of tension in their cotton threads. Levi looked down to his lap and cursed himself. Hovering around thirty, yet all the composure of a fresh young bachelor. Gradually, Levi hooked his thumb beneath the elastic waistband and loosened just a little, allowing him room to breathe. Too much room maybe as the chill thermostat air contrasted harshly with his warmed passion and drew a loud hiss. Levi clenched his teeth hard in an attempt to bar his vocals, praying to whatever power that you wouldn’t knock on the door and call Levi, you alright? It was just the kind of person you were, and Levi had come to know you well.

That anxiety turned out to be false, for your ears were ringing: ignorant of his desires, overwhelmed by your own. Gingerly, you unzipped your luggage and fret at the sight: a little black nightgown with lace on the hems. Its sight hit you like a load of bricks, lightning to the thunderous memory of your midnight, sleep-deprived, frantic packing. That woman was giddy for the business trip with her office crush and, in that frenzy, picked her sexiest pajamas for the special occasion. Goddammit! If only you knew that he wouldn’t be seeing it from across the room as a tease, he would be sleeping next to it, maybe even feeling it if one of you crossed your half of the mattress. Cursing yourself, you dug frantically in search of something - anything - else to wear to bed, but were rudely met with only pantsuits and blouses. You bunched your nightgown in your trembling fists, but its thinness and shortness allowed it to fit wholly in your hands - foiling your coping strategy. All you could do was tip your head back and sigh to the ceiling, Fuck me.

That feeling echoed when you draped it over yourself and saw your reflection in the hotel window. Your hair was disheveled from the long day. Makeup smeared and ran down your face, eyeliner to eyeshadow. Wrinkles in your silk dress. Looks like you were already fucked.

On the other side of the door, Levi was thinking the same thing: he was absolutely fucked. His erection stood high after minutes of waiting. Cold water splashed on his face, but his fever seemed to evaporate it. Trying to think about humbling topics, but he couldn’t get you off his mind. To make his arousal vanish, there was one thing he could do, but there wasn’t enough time for that. Even if the shower were running, Levi doubted that the downpour of water would be able to suppress the noises of slapping skin or his embarrassingly heightened vocals. Fuck. Levi clutched the bathroom countertop and sighed at his reflection. His exhale fogged the mirror just before he hung his head down and conceded. God, help me.

His prayers ignored, you ended up knocking on the bathroom door eventually: “Levi?”

Every nerve in his body froze. He stammered more times than he would have liked before managing a stern “What?”

“Sorry! I just -” humiliated heat seemed to radiate off of you, “- take your time, I just -”

Half listening, half panicking, Levi seemed not to pay mind to your take your time - stepping into his joggers and throwing on his shirt as fast as he could.

“- can I brush my teeth?”

You were startled when his response was a quick and loud turn of the handle, wordlessly letting you in. Levi was surprised to see you the way you were: temptress dress with a toothbrush and toothpaste innocently perched in each hand. The eye contact lasted for three seconds, but you could have sworn that it was that many years long.

The twitch of your hands and your heart’s lofty goals placed a dollop of toothpaste twice as big as you normally would. Had to have perfect breath, just in case. Not even just in case, you were going to lay beside him - mere inches away - for the next several hours. In those seconds of pondering, gravity began to spill your toothpaste off the bristles and towards the pristine marble vanity. With haste, you jammed the toothbrush into your mouth, causing you to gag on your device.

Levi felt his erection press against his waistband and rolled his eyes at his own stupid urges. You assumed that eye roll was for you and offered an innocent grin. Not so innocent, however, was your curiosity. His t-shirt was tight, leaving little to the imagination. One arm’s reach from an array of muscles, you kept your eyes deliberately on the mirror ahead. However, your doppelganger had a mind of her own apparently, gaze falling from eye contact and onto his chest, waist, abdomen. Without even having to turn his head, Levi could see your staring, obviously more obvious than you thought it would be. With your attention on his lower half, Levi allowed himself a smirk.

Such a silly thing, but was this the first time you brushed your teeth next to someone? This handful of minutes was inexplicably romantic, oddly domestic. Pajamas, double sinks, and the end of a long day. You had been coworkers, acquaintances, and unknowingly requited lovers, but for this one moment, you were husband and wife.

White toothpaste lined the gap between his top and bottom lip, and for some reason, you felt your knees buckle. Levi ducked down to spit, a polite attempt to hide it. Your eyes rejected his offer, instead widening as your pupils honed in on the sight. Leaning forward ever so slightly, you savored yet loathed the way his rejection ran down the pipe. What a waste.

Levi sheathed his toothbrush back in its protective case, a neat freak through and through, and slid it back into his tote. Sifting through, he stumbled upon a mini bottle of mouthwash, making him freeze with indecision: added freshness at the cost of spitting in front of you again? He felt that once had already been rude enough. Levi shot you a side-eye and made an unexpected eye contact: he was trying to read you, you were already staring. Mutually miscommunicated guilt, both of you felt you had been caught and snapped back to aversion.

It came your turn to rinse your mouth, and he couldn’t help it. Levi could have blamed his peripheral vision, could have blamed the bright lights that lined the mirror, but hard-pressed, he could not come up with an excuse for why he watched you then. The streak of white that shot out of your mouth, its wake dribbling down your lips. Goddammit, you cursed your clumsiness and hastily wiped your mess with a washcloth. He knew it as well as you did: he should have been grossed out. Only Levi realized, though, how much he liked it, he was just too ashamed to admit it.

Though his arousal screamed, his lips stayed silent. There was a time and place.

Was there? You’ve worked together for how long? All those years, they never had a time or place?

A long inhale, a slow exhale, his fingers curled underneath the cold countertop, hoping its chill would thwart the flush of his chest. Fuck how badly he wanted to kiss you then, to thumb that white stain off your chin and into his mouth, to clutch the backs of your thighs and hoist you onto that vanity. Your waist in his hands, your sex in line with his -

“Levi?”

“Yeah?”

His rapid response, you mistook it as anger. While the voice on his shoulder was lust, yours was insecurity. Surely, you’re the last straw. Having to share a bed with a dork like you? He’s had a tough day. Don’t make him endure this.

“Do you want me to take the floor?”

A dumbbell dropped to the pit of his stomach. Of course not, but for you to bring it up, he must have been hasty to assume that you would share the bed. Levi grit his teeth, annoyed with his lofty goals. Two slow blinks, “I can.”

That was the last thing you wanted. “N-No… I don’t - I don’t mean…” Your lips parted in stammer. Eyes darted as if the tile walls would whisper you the answer. For a moment, you cursed the beautiful neutrality of his face: impossible not to love, but impossible to read. His stillness was contagious, though, and brought you to settle on an answer, “I’ll meet you under the sheets.”

Ears burned red as they checked: was that selective hearing or was that what you really said? Before his eyes could study you, you turned on your heel and closed the door shut.

Once again, on opposite sides of the door, your sentiment was shared: Phew.

He took a few minutes after that. When he finally walked out, he found that you had been lotioning your legs over that time. Dim glow of the bedside lamp reflected on your smooth skin. If not for the way he had come to know you, to respect and appreciate you, this sight could have been the cover of some sketchy magazine. Eagerness glazed your eyes. Your hands had been massaging your inner thighs, now a perfect shield for the gem between your legs. Levi gave the slightest shake of his head, not disapproval, but disbelief. How did you manage such effortless perfection?

Was that not everything about you, though? The most minute smile in meetings. Biting your lip when you were bored. A laugh so beautiful that it served as its own positive reinforcement, beckoning others to amuse you again. Were you the one?

Or was it the eyes of your beholder? Maybe you weren’t perfect, maybe that’s why you were in his eyes. Despite all the signs of your singlehood - never in a rush to get home, never a mention of a date - he never truly believed it. It was a war of his flawless intuition and steep infatuation. Either you were the one for him, or he had been wrong all these years.

Get in the bed, idiot.

His stride was steady, captivating, as he made his way to the side of the bed. In habit, Levi crossed his arms across his torso, prepared to lift up, but caught himself halfway. No, he would not be sleeping shirtless tonight. Neither would he sleep in his loose and breathable boxer shorts, but instead, stifling fleece. Already, for one reason or another, he was sweating. Upon approach, the layers upon layers of sheets, blanket, and comforter looked even more suffocating. He caught a glimpse of the thermostat, but then of you, and found your skin laden with goosebumps. Lips rolled beneath his teeth, bargaining, but he could not bring himself to turn the AC up while your body temperature was down. Just as strongly, he refused to do anything that might make you uncomfortable, like taking off his clothes, no matter how badly he wanted to. More words would have served you both well, tearing down the artificial barrier your doubts were constructing.

Can I take this off?

I would love nothing more.

But you were both stupid to imagine that dialogue.

Levi slowly reclined back, sighing as he sunk into the sheets. Already, his skin was burning. He combed his fingers back through his bangs and released a heavy sigh. A heavenly trial, you read it as a hellish endurance, and instinctually apologized, “...I’m sorry about this.”

You have nothing to be sorry for, Levi pondered the response, but deemed it too much. Instead, he feigned a disinterested mumble, “It’s Erwin’s fault.”

You, on the other hand, indulged your gut feeling, “He’s done worse.”

Levi huffed a single exhale, his version of a chuckle.

You turned on your side. He loved that you chose to face him rather than the wall. He hated that he even thought of that. You were so close, he could feel the mattress dip between you, could feel your breath cool against his skin. Eyes fluttering shut, your voice was either sultry or exhausted, a glass-half-full kind of thing. “Good night, Levi.”

Fuck, what a fight, battling the urge to kiss you then and there. Your eyes sparkling, noses nearly touching, he had sworn that this was how all the shitty romcoms went, but he failed to find anything lackluster about this scene. His lips yearned to close that distance, arms ached to perch themselves at your sides. Levi redirected that energy to his hands, fisting the comforter hard as he draped it gently over your shoulders, “Night, (Y/N).”

But how were you going to sleep like this? Although you were running off a 20-hour day, you felt that sleep would be a waste. Queueing for tickets to see your favorite artist, only to close the window the moment your turn came. Styling your hair just to go and get it cut straight after. Champagne dumped down the drain. Mentally, it was an unbearable thought. Physically, your body was even more resistant to the idea. Your middle was fucking throbbing. Nipples stood tall against their skimpy silk covering as if reaching for more contact, his contact. Legs squirmed against one another, trying to smother the burn between them, but you willed them frozen: don’t wake him up.

In your best state of mind, you would have recalled the symptoms of his insomnia: always a tall thermos of caffeine on his desk, perpetual circles under his eyes, especially the times you both worked late. On your way out, you would peek through the pane of glass on his door to wave good-bye. Now and then, he would be hunched over his desk, imprints of the keyboard on his cheek - a makeshift pillow for his crash naps. With a shred of thought, you would have realized he was likely already awake, but you were incapable of even that. It was midnight when you crawled into the king bed. Red digits at your side now read 1:40 AM, yet you knew that not one of those one-hundred minutes had been spent in sleep. Coffee in the morning, nerves on the plane, hormones now, you had left composure back at your apartment and you weren’t sure you’d get it back at any point of this business trip. I mean shit, you swore, this was only the first night.

Only the first night. One of many sure to come, right? How many nights had he gone to bed alone, kept awake with longing of having you by his side? How many mornings had he woken himself up with a sleepy mumble of your name, only to find one half of his bed empty? It couldn’t all be for nothing. Now that he was sharing the bed with you, it was all he ever wanted, yet you were still out of reach. Uncharacteristic, the most reliable man you knew was spiraling in thought.

But to you, it would make sense: the only one who could bring Levi Ackerman down was none other than himself. He saw it a different way: you were the only one who could dismantle him like this.

You could feel his heat emanating, could see his sweat reflecting. Before you could stop yourself, your affection had boiled over, “Levi…” your voice was hoarse, having gone hours without as much as a whisper, and unexpectedly loud. His silver gaze drifted to you, depleting the last of your reserves, you mused, “...you’re hot.”

A statement, not a question. In near pitch blackness, he allowed himself a rare smirk. Levi waited until it faded to turn towards you.

You pinched the hem of his shirt in your fingertips, nails accidentally scraped his abdomen on the way. “Want this off?” You tugged lightly, “I don’t mind.”

At the same time, you shivered, and Levi filled in the blanks to ground his wandering mind. “Cold?” His hands brushed yours on the way to the bottom of the garment. Levi bunched fists in his fabric and lifted it effortlessly up, over, off his head - as he wanted to do all those hours ago. Pent-up relief, he thrust his shirt to you and offered, “Could’ve just asked.”

You were right all along. All along, those loose button-up shirts had covered a chiseled body. He must have been curling with arms like that. A pull-up bar on the back of his bedroom door, how many repetitions did it take to get these muscles? Your eyes scanned every inch of him but could find not one flaw. Your lips were moving, but words failed to emerge. There were a million things you wanted to say to him, to tell him, but only one came through. You received his gift gingerly and muttered, “Thanks.”

This was a moment you had distantly fantasized over for years. Turns out, this was even better than you dreamed. His shirt carried a garden of mint, lavender, and tea leaves in its scent. In putting it on, you felt that you gained a glimpse into Eden. The fabric was satin soft and sheer thin. In watching you wear it, Levi felt in the presence of an angel. It highlighted the curves he loved and introduced him to ones he had never noticed before. Brows narrowed, pupils dilated in his gaze - concerned and deviant. The straight cut forced your waist and hips to confine. The small-pattern chest was clearly never meant to accommodate a body like yours. Threads were spread taut by your cleavage, nearly torn apart as they strained to cover you. In his eyes, he thought it fit you perfectly.

Arms finally through the sleeves. Beneath them, your hairs stood on end. Again, you shivered, but could not pinpoint why. It did not take the shiver, though, to convey your state. Your erect points stood above all. Levi looked to you with both pity and admiration, his voice their lovechild: “Look at you.”

You simmered, embarrassed yet teasing, “Looking isn't helping.” You crossed your arms before your chest and bundled yourself together, “If you really care -”

He did.

“- then do something about it.”

Unfolding the quilt from the foot of the bed, turning up the room’s temperature - those were the most straightforward solutions. But Levi was not thinking straight, and he had a feeling that was what you wanted. Slowly, Levi sifted his arm behind your shoulders, when you snuggled in, he sealed his wrap with a hand at your side.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

His gaze descended to meet yours. Likewise, you raised your gaze to meet. Painfully aware that this was a first for the both of you - neither his passion nor your arousal would shut up about it. At the same time, watching you shiver reminded him of all the times he had silently substituted your needs. Behind on work, you never asked for assistance, but would hurriedly throw things his way if Levi offered his help. When your car wouldn’t start that one winter day, who knows how long you would’ve paced in the parking lot had he not pulled his sedan beside yours and given you a jump? A sharp pang seized his heart in realization: he thought you were close, and now you were physically there, yet you still were not comfortable enough to ask him for anything - even though you both wanted it.

“Y’know,” his thumb rubbed your shoulder, “you should learn to just ask for what you want.”

Indeed, 2 AM haze was shrouding his awareness, too - particularly his self-awareness. Was it not him who steeped your tea in the mornings and tidied your desk before he left each night? He could have - should have - just asked you out all those times. How much sooner would this night have come if he had? Levi swore to live without regrets, but that did not stop him from acknowledging the opportunities he had missed thus far. He tossed you the takeaway he wished he had learned long ago: “Makes things a lot easier.”

At first, you thought he was chastising you. The stern monotone of his voice could chill you to the bone at times, but when you took in his expression, you felt warm all over. His brows were not knit, but perched in a tender lift. His breaths were not terse, like when he got annoyed, but slow and calm. At the same time, though, you could feel his heart pounding hard, could hear it when you placed your ear over his chest. Clouded moonlight softened those hardlined features, and again, you wondered if this was your first night together or actually your honeymoon: wasn’t this kind of pillow talk reserved for spouses alone?

A deep swallow, and the last time you checked yourself. Could he have looked any more genuine? Any more readable? Transparent? You didn’t think so. For the man of few words, this was all but an admission of his feelings for you, and it was the best look you had ever seen on him. His advice, his command, invited you to try that outfit on.

“Practice with me?”

One slight nod, so slight - you knew no one would have noticed it but you. In that, you felt your confidence soar, pulling the words from your heart to the air between you both, “Hold me tighter?”

He did.

“Pull me closer?”

He did.

“And kiss me already.”

Levi could not describe it, the feeling that overcame him when he heard your demand. Proud of you. Relieved. At peace yet exhilarated. The serenity that all was right in the world, yet the anticipation of what he had wanted all along. The nature of the kiss aligned with the latter. For two agonizing seconds, he examined you. Assured by the sight of your smile, he longed to taste it for himself. Thumb pressed to the curve of your chin, index finger perched under it, slowly yet with unwavering passion - that was the way Levi brought your lips together.

Soft, as he expected. Expert, as you had. Initial contact was delicate, the warmup slow. Levi always went so hard at everything he did, held such a sharp tongue, which was why the way he brushed against you made your heart stop. You knew strength to be his greatest, most innate feature, and therefore you deciphered that this tenderness was a display of exertion. Levi showed no signs of struggle, though. Touch-starved for you, yet his lips chose to waltz rather than tango. His hand on your chin drifted to the back of your neck. Nape cupped in his palm, he used that leverage to drift you here and there, allowing him to taste all of you - encouraging you to do the same with him.

Levi tasted like peppermint, the brand so sharp that it made you sneeze now and then, he had learned after enough lunch breaks. You tasted like cinnamon, the stick that baristas stuck in his chai come the colder months. When your tongues met, they created a new taste. After minutes of exchange, they became addicted to it. Their craving demanded all efforts in that search: Levi’s grip pulled you closer, you threw an arm over his back. Breaths turned to gasps, a wordless understanding of all you would do for the other: grab his mail on the way in, walk you to your car at night, and kiss until you were out of breath.

The thought had never crossed your mind, but his actions disintegrated it - the possibility that this was some selfish, opportunistic spell. Levi was nearly shaking with anticipation, his erection pained with neglect, but that did not influence his pace. Each time you thought the makeout might end, he would catch his breath with “pretty girl…” before joining you once again. His kiss was lovely, as was the spark at your middle, but his ardor was gas to your flame, and before you knew it, you were ablaze. You found your body rise against his, pushing off the mattress, and rolling to grind against the friction of his rigid figure. Levi was everything you ever wanted, and maybe you were just that desperate or just that greedy - the fact that you needed more. He wouldn’t have you any other way.

You thought twice before breaking from the kiss, one last deep plunge of your tongue to his throat before pulling away, conscious to savor the taste. “Levi…” you sighed.

A string of saliva hung between you, the clean freak calmly closed his fist over it, and you felt yourself shudder again, “can we keep practicing?”

His lips were one degree north of flat, about as big of a smile as anyone would see on Ackerman. Tonight, just the two of you here, it felt inexplicably, particularly special. “Make love to me.”

An advanced learner, you always went the extra mile. Back then, Levi had no doubt, it was the reason you had been promoted so quickly. Now, it was that you had aced the first lesson and jumped to the next: no longer asking, demanding already. Sentimental was not a feeling he knew, but proof that you were this comfortable with him was indeed something.

His praise reflected that feeling back onto you, “That’s right, good girl.” The back of his hand brushed unruly strands from your face. A kiss on your forehead rewarded, “like that.”

Once more, he pressed his lips to yours, but it was not even a second that he stayed - just a starting point to the journey that was exploring your body. Lips slid to the corner of your mouth, down your jawline, neck, then chest. A trail of hickeys and teeth grazes was left - tomorrow’s meetings and your professionalism having vanished from his mind. His hands joined the excursion: one gentle yet relishing in its caress of your neck, the other crawled up your - his - shirt. The familiar texture of his old garment contrasted with the novel feel of your skin. Muscles twitched with satisfaction, disrupting the fluidity of his motions, but you found beauty in the unpredictability of his touch. Rose-colored lenses were blind to the signs of his weakness, instead chalking those movements up to Levi’s expertise. As you tipped your head back and sighed, Levi figured it was the first misunderstanding that had done you two any good tonight.

On his descent, he could not help but take a stop at your breasts. Turns out, it was never just his imagination, but given your curvature, of course your buttons would have been stretched to contain you. Those blouses had been his guilty favorite for that very reason, but his tight t-shirt was taking a close second. No, that slip you wore when you joined him in the bathroom, that must’ve been the best, right? Blood rushed, pupils dilated, his body anxious for a visual refresher.

You were going faster than he could have hoped. Already, he was proud of you for having graduated to demands. Now, you had learned to act on your own - either having read his mind or listening to your own desires. Levi could not decide which possibility he preferred, but when you lifted your top and perched it at your clavicle, he was ashamed to admit that his mind had discarded all other affairs.

Levi nestled his cheek in your cleavage, and though you were over a thousand miles away, he felt he was at home. Warm pillows cupped him, and both of you felt that the space was made for him to fill. Levi’s breath was hot on your skin, yet your nipples appeared as though you were in a winter wilderness. Of course, he took notice in all your details, and sighed in mutual enamor, “Fuck, baby…”

It was a tone you had never heard in his voice before. Desperation and desire in a man so ever assured and disinterested, you felt your panties drip from damped to soaked. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You, too, was what you thought to say, but somehow, the word seemed inadequate. His body was artwork: a symmetric abdomen, muscular forearms, veins that stood against his skin, you longed to trace him as such. Bangs that fell perfectly imperfectly over his face, begging that you run your fingers through them: mess with them now, gel them straight in the morning. You could slice paper on that jawline, could get lost in his eyes. No matter how long you stared, and stared you had, Levi was like the sunset: even after a hard day, always breathtakingly gorgeous.

Especially with the perspective you had now. One hand cupped your waist, the other your breast, perching you into his mouth, eye contact deliberately maintained throughout his movements.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Levi’s tongue swirled your nipple before his lips audibly slurped. “To get what you want…”

Again, the fog of the nameless hours between night and day had blinded him to the relevance his words had to himself. How long had he wanted this? How good did it feel? He had no verbal answer for it, only the fervor of his actions: sprightly tongue and rocks of his hips. As you always had, you filled his gaps: while he could not fathom the words, yours overflowed.

“Oh, Levi… Fuck, Levi…!” your desperate cries of his name made him leak onto the hotel sheets, no longer pristine. Your harsh exhales ran currents through his hair, and suddenly, it seemed you two had traded temperatures. Now, he was the one shivering while you sweat through the shirt. For his fever, he craved one antidote. Crawling down your body, his approach to the medicine cabinet. He prepared to ask for his dosage.

“My turn.”

Huh?

You propped yourself up on your elbows and took a good look. A good look: Levi had wedged himself between your legs. Fingers caressed your thighs with a precise pressure, a touch that tickled in a way that made you want more, yet was strong enough that he could push your hips to the mattress and pry your legs apart. You had to bunch your fists and rub your eyes to check, maybe 3 AM was just fucking with you.

Levi read your search for reassurance and inserted conviction into his tone. His stare and voice unwavering, “Can I taste you?”

Yeah, 3 AM was definitely fucking with you, for this was too good to be true. His sharp chin dwindled above the soft of your sex. His gaze set on your soul. Both of you agreed: his hands had never felt so calloused until they met your smooth thighs. It was a dream you would have woken up thankful to have had bestowed on you, but the grip he had on you was so perpetually undeniable: this was real. Head spinning, mind raced to catch up, yet Levi’s wait was so astonishingly still. Levi knew he would make you feel good. Based on your state, it seemed he was already doing that. Now, you just had to say yes, but he would not push you towards any one answer, nor would he do anything more until you arrived at it. If you wanted it, you had to ask for it, sweetheart.

A flood of thoughts swirled in your mind, each one screaming over the other, you felt you were drowning. In your search for stability, you relied on your sense of sight: Levi Ackerman between your legs. What the fuck are you waiting for?

“Y’Yes, Levi.” You reached down and held his forehead. As you brushed his bangs from his face, he offered another half-smile, but it was brief, for he was past the point of eager. Still, the calm in his pace remained. Slowly, his hands snaked from the backs of your thighs to the sides of your hips. Thumbs hooked between the straps of your panties and your skin. His fingers clenched over them, bringing the garment past your knees, down your shins, and off your ankles. From chest to toes, you were now entirely exposed. At first, you wrangled with embarrassment, but his infatuation was your comfort. Hunger seized his vision, thirst drove his actions. You had nothing to be afraid of.

His earlier route, lips to neck, neck to chest, chest to torso, was now mirrored. Levi cupped your heels in his hand and lifted your feet, allowing him to plant kisses up and up your legs, drags of his tongue followed to connect the dots. Minutes gone by, and even after having pocketed your consent, he still had yet to put his mouth there. Spending time to appreciate your thighs, he wanted you to know how long he had been anticipating this, and now that he had finally landed his spot, he would be damn sure to save the best bite for last.

Left arm wrapped around your thigh, Levi nestled his head against it, allowing his perspective to stay sound on your sex. His right hand trailed from your knee to your middle, and at last, you knew he was getting started. At first, it was his fingertips, and at that mere first touch came your sudden awakening as to how dire your desire had grown. Your hands flew back and clutched your pillow, Levi admired the tendons that rose in your wrist, and your voice, “A’Ahh!!”

He shot one glance up to check on you, but the look on your face ensured you were more than okay. With that, he decided to repeat the pattern of his rubs. Index and middle finger paired as they rode the sliver between your lips, your arousal slickened his knuckles. Once wet enough, he would split his digits into a V, each one taking responsibility for one of your folds. When that friction ran dry, he would return to your core, a seemingly never-ending source of lubrication, to run the process back again. You should not have been surprised, for everything with him was purposed - in the office or in the bedroom. With your interior and exterior in a coat of your own clear, he would have the freedom to run his mouth, no need to lick his lips or garner more saliva. Years of anticipation, now that the moment had arrived, he was going to spend the extra seconds to make sure this went according to plan.

Your glisten was so thorough, looking at you, Levi swore he could see his own weak reflection, the blush on his cheeks, the sweat on his forehead. In that way, his plunge was accelerated: preferring to trade the sight of his unruly state for the taste of you. Lips circled to match your curves, and you quickly identified this as a familiar feeling in an unfamiliar place. Levi was kissing you with the same tenderness he had displayed in your makeout, only now, he was between your legs. His jaw stretched wide to ensure he could reach every inch, from the top of your cleft, along your crescent sides, and to the spot where they rejoined. With his mouth in control, he let his hands indulge in your body, adorned upon your delectable waist, light squeezes of your ass, and massaging the divots of your inner thighs. His lips practiced that motion with a goal of perfection. Meanwhile, his tongue distracted you from any signs of his learning. Slow, purposed drags from bottom to top made your love pool on the tip of his tongue - each accumulation swallowed with a satisfied groan. Levi’s oral was pristine, only an occasional slurp and smack, allowing both of your vocals to take the stage. Your sky-high gasps, his low and satiated moans. He lived for the moments you would syllabize his name “Le-vi…” His “there you go” always followed, implicitly begging for more.

His neck began to bob in support of his movements. With that came a whole new level of pressure and slate of angles. His sharp nose slanted against your curves, lovely opposite to your soft. Your scent and your taste moved mountains within him, and in that, he noticed: his emotional pull was just as strong as his physical. All his life, he had grown to love bitter tastes, perhaps because they had been force fed to him. You were the first cube of sugar to have landed in his drink. Now, he had honey straight from the source. Levi felt his erection press hard against the mattress, “Fuck…” he whined, “you taste so good.”

Breath caught in your throat, all you could manage was a light sigh. As your lips twitched, he generously helped, taking the words right out of your mouth. “You have no idea…no idea -” Levi moaned, “how fucking long I’ve been waiting for this.”

At those words alone, you felt you might climax right then. Had he been eavesdropping on your dreams? How did he know that you had been fantasizing over that exact sentence for an unspeakable amount of time? “Me - Me too, Levi…”

Your admission was even sweeter, lifting his feelings from indulgence to fulfillment. All the nights he had spent awake, wondering if you were thinking of him the way he was of you, your confession was confirmation that this had been requited all that time. Levi found it both gratifying and maddening: gratifying to have discovered that your feelings were mutual, maddening how many years had gone by until that discovery. Levi grew determined to make up for all that time, revenge reflected in the acceleration of his actions.

Levi shoved his arms beneath your thighs, lifting you into a shameless, unhideable angle. Good thing, he mused, no more hiding. Shoulders propped at your midthigh, keeping you perched apart. Fingers wrapped around your skin, he pulled you down the bed and crashed you onto his face. Your gasp was exhausted as you tried to keep up. Both of you knew, though: you were no match. As his tongue thrust to unfathomable depths, you likewise could not conjure any idea of how to withstand this. Nose rubbed against your swollen bud, brows narrowed in determination, he looked nearly angry. Working hard for your climax, harder than he had for anything else, even his own.

Shit…!

If this keeps up…

A telltale tide turned in your tummy, spasms sparkled along your legs. Fingernails pierced the pillowcase, fighting off your impending loss of control. You could not delay it, not unless he - You fisted your hand in his hair, and he thought this was it. Instead, you pushed him away. “L’Le-vi…” a series of rapid pants, “hah, hah, ho’ld… on!”

His tongue flattened still. Between the vertex of your legs, his steel attention rose to you. Not anxious, but concerned, You alright?

“I, I want -”

At those words, he once again simmered with pride, thankful you had taken his ask for what you want to heart. After a few more breaths, you managed the minimum composure to plead, “I wanna cum with you.”

Levi’s first thought was one of generosity, you know you can have - I can give you - more than one, right? But he knew you better, and he knew what you meant. You wanted your first to be with him, and though he was parched with thirst, desperate for the taste of your cum in his mouth, your wants were foremost his. With a deep, patient breath, he watched your twitches slow to still. When the threat of your orgasm vanished, he calmly laid one final kiss to your core, etching your taste into his memory. His silver stare swallowed you down, a mental polaroid of your pose. His palm massaged your sex in physical praise, promising that he would never make you wait again, and that he’d definitely make you cum next time.

He started to ascend back up your body, but you flung yourself forward and met him halfway. Brows arched in shock, his eyes widened briefly, you closed them with another kiss. Mint flavor of before had been washed away by the taste of you. Further evidence of his devotion, you desired to prove that you were just as committed to him. You hooked your elbow to his nape and threaded fingers through his undercut - your turn to pull him here and there, granting yourself the freedom to explore the parts of him that you had always wanted to. Most of all, the length growing harder and harder to ignore.

Still, you were conscious to withhold your rush. You endeavored to slow your pace so that you could match the one he had performed on you. How good it felt - he deserved to feel it, too. You ran your hands down his chest the way rain slid down a windshield. Levi felt his boxers turn wet when your palms pressed upon his pecs, the buds of your hands kneading his tender patches. His exhales turned crackly, his inhales uneven. Laying kisses on each of his abs, down and down his torso, your contact held the compliments you were too shy to say. He heard them and reciprocated them: arm wrapped around your waist, bruises where his fingertips pressed - he hoped they would stay till morning, and that when you saw them, you would remember the love he had shown you tonight

Finally, you dipped your fingertips below his waistband. Sweat glazed his hips, allowing you to slide your hands in, but at this point, there was not much room for you. His erection had taken all his threads had to offer. You spared him the begging, sliding his cotton down his outstretched legs and finally releasing him from their confinement. Soaked in his own anticipation, veins visible, his arc steep. The shade of his member matched the one of his cheeks: the pink of a vulnerable blush, the crimson of ardent lust. As he watched you watch him, another dribble of clear dripped down his length. Levi grit his teeth and cursed. From stifling heat to cool air, that drench turned from comforting to exhilarating. In the wake of his tried swears, you gently cupped your hand around his girth and cleaned him as best as you could, spreading the leakage of his tip down to his base - his shaft your path. Contrast to his stress, you soothed him as you always had, just a different context this time.

It was his turn to cling to the sheets. Hands clawed into the comforter, you watched without shame, enchanted by the way his forearms flexed. Heels ground to the mattress, toes curled in sheets. Each motion was accompanied by either a sharp inhale or short exhale. Was it sadistic or considerate of you to keep pumping him despite that?

Levi loathed the way he stuttered through your name, on the other hand, you adored it. Levi cupped the back of your head in his hand and tugged your ear to his lips. His breath was hot on your cusp, yet somehow, it sent chills through you. Your sex had landed atop his lap, his cock nestled between your folds, still wet from his prior excursion. Pleasure had him growling, the look in his eyes both commanding and desperate, “Let me take you.”

Obliging and insisting: as one, you leaned back and he pressed forward. Your head landed atop the plump pillow, his hand beside it. Before you could blink, he had plummeted onto your lips again. This kiss was so opposite of all prior: his tongue demanding entrance, grazes of his teeth, and bites of your lip, loud and messy. You had cut Levi Ackerman to his last thread of composure, that was where you had always wanted him.

And this was how he had always wanted you: your most unabashed, honest, purest and filthiest self. He always found it so painfully obvious, how much you strained to stay prim and proper, polite and professional at work. It was why he lived for the times you slipped up: an eye roll in meetings, the long sigh after a conference call. Levi knew that the real you was there, and now you were here: in this shared bed with his shadow cast over your skin.

There was just one thing, though, that differed from his expectations. Desire was painted on each of your features, but they were glossed in nerves. Twitches in your lip, rattle in your lungs, eyes glistening, he feared they were tears. You cinched your hand around his wrist, and he recognized that smile. It was the kind you donned when you spilled your coffee or showed up late. Adorable, but unassured, and that would not do in this context.

“You’re nervous.” Levi did not ask you, for he knew his intuition was accurate. “Wanna stop?”

You shook your head and insisted vehemently, “No.” With a tilt of your chin and arch of your back, your lips brushed his with each word you spoke. Seeped down his throat, understanding swallowed: “I want to start.”

Levi returned your characteristic smile with one of his own. Tipping your foreheads together, “You’ll let me know if you change your mind.”

An order or a question? Either way, your heart scoffed at the idea. You know how long I’ve been waiting for this? There was no chance in hell you would change your mind.

“Or if it gets too much.”

That, there was a chance of. It had taken him mere minutes between your legs to bring you to the point of screaming and to the brink of climax, but that was what you wanted. His consideration fed you calm, you fed him reassurance. The flicker in your gaze settled, meeting his of solid steel. You tucked his bangs behind his ear and affirmed, “I’m ready, Levi.”

Fronts pressed, heartbeats matching, there was only one connection left to make. By the grips of his hands on the backs of your shoulders, Levi pulled himself those last crucial inches, and closed that final gap. His tip slick with precum, your slit dripping with anticipation, yet accommodating him was no easy fit. He had spent all that time down there with the goal of making it easy on you, but watching your face scrunch and hearing your voice whine was not half bad, either.

In fact, he had not even made it halfway in yet, and you were already writhing. Levi bit the inside of his cheek and knit his brows, careful not to push you too hard, conscious for signs of your apprehension. You sensed his wavering and clawed his back, pulling yourself further down his length.

Looking up, his expression was strained. Reaching new depths, pushing past your initial walls, his voice poured exertion. Still, he did not stop pushing. Toes arched into the mattress, calves flexed with each labored drive. Each fuck brought the two of you closer. For him, one more inch of his length. For you, one more stretch of pleasure. For the couple, a proximity you had always wanted. Each of you felt a tremendous responsibility to be the one to close that distance.

Repetition after repetition, his muted grunts melted to audible groans. The air between you was no longer saturated by your gasps alone, but his as well. His strain was the only thing that could ground you from nirvana and back down to earth. Despite his squint, he caught that transition: from the throes of sensation to the snap back to reality, all because you were concerned for his well-being. More than any sense of pleasure, your affection was what made his heart pound in his chest. Doe eyes gazed upon him, You okay?

After a series of hahs and ahs, Levi managed just a couple words, “It feels - It feels…”

Good? Bad? Your heart tensed in anticipation. Pleading and ordering, “Tell me, Levi.”

Knuckles tight, fingers trembling, “...good!” Levi clenched his teeth and pulled himself forward with an aim of backing his words with his actions. After struggling to past your entrance, the force of this fuck brought his tip to your end, drawing shrieks from you and shock from him. Strength of his magnitude had pros and cons, he supposed. His flaws, you deemed them his perfections.

The damp of your cunt was audible, resounding throughout the room. You found yourself at an impossible choice: which was more embarrassing, your voice or your sex? Levi’s thought was similar and opposite, the same choices, just which was better? Levi decided that their symphony was best, and realized he could turn up its volume if he accelerated his pace.

“Levi, Levi…!” To say his name came naturally, practically a swear word: the satisfaction of cursing after injury or mistake, so wrong yet so right to scream it out loud.

Pleasurable pain when he hit your weakest points, a delightful exercise as your walls stretched to accommodate him. His eyes remained set on your face, ears tuned to your voice, translating your body language into instructions. Rapid thrusts to make you pant, but only until you started to choke on your own gasps. Then, he would decelerate, replacing speed with strength. When he filled you up, you would sigh and roll your eyes back. To Levi, that was the sign to dial it back up and get you there.

Since this started, his read on you had been perfectly accurate. You were almost there. Simultaneously yet unknowingly, your inner voices warned: you won’t last much longer. The thing was, you didn’t want to, for you had endured so much already. The heat in your middle was unbearable now. Each nerve had been fried to its last end. This sex had gone on for hours, but your yearning had been years long. In your haze, you were blind towards any reason to deny yourself any longer. You wrapped your legs around his waist and relied on your calves to pull him closer. Bringing him to your end made Levi approach his. “Fuck…!” His voice was a low singsong, an adult lullaby. “(Y/N), (Y/N)...!” No longer a choice between deep or fast, Levi somehow managed both. Physiology threatened to overrule now. No, already…!

“(Y/N), I…I’m - ! ” His mind was racing now. Should he ask to cum or tell you he was? Should he withdraw so that you could get there first? Levi labored to open his eyes, looking to you for an answer. His senses of sight and touch told him: you were already there.

The pulsation around his cock, the steep arch of your spine, your parted lips and blissed-out face. The scrape of your nails down his back, ignorant to the possibility of hurting him. This was how Levi had always wanted it: to be the one you clung to, to offer himself when you were overwhelmed. Count on me. The orgasm that overwhelmed you now, that had been his doing, right?

Once again, it was as if you had read his mind. Without him having to ask, you answered: “Levi, Levi!!” Your hands squeezed him tight, white patches beneath your fingertips. Clinging to him, the life raft through each of your waves. “Y’Yours… I’m yours…”

He had gifted you tissues for your crying spells at work, had picked up your lunch on the way back from break, but this provision was far preferable, much more fulfilling. Even as you turned his skin red, even as your legs clenched him and squeezed air from his lungs - no, even better - those were precisely the motions that pushed him over the edge.

One hand clutched the top of the headboard, tight enough that you heard the wood wince. The other caressed your face with feathered tenderness. In that difference, you were once again reminded of his duality: on one hand, a hardass, but for you, a soft spot. Those dimensions were reflected in his voice, too: swears that made your ears burn and groans that turned the air heavy, yet arid gasps that lifted your soul and praise fit for a princess. While your cunt had run raw and slippery from his fucking, his warm cum filled you and soothed your stings.

As you both came to, Levi lingered inside, patiently waiting until each of your waves crashed - savoring them. With a deep swallow and a delicate nod, he ensured he would handle your aftercare. Kleenex from the nightstand folded and padded against your sex. You sat up in panic, worried about the clean freak’s reaction, but he seemed particularly satisfied. Maybe it wasn’t that he hated filth, but that he loved clean-up. You bit your lip and bit back a smile, believing that the sex tonight had evidenced that.

Though his aftercare was doing much for your affection, it did pathetically little when it came to cleanliness. Both of you realized, not even the entire box would be enough. Levi looked at the wad of tissues in his hand, shook his head, and scowled, nearly laughing at the ineffectiveness. “We’re filthy.”

Slowly, you made your way to his side. Carefully, you reached your arms around his back. Wrapped within your grasp, you leaned him back against your chest and whispered into his ear, “Good thing there’s a shower.”

Levi spun just enough to meet your eye contact, once again checking to see if he had heard you right. Three hours ago, he would have defaulted towards the no, always having believed one could not be let down if they did not get their hopes up. Over the years and especially tonight, your optimism was swaying that opinion. Your sound smile and unafraid stare confirmed: after all that mess, you were also keen for cleanliness. In post-coital clarity, he saw how stupid he had been to wait this long, and Levi almost said those three sacred words right then and there.

But this was only the first night of the trip.

And the first day of the rest of your lives.

// masterlist //

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi #levi ackerman #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x y/n #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot x you #snk x you #anlian writes #my writing #alias's #oneshot #2023 #smut #salt and pepper

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manicpixiefelix · 4 months

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all this, and love too (will ruin us)

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: The night of Oliver's party and both yours and Felix's moods are ruined upon finding out Oliver had been lying to you both for your entire friendship. While sticking with Felix all night to make sure he doesn't maim Oliver, Felix realises he doesn't like sharing you anymore. You're more than okay with this, but Oliver doesn't seem to be okay with sharing Felix, even if he has no say anymore. Canon tries to happen, but you get there first, so you kill the problem at it's source.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: MAZE SCENE; death, murder, violence, nongraphic smut, dominant felix, bathroom blowjob, oliver's birthday party situation, oliver being incredibly manipulative, reader being incredibly manipulative back at him, heavy drinking and drug use, You VIOLENTLY Murder Oliver Quick In The Maze.

A/N: 6074 words. oh god these oneshots are only getting longer and longer. whoops. but also PLEASE heed the warnings. this is the Reader Kills Oliver oneshot (first of two) that i was talking about. not sure how i feel about it. its very unedited.

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On the drive back from his parents' house, Oliver sits in the back. Like a scolded child he keeps his gaze low and voice even lower. None of you speak the entire drive back; you try and focus on the wind in your hair and the hum of the car and not how your stomach is turning. In your mind you see the connections as they light up, small things you'd missed, things that are starting to make a lot more sense.

You wonder what other lies you could have gotten ahead of if Oliver hadn't been so nervous about you going through his file at Oxford.

Every single thing about him was designed specifically to be appealing, to you, of course, but more importantly to Felix. It was meant to be you who knew it all, could see the full board and all the pieces the people around you moved; it was meant to be you who could plan well enough and see far enough out to keep Felix out of situations exactly like this.

Felix is curt and swift the moment he's out of the car, trying to escape Oliver who rushes after him, his desperation echoing through the halls. You're several steps behind Oliver, silent, watching the exchange, watching Oliver cling to an ever-dwindling hope for even friendship, as Felix calls out the weirdness of his ongoing lies, tearing that hope asunder.

"I just wanted to be your friend," is all Oliver can say when pressed about his lies. It's genuine, it breaks your heart, but it doesn't make it better. For a moment, you see conflict as it flashes across Felix's face, but he clearly can't do this right now, needing at least the night, but promising not to tell his family.

As you go to leave, go to follow him, Oliver catches your sleeve, holds it too tight for just a moment -

"I thought you knew," his voice wobbles, but there's something like alarm bells in the back of your mind. Everything about Oliver is purposeful, even now. But you know him, you know how he likes to play.

"No you didn't," you look at his fingers still coiled in your sweater, watch him drop them, "you knew I trusted you." You wouldn't let him shift this blame; the faint dismay you can see in his eyes behind the hurt gives him away. He knew Felix had more emotions than sense, but somewhere along the way he seemed to have forgotten that you were so much more than another adoring fan in Felix's shadow.

"'m sorry," stumbles from his mouth almost like a reaction to the look in your eyes, "for hurting Felix with all this, I- I never wanted that," he shakes his head, dropping his gaze, "or hurt you," tacked on as an afterthought. Both of you know where he was placing the importance of that apology. Everything Oliver Quick does is with purpose.

"I know you are, Oliver," you tell him, standing tall and unflinching as you left him alone.

"If you leave my side tonight I'm going to maim him," is how Felix greets you when you enter your room. Sitting on his bed, you see a little, ornate box open in front of him, and you recognise it as one of the few stashes he had around the estate for desperate times. This one, if you recall correctly, was shoved well beneath Henry the Eighth's bed, and had a decent amount of coke that you'd left here after last Christmas.

"Can't fucking believe- I can't fucking believe him!" He rants, cutting up lines of coke on the little hand mirror Venetia had donated to this particular stash box. Mind working a million miles a minute, you're quiet, letting him rant. Running on autopilot, you begin to strip down to your underwear, pulling out your costume for the night, frowning at it in the afternoon light.

"How complicated is your costume?" Felix asks, finally looking up, gazing over at you and the sheer, shimmering thing in your hands. Without a word, but with a vague shrug, you turn it to him.

The base was like something you'd see at a rave, little more than green underwear, with straps, and beading, and jewels, and loops of green and purple pearls by your hips that would bounce while you walked. The overcoat, though it was far to generous to call it that, was pure gossamer, sheer and green, with hand-stitched silk leaves making up the hem that fell perfectly to your ankles, and intricate, hand embroidery of vines that extended across both shoulders, and both arms, ending with little, purple flowers embroidered by your wrists.

There's large, brown boots with a bit of a hell and some large buckles, and a belt that's half a skirt that hit just below your knee to give you some coverage, at least on your left, sewn to look like it was covered in leaves. Plus a leather thigh harness and flask that Farleigh had gotten you made for your last birthday.

Leaning back, Felix reaches out to feel the gossamer between his fingers, frowning for a beat.

"Don't be precious about it."

For a moment, you frown in confusion. Despite your entire outfit being exquisitely and perfectly tailored, you knew you could afford to not be precious about pretty much anything, even this. But that's never been an outright request he's made.

"I'm not?"

Quiet follows, the soft rustle of your garments as you begin to get dressed, and Felix quickly snorting a line of coke.

"I'm going to lose my fucking mind tonight," he mumbles. Even though you're half dressed, you still lean over his shoulder automatically as he lifts the mirror and the rolled bill up to you like an offering, holding the mirror steady for you.

"I need a drink," you groaned, to which Felix immediately agreed.

"God, why don't we stash anything in here?" He lamented, laying back and watching you head to the door once more while you're trying to do up your belt to hold up your partial leaf skirt, still without your overcoat.

"Because that's tacky and we're not alcoholics." Even with your explanation, Felix pouted. Still, it's a quick trip to the Blue Room and the bottle of rum you're glad Venetia hadn't found in the broken piano.

The night gets blurrier, gets better, with half a bottle of liquor in your veins before the sun even sets. As you're making yourself dreamy and ethereal with glitter and gems and makeup in the mirror, Felix drapes himself over your shoulders, pouting again. The drinks and drugs are already hitting you both and you can hear the revelry beginning outside.

"It's not going to last," he says pointedly, and you're confused until you see him trying to poke at the iridescent eyeliner that wasn't quite dry. Rolling your eyes, you smack his hand away. So he makes his point again, adding, "I'm going to get glitter all over me."

You smirked at him in the mirror, tipping your head against his.

"Don't be precious about it."

A spirit amongst the fairies, you greet your college friends with open arms and boundless enthusiasm, always keeping Felix close at hand. He was more subdued than you, more subdued than many of your friends were used to. Whenever you looked at him, it seemed like his gaze was searching, his expression drawn unless someone had caught his attention, and he wore a smile that seemed to convince them.

"Need a drink," his hand around your wrist and no time to protest, Felix dictated your night and it's pace. Frustration and apprehension keep him tense, even as he tries to loosen up; you feel every time that tension spikes, even if you don't know it's cause. His nails dig into you, wherever he's holding you, shoulder, thigh, arm -

In the bathroom, doing lines with India and some guys who claim to be friends of friends of the Cattons, you're leaning against the sink until you Felix nudge your knee with his own. Looking to the door, you see Oliver in white, taking up it's space. Felix only has to gently tap your thigh for you to shift, sitting in his lap.

"You can't ignore me forever," Oliver tells him, watching you both, watching the way Felix wraps an arm around your middle to hold you close and secure on him.

"I can try," Felix practically sings, his nails sinking into your stomach. With his free hand, he offers you his cigarette, raising it to your lips. You drop your gaze as you inhale, trying to only focus on keeping Felix secure in this moment.

"Felix we need to talk," Oliver insists, "Felix, come on man -"

"Look, man, I tried to be nice -" Felix started, and though you tried to gently warn him, pressing against him with Fi on your lips like you hope he won't say something he'll regret, he just holds you tighter and continues on, "but can you fuck off and bother somebody else?"

India half snorts with laughter in the middle of a line of coke, the others all judging Oliver the longer he lingers in the doorway, but Felix drops his gaze. His lips are on your shoulder to keep from saying anything else.

One of guys whose names you don't know asks who Oliver even was, but Felix can't answer; tension again, maybe anxiety or frustration, but his mouth moves from the gossamer and embroidery on your shoulder to your bare skin above the neckline, where your collar meets your throat. His teeth sting. His nails still sting. He swears under his breath before he lets go.

"Sorry," he mumbles finally, sighing and resting his forehead on your shoulder. You tell him it's okay, voice fond, but when you lean over to do another line of coke, you meet India's reproachful gaze. It takes you a long few seconds to connect the dots, to realise what was going on in her head. You're so fucking over everything tonight.

"You know Farleigh was lying to you about us, right?" You say casually, taking your line and sitting back up. Her eyebrows rise in surprise, "I know you think we're all gross and cousin-incest-y -" you hear Felix's faint laughter behind you, and feel him nudge you with his thigh, silently asking you to get up. Both of you do, and Felix manages his first proper smile of the night, even if it is smug.

"But we're not related," he tells her, "thank fucking god," and smacks your ass as the two of you exit, as if to just prove a point.

You're on your knees in a different bathroom when you hear everyone else start to sing happy birthday, but Felix's voice is a low growl of don't you dare stop, and his hands in your hair. Nothing else matters to you in this state of mind, blurry, pliant, desperate to follow his every command. It's as if you've forgotten what exists outside of Felix's hands on you.

The night becomes lights that are too bright, and music too loud, and laughter and glitter and the warmth of the people dancing around you. After a few hours you feel yourself starting to come down from your high, starting to come back to yourself, still on the dance floor. Venetia's dancing with a blonde boy, looking so pretty, like she's having a genuinely fun night, but when you point it out, Felix takes your hand.

"Don't look at Ven," there's that hunger in his eyes, that firm tone he'd been using all night, "don't touch Ven, don't -" he cuts himself off, wets his lips. Looking around for a moment, he spots something in the crowd that makes him scowl. Just a moment, as you follow his gaze, you see Oliver. The moment your eyes lock with his, however, Felix has his lips on your jaw.

"Fucking mine."

There's half a second where you and Oliver are still locked in this moment, you watch the way his expression starts to shift, jaw tensing, something like anger flickering in his eyes. But you can't bring yourself to give a shit about Oliver as Felix has his arms around you, kissing down your throat with a feverish, almost lewd intensity in the middle of the dancefloor.

"Prove it," and you let him drag you from the house, heading towards the place that had always felt a little special for you both, almost a little magical.

"I'm being selfish," Felix announced as you finally hit the tree line just before the maze, "I don't fucking care anymore, I'm being selfish, about you -!" He turns to look at you, only to see you gazing up at him with starry-eyes, hanging on his every word. He breaks into a sheepish grin momentarily, shaking his head as his voice drops for a moment, "oh, you're fucking loving this, aren't you?"

"I want you so bad right now it's actually embarrassing," you agreed with a wide grin, unable to contain your laughter, despite how genuine the feeling was.

"I'm being selfish," he said once more, muttering it this time, though as you entered the maze and the moonlight peaked down upon you, you could see the blush still upon his cheeks, "I don't want anyone else to fucking touch you again, you hear me?" This time, when he looks at you, he thinks he can see hearts in your eyes; your overwhelming love and acceptance, even for this -especially for this- is making it very hard to keep the stern act up, except -

"Anything you say," you tell him, breathless as you approach the centre of the maze, voice edging on desperate, "anything at all." And you see it hits him just where it had needed to, to hear you wanting and wanton and offering yourself to him -

The gossamer overcoat is ruined, scratched all up the back where you're pinned against the statue, half sitting on the base with your legs around Felix's, your fancy green undergarments around one ankle. His nails scratch down the bare skin of your back, fucking into you with furious intent to match.

"You've always been mine," he groans into your ear.

"Felix -" you whimpered. Immediately he was grinning, lips inches from yours, gazing at you through his lashes.

"How's that proving anything?" He teases, low and knowing, and as his hips snap up to meet yours, you take the hint, his name getting louder and louder on your lips as you almost chant it, till his hand is between you both, helping get you off, and you're close and all but screaming his name and -

"Felix." Not from you. Oliver.

"Oh Jesus Christ!" Felix immediately looks murderous, and not in a fun, sexy way. Oliver's demanding to talk to him while you struggle to pull your underwear back on.

"Could hear you out there," Oliver mumbles, half stumbling over his words, unable to look at you, focused on the dirt by your feet instead.

"Kind of the point, Ollie," you snapped, frustrated and now unsatisfied, but dressed once more.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Oliver?" Felix demanded. Oliver advances on him, presses into his space with desperate eyes and a bottle clutched to his chest. He doesn't look at you, he can't fucking look at you, you don't matter. It's Felix and his emotions who lead every situation the two of you share; it's Felix he has to win back over.

But he should have expected you not to leave, should have expected that when Felix pushed him away, shouted for him to get the fuck away, that you would try and step in.

"He's already got you on a leash, can I just have this one fucking moment?!" He snaps at you; he doesn't hit you but you recoil like he has, and Felix's gaze grows cold. Oliver seems to sense this before he even turns back, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I just- they already have everything -"

"Back off." Felix warns sharply, but Oliver can't help himself, won't listen.

"I just gave you what you wanted!" Oliver throws himself at Felix, pins him to the statue, their bodies flush and Oliver rambling, "like everyone else does! Everyone puts on a show for Felix..." his voice drops, childish and weak and wanting, and you watch him press himself closer as he turns gentle, "so I'm... I'm sorry if my performance wasn't good enough..."

"I think..." some part of it was working on Felix, his voice soft and placating, "I think you need to see somebody," or maybe he knows by now exactly how Oliver wants him to act; his eyes never leave Oliver's face, even when he doesn't let him go, "you need help okay, seriously -"

"No, no, I don't," Oliver's voice is rising again, "I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you," a tremble in his voice, sounding so raw, so needy, "you're the only friend I ever had, Felix." The manipulation is so blatant it almost hurts; you don't matter to him in this moment, all that matters is saying exactly whatever Felix needs to believe.

"I mean, doesn't this just prove how much of a good friend I actually am? How well I actually know you?" That hope, that dangerous, heartbreaking note of hope that's going to make your skin crawl. But you're not leaving without Felix, and he's not leaving this moment it seemed, "I'm still the same person, yeah? I'm still the same person," he insisted.

A long few moments pass, Felix's gaze searching Oliver's face for something beyond you. But then, finally, his gaze slips to you. All you can do is shake your head.

"Don't-" Oliver murmurs faintly, tipping his head to try and block you from Felix's line of sight, but Felix turns his attention back, expression helpless.

"I don't know what you are," he breathes, "but I do know you; you make my fucking blood run cold."

The fight drains out of Oliver, as does every last drop of hope. He lets Felix push his hands away, makes himself give Felix space to breathe. After a beat, he looks back at you, unsteady on his feet, pain in his eyes, but then he lurches, quickly shoves his half-finished bottle into Felix's hands, and rushes away to be sick.

Oliver is doubled over, retching, when you get to Felix. Before he can raise Oliver's bottle to his lips, you tuck yourself under his arm and wrap him up in a hug. He's trembling, but you feel the bottle against your back. Felix tucks his face into the crook of your neck, tears unspilled, clinging to his eyelashes.

"Better?" You ask forlornly once Ollie had gone quiet.

"Fuck off," he spits, finally coming back around. You watch him over Felix's shoulder, and the glare he levels at you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand is almost surprising. Still, you try and show the same compassion you knew Felix would in this moment.

"Wash the taste out of your mouth," you try and tell Ollie gently, moving carefully out of Felix's arms, wrapping your fingers around the neck of the bottle he'd brought with him, "I think you should go to bed after." Oliver doesn't even reach for the bottle, but he does stop, looking between it, and then between you and Felix.

"Please," Felix sighs, head bent and bottle clasped tightly in his hand, "I need this."

"We can get another," you tell him quietly, calmly. Felix's gaze flicks to yours, imploring for just a moment, but dropping again when you don't relent. Felix sighs, once more, but finally relents, handing you over the bottle. Which Oliver has kept his focus on, brow now furrowing.

"I gave you everything else of mine, my drink's not even good enough for you anymore, like the rest of me?" He sneers, reaching unsteadily for the bottle in your hands, though his eyes and their focus betray him. Something lights up in the back of your mind, like one of those memories that made far more sense once Oliver's lie had been revealed. Alarm bells once again.

Felix stumbles to a halt -

"Fucking fine -" but as he tries to reach for the bottle again you step out of his range, beginning to see red as you got closer to Oliver, prickling with suspicion, "what is your problem, Y/N," Felix sounds so fucking tired, but all you can see is the deer of a boy before you growing wide eyed as he looks into yours.

"It's Oliver's," trying with all your might to not jump to conclusions, you hold the bottle out, desperately hoping that you'd connected the wrong dots, that Oliver was just drunk and as helpless as he appeared, that he couldn't be this malicious or vindictive-

"You want me to be sick again?" He tries to stand up to you, bottle pressed to his chest and refusing to step back even as you continue to crowd his space, "fuck off." He's seeming more sober, more alert, more with himself with each minute that passes. The distant noise of the party rings in your ears and all you can think about is the cold bottle between you and how Felix had almost -

"Leave him alone," Felix called out, footsteps in the grass sounding as though he was making his way back to the maze, "he's not worth it."

"He's pathetic," you spit, nose to nose with Oliver now, face heating up as hot, angry tears begin to close your vision. Still, you can see in Oliver's eyes that he's finding fewer and fewer ways to escape the situation.

"I don't care what either of youse think of me anymore," Oliver's lip curls as it quivers, trying to play distraught and callous all at once, "go fuck each other to feel like you're not just a fucking waste of space, vapid cunts -" he can see he's touched a nerve by the way your expression lights up with malevolent fury.

"Fi," there's a shake in your voice that you can't even fight, "please leave."

"Can you please come with me," Felix sounds like he's on the verge of tears, and when you turn, he's reaching for you, his hand shaking, "please can we go?" He begs.

An angel. Your best friend. Your everything. Your Felix.

Seeing him like this, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Oliver's greed and jealousy would rather see Felix hurt than not in love with him, you couldn't let him get away with it. Finally you start to cry, even if you hadn't meant to, and the sight of it has Felix begging for you to leave with him. Oliver starts pushing, demanding that you both fuck off.

"Give me a minute, My Felix," you tell him, trying to smile, trying to reassure him, "I'll catch up."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"I don't want you to see this," you turn back to Oliver with newfound resolution. He's stepped back, leaning himself against the statue, doubled over, head in his hands.

"See what?" Felix asks dubiously, and Oliver looks up, sees the way you're approaching him, and scrambles to straighten his posture.

"Ollie's going to have a little drink," you offer him the bottle again.

"Tryna make me sick again?" He snarls.

"Then use it to wash your mouth out, then swallow," you order coldly, "and repeat until the bottle's empty."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's just as perfectly fine as when you handed it to Felix," you hissed, voice low enough that Felix himself couldn't properly hear. Oliver narrowed his eyes, matching your tone.

"If I don't?"

"What I will do to you, Oliver Quick, will be much worse than whatever you've put in that bottle, so you'll drink it all up," you leaned in, whispering close and menacing, "and if you do throw it up, I will have you on your belly, like the worm you are, sucking your own sick off of the fucking ground."

"What the fuck is going on?" Felix demanded, and you turned, taking a deep breath and hopefully giving a much more convincing, determined smile.

"He made you cry."

Felix's expression immediately changed. All soft and fragile but understanding, he just asks that you don't be long. You promise not to be. Both you and Oliver watching him go.

Once in the clear, you turn back to your captive audience, keeping your voice low.

"I'm not going to make you drink it," you admit, and though Oliver's confused and on edge, he seems to relax, just a little.

"The fuck do you want from me then?"

"I just need to hear you say it," you step back from him, give him space, even step around to place the bottle at the foot of the statue and lean your forehead against the cool stone.

"Say what -?"

"I'm not fucking stupid, Ollie," you groaned, looking at him out of the corner of your eyes, "you think I could hurt you? I ruin lives behind the scenes, I couldn't -" you flail your hands awkwardly, rocking back on your heels, turning to him properly once more. It appears to work, however, as Oliver is now only regarding you warily, instead of seeming actively cautious. "I was... hurt," you admitted, "I know why you said it, but I was hurt to hear you say Felix was your only friend."

"That's not -" he tried, defences lowering further as he attempted to defend himself.

"No, I get it; I've done terrible things because I love Fi, I couldn't imagine," you cast a pitying, apologetic look to Oliver, "him not loving me back."

And it works. He cracks, little by little. The tears begin to form, the lip starts to tremble.

"It's not fucking fair," it already sounds like there's a lump in his throat, "why do you deserve his love?" He scowls, "why can't I? I can be like you, I can be good -" he babbles, sniffling harshly amongst his defiantly sharp tone, "I know I could be," you gently wrap an arm around him and he fists a hand to tightly in your overcoat that it tears, "I was everything he wanted me to be -"

"I know, Ollie, I know," you carefully remove his antlers, holding them in one hand as you coax him in close, running a comforting hand through his hair.

"I wanted him to love me, I wanted- I never wanted him hurt, but wanted him dead so it wasn't my fault if he didn't love me; he couldn't love anyone -" he breaks down into furious tears, "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. I hate you, I hate that he loves you without you even trying -" there's no apology in his distress, even as he lets you hold him close, and you, for a few more moments, whisper reassuring nonsense. "I never wanted to hurt him," he mumbled softly, "but I wanted to kill him. I could never hurt him," there's anger and guilt in his eyes as he looks up at you, tear soaked and helpless, "but I wanted to hurt you." What you give him in return is pity, is sweetness and apology, but your blood is burning through your veins.

"You would have regretted it."

"I know..."

"Are you lying?"

"I think I am."

You have what you need, the confession, the intention; validation for your motivation. Hook, line and sinker.

"Hey, Ollie, Ollie, darling look at me, I know, okay, I know-" you try, taking his face in your free hand.

"No you fucking don't!" Oliver insists, but you keep insisting, "don't fucking take that tone, I just told you I was trying to kill Felix to hurt you -!" He thrashes, but your gentleness is unrelenting in this moment. You will give Oliver Quick what he deserves.

"Ollie, look at me, okay? Look me in the eyes, please -" you begged, and finally he did, despair and anger all there amongst the tears, "keep looking me in the eyes," you tell him gently, and firmly, and he does, too curious for his own good and wanting to see where this was going -

"Everything," you give him the faintest, reassuring smile, one hand on his face, shaking, messily wiping tears from his cheeks with your thumb as he keeps your gaze, "is going to be -"

- and you ram one of his antlers into his soft, exposed belly with all your strength. Surprise and pain hit him all at once and suddenly he's scrambling, trying to get your hands off of the headpiece. But he's winded, and suddenly in overwhelming pain.

"- fine," you breathe out, shaking with adrenaline. You have him pinned against the statue, just like he'd had Felix only minutes ago.

"Eyes, Oliver," you ordered coldly, while making sure to keep smiling, even as fresh traitorous tears were gathering and already spilling down your cheeks. Hand in his hair coming to grip him tightly, keeping his gaze level with yours, "what did I say? I want you to look me in the eyes -" and you rip the antlers out before plunging them back into his gut. Lips twisting into an animalistic snarl involuntarily, Oliver splutters and fights and squirms but everything is becoming slippery, and warm, and slick with his blood. The antlers, your hands, and his; hard to get a grip like the firm one you had on your weapon of choice.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-" he chokes out helplessly, bloody hands moving up, trying to grip your arms, your shoulders, your face, "how -fuck- why -?"

"Whatever you had in that bottle is too good for you; you tried to kill Felix, you said so yourself."

As his strength begins to fail, the way he holds your face turns tender, almost gentle, before his hands fall back to rest on yours, both gripping the bloody antler. Oliver's weight rests on the statue, watching you with despair and helpless, pained moans. Cheeks wet with tears, you can't even fathom how you're doing this, or who you will be once it's done.

"You are not the minotaur of this maze," you grit your teeth, leaning your weight on the headdress, driving it into his guts until the bloody antler snapped clean off of the headdress, you still can't bring yourself to stop. It doesn't feel like enough. He tried to kill Felix. So you took the other antler in hand, unable to stop yourself, shaking with rage and tears, "you are the dear in my fucking headlights; you tried to hurt Felix, you tried to kill Felix! You are nothing, nothing, nothing," you punctuate each nothing with another bloody, unnecessary jab until you can't keep going. The second antler collapses to the ground, and you stumble back, hands shaking.

"Didn't want to hurt him," Oliver insists weakly.

"You were someone we loved," you can see the first antler still jutting out of him, stemming the blood flow but undoubtedly causing excruciating pain. But you spare him no sympathy, only a look of absolute loathing, finally taking in what you've done, the blood your fury had shed. "Someone I loved!" Burst from you, raw brutal betrayal scraping its way from your throat, face hot and wet with tears, falling to your knees, looking up at him with an exhausted fury, "you will never hurt him again. I will never give you that chance."

But Oliver's quickly unfocusing gaze slips from you, rising to a point beyond you, out into the maze. A weak, faint, but somehow still triumphant smile works it's way across his lips.

"Him?"

Like in a horror movie, you cast your gaze over your shoulder. You hear when Oliver finally gives out, stop holding himself up on the statue and fall to the ground, but all you can see is Felix at the edge of the maze.

And that look in his eyes.

Oh god, what have you done?

"Felix," tears start welling in your eyes again, and finally he looks away from Oliver's body, his own antler protruding from him, slowly bleeding out, to you. From here, he can't see the blood on your hands, the blood that's all over you, but he can see it all over Oliver, "Fi, please, you need to -" but he's stepping towards you, almost automatically; he looks ill. You have to look away, can't bear for him to see what your rage has brought about.

"I'm not," his words are robotic, still a bit slurred, and he keeps looking at Oliver, "going without you. 'said that." But he stops behind you. Eyes closed, you wait, you can't bear to even look at him. Then, slowly, he moves. When you breathe, it makes you shake, but you slowly open your eyes.

Felix approaches Oliver. You watch the faint, far away smile wears as he sees Felix up close once more.

"Fe-lix," he sighs faintly, reaching out with weak, shaking, bloody hands, feather light finger tips leaving red streaks along Felix's cheeks, his jaw, his lips. Felix's head dips in close, into Oliver's aching touch, his forehead resting against Oliver's in this moment.

"You were going to fucking kill me, Ollie?" Felix whispered through clenched teeth, on the edge of tears.

"'m sorry," Ollie mumbled weakly, shock and blood loss catching up with him as he struggled to keep his eyes open, "didn't want to hurt you."

"You wanted to kill me -"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"It would have hurt them!" Felix grabbed him by the collar with one hand, wrenching the dying boy up enough to see him pointing at you, still kneeling on the ground, second bloody antler laying in front of you. All Oliver could do was make a pained whimper, and Felix dropped him back to the ground, "and you said it yourself-" his voice is venomous, but your breath catches as you realise just how much he must have heard to know that, "and even having a thought like that," he snarls, hatred burning in his eyes, "means you don't fucking know me at all."

Felix is by your side in the very next moment, pulling you into his lap as he leaned back against the base of the sculpture. You're sobbing into your bloody hands, nothing else to do or say. Even as he's shaking, as he's crying too, Felix doesn't let you go, doesn't let you feel anything but secure with him.

"You saw it all, didn't you?" You whispered finally, and feel him nod.

"I said I wouldn't leave without you."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry -" and while he tells you that you don't have to be, the words, the fears, the desperate justifications and rationalisations pour out of you, "he said he was trying to kill you, Fi, and I couldn't- I should have walked away, just gotten him kicked out or taken away or- or- but I couldn't," you gasped, "I couldn't let him ever have that kind of chance again, I couldn't risk that, my mind wouldn't let me -"

"I know, I love you," Felix murmurs weakly, his forehead against your shoulder once more, "dad and Duncan will know what to do, they'll take care of it tomorrow," he sounds so young in this moment, so tired and fragile. You nod quietly, leaning into him. When his hands find yours, threading your fingers together and holding on tightly, Oliver's blood is still sticky on your skin. Neither of you seems to care.

"How did you know something was so wrong?" Felix finally asked, the air cooler and quieter now. You have no idea how much time has passed, but it sounds as though the party was winding down. Oliver's party.

"He wasn't that drunk," you said after a long moment of deliberation, "could see it in his eyes," taking a deep breath, you cast your gaze to the guest of honour, completely still, chest no longer shifting with shallow, frantic breathes, "if he wasn't drunk, why was he sick?" Sighing, you leaned into Felix. You felt so hollow; "everything Oliver Quick did, he did with purpose."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #saltburn smut #saltburn fanfiction #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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rizsu · 1 year

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“later,” he said—no, he promised. later he promised to apologize. later he promised it'll be alright. later gojo promised to talk it out yet again meaningless promises are meant to be broken. like a jigsaw puzzle piece to its board, they fit in well. no one cares about promises that were spat out to ease the fuel, is what he thinks. at the end of the day, if it's not important it'll end up passing like a leaf floating through the wind. to bother and not be bothered: the rules by which gojo carries on his life.

he bothers with the quests that are deemed important and alarming to him. if such fails to pass this, they will be discarded—much like the “argument” that took place last night. he doesn't recall anything that happened. other than meeting heads with the couch, there really isn't any details from the prior night that sticks out to him.

much to his disappointment, there's the prickling feeling that he did something wrong and has yet to make ends meet for it. did i fuck up somewhere? he wonders. a pout and furrowed eyebrows welcome themselves as he takes his precious time trying to figure out what or who he wronged.

he's yet to find the answer. not bothering with it any longer, he pops two painkillers dry and makes his way to your shared bedroom, unaware of you who's been in a horrible mood ever since. scratching the back of his head, he walks around confused. in his front view is you, who looks stressed even though you're asleep. the dried trails of tears deepen his confusion. just how hungover was i? he questions, oblivious to the blunt fact that it's him who caused it all.

“hey,” gojo whispers, softly shaking your body to jerk you awake. it doesn't work, so he continues until you're conscious. as soon as he sees movement from you, he stops, placing his hand stationary on your hip. watching you twist and turn, he's caught by surprise when you flick his hand away. are you mad? upset? sick? he has no knowledge of what or why you're like this.

“baby? did i do something? what's wrong?” throwing questions at you, his face contorts into confusion and worry. what's going on with you? why won't you communicate? he has many questions that only fuel your anger. does he really not remember? was it truly just like a fly buzzing around his food? is he really that self-centered? no—you know he's not but was your so called “argument” that useless to him? unbelievable.

you try your best to ignore him, really, but his bothersome behavior will either make him see his deity or see the life of being single once again. your tolerance level lowers each time you hear his voice. at this moment, you truly dislike this man. whoever wants to call you sensitive can kiss your ass. you rightfully have every right to seethe with dislike towards gojo.

“can you STOP?!” emerging from under the covers, you look at gojo. oh, how sweet he looks. so sweet yet so rotten.

taken back, gojo raises his hands in defense. if you don't at least hint to him what happened, he's going to go insane.

“what demon possessed you today?” “fuck you.”

you give no more than two words and a middle finger to him. you're too salty at the truth—the truth of him not remembering anything. not even what happened moments before he fell asleep. you're kind of sad, honestly. you love him a lot and it does hurt.

“do you not recall..?” it's your turn to question him. with the softest voice possible, you look at him, eyes wavering to observe his reaction. you hope he at least lies. the truth hurts and you're definitely not in the mood to accept it.

“... recall what?”

oh, alright. you knew he was drunk, but not that drunk. can't blame him but that's exactly what you're going to do. he just cannot act so innocently. he can't. who does that?! not anyone with a sense shame, that's for sure—but who is gojo satoru to feel such tiny things?

sighing, you turn your back to him, making sure to cover your entire body with the duvet. the longer you acknowledge him, the faster your violent tendecies will take over. although you're disturbed, you still have to speak to him, it's a habit, unfortunately, “do not bother me, gojo.”

offended and shocked being his two most dominant emotions today, he raises an eyebrow, ready to drop another question as if it's a pop-up quiz, “what do you mean by that?”

—

minutes and hours pass by and gojo's still hosting that offended expression. really, it's the only emotion he's been feeling ever since he graced the house with his presence. today might just be the day he buries himself in search for eternal rest. when it comes to others' problems, he will be there as if he's a superhero, but his? oh, his new name might just be master deflector three thousand. gojo has a complex—it's not a god complex, rather, it's a how-do-i-face-my-emotional-demons complex. he masks everything with a joke and confidence but never permit that to steer you away from who he truly is. not a god, just gojo satoru.

gojo's alone now, sinking into his thoughts as he remembers how you left earlier. another argument occurred and just like last night, he mirrored his actions—though completely unknown to him, you clearly remember it all. the same nonchalant way he waved you off, the way he oozed of attitude as he rolled his eyes, the same way his voice dominated when he finally reaches his limit.

sipping on his glass, he pokes his inner cheek with his tongue, salty at the scene replaying in his mind. unable to contain your violent tendecies, your eyes took over as tears overflowed from the rims. you didn't shout, didn't hit, didn't throw anything—just took a deep breathe in and walked away with a sour smile.

gojo's eyes trailed your figure, watching your figure disappear without care. like always, he believes it'll be alright. he's sure that all you need is space and you'll come back. gojo believes in a simple apology being the bandaid to the injury, which is why his eyes bulged when you came into view with a bag or two.

gojo's body immediately dashed to yours from his position almost leaving a cartoonish dust trail behind him. his hand grips against yours, pulling your body closer to his. clenching his jaw, he questions—no, demands, “where are you going?”

a stuttering breath escapes from you, too exhausted to have anything else to say, you give him an acceptable answer, “away from you, obviously.”

his grip tightens, the same feeling from the moment he woke up swirls arounds. his stomach feels like a bottomless pit, the sick feeling just never ends. annoyed at your constant deflecting, the tone of his voice changes but he never raises the volume.

“fucking stop it and tell me.”

no response. he doesn't get the response he wants, but he does receive you wriggling your arm out from his grip. holding your arm to your chest, it stings as his fingerprints disappear within a blink. gojo hates it. he hates the look of disgust in your eyes. he despises what's happening. he despises that something happened before all this and he can't, for the love of him, remember anything.

uncomfortable silence dominates. you're avoiding every attempt of eye contact and gojo's eyes scan your features. she's uncomfortable, he thinks. his heart may as well shatter into separated atoms. his eyes dull in color, slowly backing away from you as he turns his back to you again. dumping his body on the couch, he rests his head on his palm, waving you off with simple words, “go if you want, leave as you wish. i'm done.”

oh okay, a bitter taste envelops your cells, he's done. loosely holding your bags, you drag your feet to the door, looking back at him for one more, one more chance to confirm if you should leave or not. his slumped figure gives you all the confirmation you need. with that, you leave. taking two steps out, you speak with a low voice, praying that he'll hear it.

“bye-bye, satoru.”

gojo raises two fingers, showing you that he heard you well. waiting for the door to click, he leans his head back on the couch, finally allowing himself to succumb to his feelings. every negative emotion and its synonym engulfs him, feeding off of his body and draining him clean of any optimism. is it over? he doesn't know. he hopes it's not. never did he ever want to let you slip through that door but what could he have done? it was more than evident that you were uncomfortable with him. he just can't be selfish and keep you.

maybe he's malfunctioning but there's very much little beads of tears forming in his eyes. it's been a rather long day so why not let it out? comforting in the feeling of the liquid sliding down the sides of his face, he forces back any vocal sound of his cries. he'll rather sink into silence than to do anything else.

#+ rizsu: jujutsu kaisen.#my booboo bear thats now a mass murderer like his bestie or wtv #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru angst #jjk angst

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lovingmattysposts · 5 months

Text

Eastside 6

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13 P14 P15 P16 P17

pairing: y/n and matt sturniolo

summary: growing up in the outskirts of Boston wasn't really pretty. Life wasn't that great for most people, most people. You had Matt and no one fucked with you when Matt was standing by your side. The chief's daughter and the bad boy deliquent. A perfect love story?

warnings: smuttty smuttt, angst, cursing, mentions of guns, mentions of drugs

matt pov

“You’re not mad?”

She shook her head and looked up at me with an unreadable expression. I swallowed and stared down at her. She just stared up at me.

I was waiting for the yelling. The screaming. The guilt trip that turned into rough makeup sex for how I left her the other night, but she just blinked up at me. Not an angry demeanor on her face, nor a smile.

“Don’t do this. I can’t read your mind as much as I want too. Just tell me you’re mad at me” I pleaded with my girlfriend. She shrugged. “You don’t have to read my mind, I’m telling you how I feel. I’m not angry with you” She said shaking her head, raising her eyebrows.

I blinked at her. I clenched my jaw and tapped my foot closing my eyes. “I don’t understand. You have to be mad. Yell, scream at me. Please just do something” I shook my head. She rolled her eyes.

“Is that what you want? You want me to yell at you?” She asked sighed and running her hands through her hair. I blinked at her flat demeanor.

“It’s better than whatever you’re doing right now” I said shaking my head. She looked off to the side. I bit my lip as I looked down at her. She’d been giving me the silent treatment all day long and her texts have been vague to say the least.

“Baby” I whispered as I pulled her waist. She shook me off and stepped back looking up at me. I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes.

“What?” I groaned clueless at what was going through her mind. She sighed and shook her head. “I’m late for class” She mumbled looking at me. My mouth dropped.

“No you’re not you still have 5 minutes” I said looking at her. She looked down at her feet. “Yeah well, I’m late” She said looking away from me. I just scanned her face.

“You’re not mad?” I asked again. She glared up at me. “No Matthew, I am not mad” she said through gritted teeth. Matthew? Oh god. I put my hands against my face, letting out a breath.

“I want to understand please help me understand” I said pressing my hands against her face. She pushed me off of her and sighed.

“I’ll see you later” She mumbled before walking off. I just turned and watched as she walked down the hallway.

“What?” I whispered to myself.

“I see you’ve resorted to talking to yourself now huh?”

I turned and saw Chris leaned up against the lockers. I glared at him pointing my finger into his chest. “You” I stated. He smiled stepping back holding his hands up.

“You can’t blame me for this one you’re the one who stuck your dick into her and didn’t make her finish” He chuckled. I pushed him back violently.

“That’s not what happened” I said through gritted teeth. He rolled his eyes. “Then what did happen?” He asked raising his eyebrows smirking at me. I glared at him shaking my head.

“You, we’re the most ultimate cock blocker of all time last night” I corrected him. He shook his head scoffing. “What would have happened if I didn’t call you?” He asked shrugging his backpack back onto his shoulder.

I just looked at him. “The package wouldn’t have come on time, Slim would have had your ass and she would have payed the price” He said pointing behind me. I sighed looking down, knowing he was right.

“I just wish she knew that” I mumbled looking down at my feet. “Yeah, well she doesn’t. So for now you’re protecting her without her knowing you’re protecting her” Chris stated. I looked up at him.

“And you’re gonna keep it that way. It’s better if she doesn’t know. Actually—it’s essential that she doesn’t know because that would complicate things” Chris sighed.

“She’s pissed. But she won’t tell me she’s pissed” I sighed looking at him. “She keeps saying she’s not mad, but she won’t text me. She won’t let me touch her and she’s storming off—“ I said shaking my head.

He raised his eyebrows. “I wish she would just yell at me, get it off her chest. But she won’t” I groaned placing my hand against my forehead. She’s never done this before, I didn’t know what to do. But I’ve also never done what I’ve did last night either.

“God bro, you’re giving me a headache with your relationship problems. I feel like I’m in a teen rom-com” He said shaking his head. I glared at him.

“Stop shitting on me and tell me what the fuck to do” I yelled at him. He sighed looking off and then looking back at me.

“I don’t know? Just fuck her” He shrugged. I let out a slow hard breath. Why I ever came to my brother for relationship advice, I will never know. But I was completely and utterly lost.

“That’s not the solution to everything, you absolutely shit bag” I said stepping towards him. He rolled his eyes. “I’m this close to losing my girlfriend over something you did. So give me some real advice but I tell Slim it’s your dream to do Coke with him” I mumbled looking at him.

He clenched his jaw before letting out a breath.

“Is she still wearing the necklace?” He sighed looking up at me. I furrowed my eyebrows. “What?” I asked blinking at him. He sighed and shook his head.

“Is she still wearing the necklace?” He said again shaking his head at me. “Yeah?” I said shrugging. He nodded. “So” He said placing his hand on my shoulder. “You’re not about to lose your girlfriend if your name is still around her neck, you idiot” he smiled shaking his head.

I let out a breath, nodding. Maybe he was right.

“Don’t you get it when a girl says yes she means yes, and when she says no she means no and sometimes when she says no she means yes and when she says yes she means no. It’s all in the body language and the girl and how they are acting. You have to understand what she means when she says it so you know which yes she means and which no she means” He said quickly.

I blinked at him.

“What?” I said softly. He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Is she acting mad?” He asked throwing his hands up. I nodded. He pursed his lips and pushed my shoulder.

“Then I hate to break it you bud, her no means yes” He smiled. I shook my head. “What?” I asked again shaking my head. “She’s mad at you!” He yelled at me. I sighed and looked away.

Fuck, she is mad at me.

“What do I do?” I asked looking back at him. He rolled his eyes. “Matt, I don’t know? You know your girlfriend better than me. Normally when a girl gets mad at me I just move on to the next” He shrugged. I just shook my head at him.

“Now” he said glancing around. “I need you to make that delivery again tonight” he said looking at me. I shook my head and stepped back. “No. I did it last time it’s your turn” I shook my head. He sighed.

“Slim asked for you specifically. I’m not showing up and having him force me to the do Coke” Chris shook his head. I bit my lip. Oh how Chris was such and asshole, but I loved him I wasn’t going to put my brother into that kind of position if it was avoidable.

“So what? I’m the designated delivery boy?” I said narrowing my eyes at him. He shrugged. “For Slim, I guess” He sighed. I groaned stepping back.

The last thing I needed was to come in contact with that man again. The bell rang above us. I looked back at him.

“Do not be late”

“Hello, my beautiful girlfriend who I love so much and is the light of my existence” I breathed quickly pecking her cheek and wrapping my arms around her from behind. She smiled and shook her head, making me smile.

She was smiling. Maybe she wasn’t that mad.

She still pushed me off of her, making me look down. “Y/n, please don’t do this. Just tell me what I can do to make you forgive me. I am so sorry” I said grabbing her arm and moving in front of her. She looked away from me.

“I told you I wasn’t angry with you” she stated again looking up at me. I shook my head. “You don’t mean that your no means yes” I shook my head down at her. Her eyebrows furrowed.

“Have you been getting advice from Chris again?” She asked raising her eyebrows. I just smiled and looked down at her. She shook her head chuckling.

“Do me a favor and never go to Chris with your problems” She said looking to the side and seeing my brother leaning against his car lighting up a cigarette slightly burning his finger and dropping it by his feet.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. God, he was an idiot. She just looked back up at me.

“He also told me to just fuck you I could have taken that approach” I sighed making her smile and shake her head. “He does know that’s not the solution to everything right?” She asked tilting her head at me. I smiled.

“That’s what I said” I stated. She just sighed and looked up at me. I just looked down at her, my eyes pleading with her.

“I know a way you can make it up to me” She stated slowly. I just looked down at her waiting for her to speak. She smiled slightly.

“My dad asked me to invite you over for dinner” She said stepping forward and looking up at me. I smiled and looked down at her. “He said if he can’t keep us apart that he’d like to get to know you better” She said quietly. I nodded hesitantly.

“And I know how uncomfortable my dad makes you and that parents aren’t your thing” She laughed making me roll my eyes. “But it would mean a lot to me if you did, come” She smiled up at me, as she laced her fingers with mine.

I swallowed the anxiety in my chest. A whole dinner? With a drug dealer and the chief of police? Kill me now. He already hates me I doubt he was going to change his mind over one dinner. But if it made her happy.

I nodded. “Okay” I breathed looking down at her. She smiled. “Okay? Like, you’ll go?” She asked smiling brightly up at me. I hesitated before nodding down at her. She smiled before leaning up and kissing my cheek.

“Okay consider me not mad anymore” She cheered making me roll my eyes at her. “Just be at my house by 7:30 tonight” She smiled up at me. My heart dropped along with my smile.

“Tonight?” I asked my face dropping. Her smile dropped at she looked at me and read it all over my face. She clenched her jaw stepping back and pushing my hands away and turning. Fuck.

I stepped forward grabbing her arm and pulling her back towards me. “Tonight is great. Tonight is perfect. I’ll be there. I promise” I said pressing my lips against the side of her face. She looked up at me.

“You promise?” She asked looking up at me. I nodded. I was going to be there. She smiled leaning up and pecking my lips quickly. I leaned down chasing her kiss but she stepped back.

“I’ll see you tonight Matthew” She said smirking at me before turning and walking away. I smiled as I watched her walk.

You know that saying ‘I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her walk away’? Yeah.

“You’re so pussy whipped it’s disgusting” Nick mumbled grabbing my arm as he walked by me and pulled me with him towards the car.

I shifted on my feet as I stood in front of her door. It felt like I was 15 again and asking her out for the first time, but that wasn't the case. I was on a major time crunch trying to make this up to my girlfriend. So I was going to look her dad in the eye and pretend I was the best thing in the world for his daughter, but I wasn't.

I try to be, but i'm not.

I swallowed as I lifted my hand to the door and knocked on it slightly and the stepped back. I don't think I had ever knocked on her door before this was a weird feeling. A few seconds later I heard the door open slightly before being pulled open revealing my girlfriend.

I smiled and let go of a little anxiety when I saw her smiling at me. "Come in" She smiled pulling my arm and pulling me into the house. She closed the door behind me. She turned and looked at me before looking towards the flowers I was gripping in my hand.

"These are for you" I smiled holding them out. She smiled and took them before bringing them up to her nose. She smiled looking up at me before wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling my lips down to hers. I smiled, pushing her hair back as she kissed me. She pulled back but didn't move from my face.

"Thank you" She smiled. I wrapped my arms around her waist and shook my head. "Don't thank me" I whispered. I heard someone clear their throat from down the hall. We both turned and saw her dad standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.

Y/n stepped back from me and I just looked at him. "Think you can give my daughter a bit of breathing room sturniolo?" He asked raising his eyebrows. I just bit my lip and looked at him. He wasn't in uniform. I don't think i've ever seen him not in uniform.

"Look, he got me flowers" Y/n stated next to me, holding up the bouquet. He glanced from the flowers and then back to me, an unimpressed look plastered all over his face. I smiled at him and he shook his head before walking back into the kitchen.

Y/n sighed and looked back over to me. I smiled down at her. "I think he loves me" I sighed placing my hand on her cheek. She sighed and turned her head towards the kitchen. "Come on" She said grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the kitchen.

"This is really good"

I felt daggers from across the table the minute I sat down. I swallowed. To be fair I wasn't scared of the 'chief of police' I was scared that this dinner could make him take his daughter away from me forever. So I was willing to do as much fake ass kissing as it took for him to be okay with me walking through his front door instead of his daughters bedroom window. Not that it didn't make me hard at the thought of her sneaking me foregoing her father's wishes, but it'd be nice to not feel like a criminal in every aspect of my life.

"Didn't know you were so fond of duck Sturniolo" He said looking up at me. My fork froze as I look up at him. "He's kidding" Y/n said leaning into me, making me take a breath. Her dad smirked and shook his head.

"How are your brothers?" He asked looking up at me. I sighed and looked down. "Living and breathing unfortunately" I stated making Y/n look over at me. He raised his eyebrows. "You guys don't get along?" He asked. I shrugged. "We're triplets, of course we do but sometimes I feel like we're so different" I stated honestly.

I loved my brothers, we are blood and they are all I have. Of course I loved them. I just wish sometimes they understood when it came to Y/n, but they never did which sometimes caused a divide.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Funny you should say that because they don't have half the record you do" He said sharply, making me glare up at him. "Dad" Y/n said through gritted teeth. I sighed. I should have prepared myself that sitting across from the chief of police for one dinner, he would bring up some kind of 'oh you're still a criminal dating my daughter' type of thing.

He looked over at her and then back at me. "Sorry" He stated looking at me, but no sense of remorse was across his face. I shook my head. "No I get it I have a record that you have undying access too" I said staring at him.

"But I haven't gotten a charge since I started dating your daughter" I smiled, he didn't. Y/n smiled next to me, placing her hand on my leg soothingly. He looked over at her. "You guys been dating a while now, huh?" He asked looking down at his plate.

"Almost 8 months Dad" She stated looking at him. I smiled down at my plate. It should have been longer than that If I didn't just man up and admit my feelings. We probably would have been together since middle school.

He hummed and then looked up at me. "You a virgin?" He asked pointing his fork at me. My eyes went wide as I stared at him. "Dad" Y/n said again her eyes wide as well. He looked over at her and then back toward me, clearly waiting for an answer.

I looked over at y/n. Did she want me to lie?

"Yes" I said narrowing my eyes at him. He just stared at me, pursing his lips. He didn't believe me, he shouldn't.

"So Dad, how was work?" Y/n intruptted our staring contest. I looked over at her, her face slightly red. I bit back a smiled and looked down.

"It was great. What do your grades look like?" He asked staring back at me. I looked up at him as he stared at me. I let out a slight laugh and bit my lip.

"They are okay" I breathed slightly. He hummed and looked back down. "Tell me more about this summer job you had" He stated making my face dropped. Y/n looked over at me. "What summer job?" She asked looking at me. I looked from her to her dad.

"Um, yeah" I sighed shaking my head. Shit. "It was just moving boxes and stuff for the company. It was hard but easy money" I nodded looking up at him. I felt y/n's eyes on me.

He hummed. "What company?" He asked. I felt y/n's hand move over my leg again, in attempt to sooth me, but it was doing the exact oppoiste. At the worst time possible. I shook my head.

"The company my dad used to work for before he moved" I stated looking at him. He nodded. I looked over at y/n who just narrowed her eyes at my reaction to her.

"What are your hobbies?" He asked looking down at his plate. I put my hand on y/n's stilling her movements. She looked over at me in confusion and then smiled looking down.

"What?" I asked looking back over at him. He glanced up at me. "Your hobbies? What do you do?" He shrugged. I glanced over to y/n who smiled at me before moving her hand on the inside of my thigh. Fuck.

"You know like--" I swallowed as her fingertips grazed the now bulge in my pants. "Working out" I swallowed. He looked up at me before scanning my chest. "Working out?" He asked raising his eyebrows. I nodded. "I do a lot of running" I stated as her hand went fully over me and pressed down.

I closed my eyes and looked down to hide my face.

"I can see that" He stated shaking his head, possibly making a dig at me, but I wasn't focused on his rude remarks I was more focused on his daughters hand basically palming me through my pants.

I just looked at her as she looked back down at her plate. I swallowed moving my fork around.

He went on about his day, asking me a few more questions like I was in an interogation room and y/n's hand finally retreated and we were finally done eating.

"Are you done? I'm done. You look done. Dad?" Y/n said quickly grabbing my plate from under me. I looked up at her as she stared down at me. What was she doing? Her dad looked up at her as she took his plate.

He stood up walking over to the sink as y/n walked up to me. "What the hell--" I whispered. "Wasn't fun getting teased was it?" She smiled. I clenched my jaw down at her as she smiled at me. I let out a breath.

"I want to show you something" Her dad said walking up to us, clueless at the conversation that was just occuring. I looked up at him and then down at my phone looking at the time.

"You got somewhere to be?" He asked looking down at me and crossing his arm over his chest. I swallowed before looking up at him. "No" I lied looking at him. He smiled. "Perfect" He stated walking past me. "Follow me" He mumbled. I looked down at Y/n and she shurgged, clearly having no idea what he was on about.

I sighed shaking my head before turning and following him. He led me out to the garage. I stepped down the steps seeing him opening a cabinet. I just walked towards him. He glanced at me before opening the cabinet, showing tons of guns displayed. I just looked up at him.

"You know a fair bit about guns don't you?" He asked as he pulled one out. I just stared at him. He glanced over at me. He raised his eyebrows. I looked to the side. I knew he was mentioning my possestion of a weapon charge.

"Y/n doesn't know too much about them" He stated. I nodded. "She doesn't" I agreed with him. He looked over at me before stepping over to me. "What are you doing?" He asked looking down at me. I stood my ground as I stared up at him. "What do you mean?" I asked as I looked up at him.

"I mean, why are you doing all of this? Why do you care so much about my daughter? You don't strike me as the guy to really care about anything" He shook his head. I sighed and looked down.

"I love her" I stated. He just looked at me. "She so much different than me, she's kind and sweet and--" I paused looking up at him as he stared down at me. "As much as you don't want to hear it--" I breathed closing my eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere" I shook my head as I looked at him. He narrowed his eyes at me. "Not unless she pushes me away" I said honestly looking at him. He sighed as he moved away from me.

"I know you hate me, but I love her and she loves me" I said shaking my head. He sighed and pulled out a gun, running his hand over it. I just watched him. "You don't have to trust me, but you have to trust when I say that I would never let anything happen to y/n" I shook my head.

It was true. No matter what I did on the outside of our relationship was shady and I get that. But if y/n was involved nothing was going to touch her.

"So you're telling me not to trust you, but to trust you with my daughter?” He said raising his eyebrow. I sighed and then nodded. He pursed his lip and looked down. "She's all I have" He stated not looking at me.

"I get my role as a chief, but this is my only daughter" He shook his head. I sighed closing my eyes. "I don't like you two together, but I hate fighting with her" He shook his head.

"I won't hurt her" I stated making him turn to me. "I'll kill you if you do" He stated glaring at me. I rolled my eyes and looked at him. "I'll be civil if you do" I stated looking at him. He pursed his lips and looked at me.

“Fine” he stated as he shook my hand. I smiled and turned. He put his gun back into place and I looked over.

“That’s a good caliber” I pointed. He turned glaring at me. “Quit while you’re ahead kid” he said staring at me. I nodded and looked down and then turned to back into the house.

I walked in and saw y/n cleaning the dishes in the sink. She looked up at me and smiled when her eyes landed on me. She put the dishes down before walking up to me. I smiled down at her.

“Everything okay?” She asked looking up at me. I nodded pushing hair behind her shoulder. She sighed and wrapped her arms around me pulling me into a hug.

"Time's up" Her dad stated as he walked back into the room. Y/n sighed and pulled away from me. I looked down at her as she grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the door. She pushed me out of the house and looked up at me.

"Meet at my window?" She whispered as she leaned against the door. I let out a breath and looked down at my phone. Fuck I was cutting it close. "Matt" She said catching my attention. I looked to the side, a million thoughts going through my head. I can't be late.

"Yeah okay" I nodded looking down at her. She smiled leaning up and pecking my lips and closing the door in my face.

As soon as I climbed through the window, she grabbed my shirt and pulled her lips to mine kissing me desperately catching me by surprise. She wrapped her arms around my neck before pulling me towards her bed and straddling my waist, pushing her hands through my hair.

"What's gotten into you?" I smiled pulling apart briefly to look at her dark eyes. She smiled and scanned my face. "You hopefully" She whispered before connecting our lips again. I smiled against her lips, I'd never seen her this desperate before. I gripped her hips as her legs sat on either side of me.

She gripped my face slightly as her lips trailed down my neck, leaving slow harsh bites. I let out an unsteady breath as she marked me. "Y/n" I sighed pulling her against me, trying to relive some tension between us.

He peered up at me. "What?" She said quickly connecting our lips again. I pulled back. She sighed and looked at me. "Look" she started. "Maybe you haven't been the best boyfriend in the world, but I haven't been the best girlfriend either" She said looking down at me. My eyebrows furrowed.

"I get it you have shit going on that you can't tell me and I've thought about it a lot and I know that if you think I needed to know you would tell me" She sighed. I just looked at her in disbelief. "I love you and I just wanted to say i'm sorry for being such a bitch" She whispered. I blinked at her. Was this really happening? Was I dreaming?

I shook my head. "y/n, You are not a bitch" I shook my head making her smile. She sighed and looked down at me. "I'm the one who needs to be apologizing" I stated shaking my head. She licked her lips as she peered down at me.

"It just means so much to me that you came tonight and I know that this isn't really your thing and it makes you uncomfortable" She stated, making me smile and shake my head. "And If I'm being honestly you talking to my dad being all nice, just for me--" She said trailing her hands up my chest. I looked down at her hands.

"It really turned me on" She whispered kissing the side of my face. I raised my eyebrows as she smiled at me. "So be a good boy and let me ride you" She said staring into my eyes before pressing her lips against mine, pushing me down against the bed.

I could have moan at that sentence alone if she would have given me a second to react. I never let her be dominate. This was my territory. But like I have mentioned many times before, I'd do anything just to make her happy, and with the fire in her eyes and the dirty things she was currently whispering in my ear, I'd be in idiot if I stopped her.

She pushed my shirt up before looking up at me. I reached down pulling it over my head and throwing it onto the floor. She smiled at me before undoing my belt and unbuttoning my pants.

God, I felt like a teenage boy who discovered what jacking off was for the first time I was so worked up. She pushed my pants down slowly leaving me in my underwear beneath her. Her hand ran down my clothed length.

I sighed lifting my hips up into her hand. "Y/n, please" I whispered. "Don't worry, I'm not mean like you. I'll let you finish" She said looking up at me. I felt her pull my boxers down and my dick sprung free. She smiled leaning up to me.

"You have the biggest dick i've ever seen" She whispered. I rolled my eyes. "It's the only dick you've ever seen" I mumbled looking down at her. She gripped it in her hand, wiping her thumb over the tip making me squirm.

"And the only one I ever will" She whispered making me moan sligthly. She smirked before wrapping her mouth around me and swirling her tounge around the tip. I lifted into her mouth, making her chuckle against me. The vibrations made me reach down and grip her hand in her hair, pulling on it.

"Y/n" I said begging her to take more. She hummed before lifting off me. "I've been thinking about this all day" She whispered as she dragged her tounge down my length. My dick was throbbing at this point. I squeezed my eyes shut. "Then take it" I stated pushing her head back down against me. I one swift motion she took all of me into her mouth.

I held back moaned as she moved against me. I guided her with my grip on her, thrusting into her mouth. I looked down as I saw her eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down her face from the impact. And absolute mess underneath me just to please me. She normally couldn't take all of me but she forced herself to, all for me.

I felt my dick twitch inside her mouth and I pulled her off. She looked up at me, wiping the drool off her mouth blinking. "You were about to--" She stated. "I thought you said you wanted to ride?" I smiled down at her. She smiled leaning up and wiping her face, tearing off her shorts and underwear before climbing back over at me.

"I'm not use to this" Her confidence suddently altering as she looked down at me. I shook my head and pushed her hair back. "You will do fine baby, i'll help you" I whispered. She swallowed. "I just want to make you feel good" She whispered back. My heart was beating out of my chest from the sweet innocent girl who was almost tearing up at the thought of not pleasing someone like me.

"You already have" I whispered. She smiled and I leaned up pecking her lips. She looked down between us before lining herself up with me. "You don't have to take all of it" I stated. She looked up at me before looking back down. She let out a breath as she sank down on me, making my lean my head back. I gripped her hips as she laid her head against my shoulder.

"Fuck" She whispered from the new feeling of her on top. I swallowed as she sank all the way down against me. Fuck, this felt too good. She started to lift off of me slightly before sinking again back and forth, again and again.

"Oh my--" I started to moan but her hand covered my mouth. I looked up at her. "Shut up" She grunted. Wow this was a switch. I sighed as I gripped her hips hard, following her motions drawing my hips back and pushing against her.

I felt as she grinded against me, pushing herself against me biting her lip so hard just to keep her moans in. "Move faster" I mumbled. She moaned against my neck as she moved faster against me.

This was when I realized what was happening. I left her to fend for herself last night. She was begging for me and I left her unsatified and now she was doing all of the work just to finish from me. She may like to be dominate, but I needed to be. This was fun and all, but I had some unfinished buisness.

I flipped us over quickly making her eyes snap open as I pounded into her and covered her mouth, knowing the moan that was going to leave her lips.

"You did your apologizing. But now it's my turn. I'm making you finish, and I'm making you finish hard" I said looking down at her. She nodded quickly as she pushed her hips against mine with every thrust.

"Matt oh my-" She muttered as she gripped my arm so hard, she drew blood. I looked down at the necklace laid across the colarbone, smiling to myself. I pushed her legs up hitting her from a new angle, fucking her the way I promised to the other night.

I turned her head, biting her lip so hard to muffle her sounds. I kissed down her neck. "Mine" I whispered. "Only mine" I whispered as I looked at her face. She was close. Really close.

"Tell me you like it" I whispered. She moaned nodding. "I said tell me" I said again gripping her face. "I love it" She cried before I felt her clench against me, making me twitch inside of her. I held it because there was no way I was finishing before her. I reached down rubbing harsh circles over her clit.

"Come" I ordered as she felt limp beneath me feeling her let go all over me and all over the sheets beneath me. I sighed as I thrusted into her a few more times. She pulled me against her. "You fuck me so good Matt" She whispered against my ear and that was all I needed before I released into her.

I sighed as I laid against her, us both breathing heavily. She ran her hands up my back. I looked up at her. She smiled down at me. "That's the only time I'll ever let you be dominate so I hope you enjoyed it" I said smiling softly. She rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you let me do it for as long as you did pretty boy" She chuckled.

Pretty boy.

Fuck.

Slim.

My eyes went wide as I jumped up and out of her making her whine from the sudden loss. I scrambled for my phone seeing a text from Chris.

Chris

you have to be there in 20 minutes I hope you've left. Or your ass is Y/n's ass.

My eyes went wide as Y/n sat up. "What? What's wrong?" She asked looking at me. "I have to--" I started to say and she looked down. "Go" I whispered. She just nodded as she leaned over and reached for her shorts pulling them back on. "Y/n" I sighed reaching for her. She looked over at me.

"I know, It's okay" She said nodding her head slightly frowning. I swallowed as I pulled my boxers and pants back up. She looked away from me as she stood up.

I felt like this was just a hook up, like I was running right after fucking someone like a damn one-night stand. "I'm sorry" I stated as I stood. She nodded looking down.

"Thanks for coming" She whispered half smiling at me. My heart turned. My chest hurt. I sighed and shook my head. "I'm really sorry" I whispered. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Just go" She said smiling and motioning towards the window. I smiled sadly before walking over to her and grabbing her kissing her passionatly.

She laughed against me trying to push me off, as I kissed all over her face. "Get out" She laughed turning away. I smiled up at her. "I'm gonna marry you one day" I whispered making her smile and her face flush red.

"After fucking me like that, I'll be expecting a ring in the next few days please" She smiled holding out her hand. I rolled my eyes picking her hand up and kissing it. "Give me a few years, I love you" I smiled before turning and running out of the window.

I was gonna add another part but I wanted to get this out to you as fast as possible and If i want to update bfb or anything else I have to put this out so i love you guys missed you.

tag list:

@rac00ns-are-c00l4 @miastromboli @secret-sturniolo @sturnsclutter @sturniolodreamz @paper-crab @chrisolivia4l @mwah0mwah @recklesssturniolo @ejswift @kitaysworld @meg-sturniolo @nickmillersn1gf @fr3shl0ve @adrianaturnedpretty @oversturn @ghostgurlswrld @flowerxbunnie @ilytrinsworld @lustfulslxt @kiarastromboli @gemofthenight @blahbel668 @haunted-headset @sturnybabes @bethsturn @d3adlyclassrat @sturnybabes @mattsbitch @chrisluvbot @nickenthusiast @sturniolossmut @biimpanicking @iloveneilperry @chalametbich @dsmja

tell me if I forgot you on tag list pls

#christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #nicolas sturniolo #spotify #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #s

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queenimmadolla · 2 years

Note

hope you're taking requests cause hear me out: what about reader waking up from a nap and eddie goes to hug her and realizes that she's really angry because she had a nightmare where he cheated on her with another girl. He's like wtf and she's like yeah you know what you did asshole (except he doesn't). Pls i am so in love with joseph quinn that i've been thinking about this all day 😩

I can't blame you, I think about him all day, too. This one was quite easy for my fingers to runaway with. Hope you like it!

𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

warnings: little bit of angst, imagined infidelity, plenty of comfort and fluff.

Your eyes glare daggers at the back of Eddie’s head, simultaneously willing him to look at you while also kind of wanting his hair to spontaneously combust into flames. You were curled up on his bed, bundled up in blankets with your head pressed into one of his flat ass pillows. You’d been awake for a good ten minutes, having ‘accidentally’ fallen asleep when Eddie brought you over after school and you immediately settled into his bed with the excuse that you were simply resting your head and would not fall asleep on him, fully knowing that was your intention from the moment you’d sealed your fate last night and watched The Dark Crystal again. You’d stayed up until almost 3:00 a.m. to finish it. But it wasn’t your fault! You couldn’t be blamed, it was due back at Family Video and your mom planned on dropping off the rentals on her way to work so you had to squeeze in one last watch, for Fizzgig.

You were regretting it now as a mixture of anger and anxiety swirled deep in your stomach, you’d had a bad dream, a nightmare. Not anything gory or violent, although you thought you may have preferred to have Freddy make a shish kabob out of you or even Jason shanking you with his machete, anything over seeing Eddie cuddled up with a girl who most definitely wasn’t you. The longer you stare at the back of his head, at the frizzy mess of curls while he scribbles fervently in his DnD notebook on the ground, back leaning up against the bed, the more you think about the evil scene you’d been forced to witness in your own damn dream. It felt so real, and you hated it.

You’d been on your way out of the school, easily maneuvering through the crowd also headed for the school entrance to flood out into the parking lot where you knew Eddie would be waiting for you by his van. Only he wasn’t waiting for you. He had Roxy Campbell—the pretty, stupid Volleyball player who made her interest in Eddie ridiculously clear despite the fact that he was yours—pressed up against his van. It was obviously an intimate moment, you could see her stupid, pretty blue eyes staring coyly up at him through her lashes as he pressed his forehead to hers, whispering something that made the corners of her lips curl up into a flirtatious smile as she reached a finger, you wanted very desperately to break, up to twirl a lock of his hair around before she grasped the back of his head and yanked him down to meet her in an open mouthed kiss.

Your eyes had shot open the moment you had felt your dream heart plummet from its place in your chest to a deep, dark cavern you didn’t know existed in you. Your actual heart was beating wildly, tears already prickling at your waterline regardless of having just woken up. And despite your biggest fear coming true in a hellish nightmare, your Eddie wasn’t making out with Roxy by his van. Yet.

You’d allowed yourself to just lay there as your anger brewed, mind racing with various scenarios regarding what the dream could have meant; all of them coming to the conclusion that Eddie fucking sucked. The girls on the Volleyball team were well known for their asses, mainly because of those ludicrously tight, booty shorts they wore, but your ass was significantly better than Roxy’s and you both knew it. Along with being with Eddie, it was one of the reasons why she despised you and you were proud of that. So why would Eddie want her instead of you?

Think of the devil, Eddie glances over his shoulder, his dumb beautiful, baby cow eyes lighting up the moment he realizes you’re awake.

You scowl back and hiss out, “Bitch.”

Then you yank the blankets up just below your nose and roll onto your other side, leaving your back to him.

Eddie’s mouth drops open, eyes wide in disbelief at the sudden anger you were directing at him. The fuck did he do?

“Excuse me?” He closes the notebook, before tossing it and his pen aside as he stands and leaps onto the bed. You pay him no mind, scowl deepening as you’re jostled by his actions. Eddie doesn’t let that stop him; despite how tense you forced your body to be, he drags you into his arms, attempting to cuddle you.

“I didn’t quite catch that, wanna repeat it for me?” He mumbles, nuzzling his face into your neck as he presses a kiss just below your jaw. You refuse to budge, aware that he’d heard you in the first place. When you don't respond, Eddie just keeps pressing kisses to your skin, nose brushing up against your neck as he begins to trail kisses up towards your ear. “I said say that again, baby.”

But you refuse to comply, it was obvious he was daring you to repeat your insult, goading you to give him a reason to snap. Normally, you loved to play his games, but you weren’t in the mood now.

“‘Lemme alone, don’t act like you don’t know.” You demanded, voice muffled by the blankets but you knew he heard you when he went taut and then he pulls away, a ring covered hand grabbing your shoulder to press your back to the mattress, forcing you to stare up at him.

Eddie’s eyebrows were pulled together in exasperation as he glowers down at you. In any other circumstance, you’d find him and your current position ridiculously hot but right then you could only feel satisfaction at having got on his nerves. Serves him fucking right.

“Okay, what the fuck is your problem?” Eddie cuts straight to the point. He’d tried playing nice, but he knew you; knew you wouldn’t succumb to his seduction, encouragement or coaxing and he knew he didn’t have the patience to wait around for you to eventually tell him what had you so upset because you were prone to holding everything in, happily hanging on to any grudge you could develop, so there was a legitimate chance that you’d just never tell him and hold it against him instead of working it out. You loved to self-sabotage but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

“You!” You lower the blankets, reaching a hand to push him off of you. Eddie was much stronger than you, though. He didn’t budge, still glaring down at you as you try to wiggle away.

“Me?” Eddie’s annoyance morphs into confusion, nose scrunching up as his eyes squint, “What did I do?”

“You kissed her!” This time when you shove at him, Eddie’s body gives away, he allows you to scurry off the bed, though you didn’t do much but crawl towards the dresser, back pressed up against it as you turned to face him, expression still set in a scowl. Despite your current brattiness, Eddie couldn’t help but think about how fucking cute you looked all worked up. Your hair was a mess, but that just made him want to tangle his fingers in it, and your lips were pursed in a pout that he was fighting to not kiss away.

Speaking of kisses, “What?! What are you talking about? I haven’t kissed anyone but you!”

“Roxy!” You spit out, body heating up with your anger.

“I have never, ever kissed Roxy. Nor do I want to, where is this coming from?” Eddie moved to sit on the edge of the bed, legs spread out as he leans his elbows on them, watching you with careful eyes.

“You kissed her in my dream,” you knew the moment you said it, he’d probably think you were being irrational but you didn’t care. He wasn’t the one that had to imagine the person he loved kissing someone else.

Eddie’s exasperation returned, “You’re mad at me for something I did in your dream?” See? You knew it! He was making it seem like you were being childish and maybe you were but, again, you didn’t fucking care!

“How am I supposed to control that?! It was just a nightmare!”

“If it was a nightmare, then why did it hurt my feelings?” You snap back and Eddie softens, he had chalked this all up to you being bratty but it was obvious to him now that you were genuinely upset about it. He could see how glossy your eyes were, and now he could make out the hurt beneath the rage. You’d had a nightmare about something you were insecure about, you were hurt by a version of him—trusting and loving all versions of him—so you lashed out and here he was being an asshole instead of comforting you.

“Dreams mean things, Eddie! This one was a-a bad omen! Or something! Clearly, you want her or you’re interested in her, or there’s some sort of underlying issue!”

“Oh, there’s definitely an underlying issue,” Eddie sighs and stands, making his way over to crouch near you and you tensed further, like you were waiting for him to confirm that you were right and that makes him feel even more guilty, “the love of my life believes there’s a chance that I’d want someone else when I’d rather die and go to my own personal hell where I’m forced to watch a cheer squad composed of clones of Principal Higgins’ in a pep rally, that never ends, than be without her.”

You want to be angry, you really do because the moment your anger is gone you’ll just feel silly but you can feel the tension easing away from your body and you play with your fingers, refusing to meet Eddie’s eyes, “. . . Really?”

Eddie hooks a finger under your chin, tilting it until you’re forced to look at him and you can see the sincerity and love in those pretty, chocolate eyes. You’re positive you’re melting. “I’m in love with you, only you. Told you I’m gonna marry you someday, and I mean that. Besides, Roxy tries to steal Jonathan’s seat in front of me during History sometimes and I’m now keenly aware that she doesn’t wear deodorant or any alternative so I promise you, baby, she is not and has never been your competition. No one compares to you. Even if she did smell decent, you’re the only person I’ll ever want, ‘kay?”

You launch yourself at him and both you and Eddie go crashing to the floor behind him, though he breaks the fall for you, arms winding themselves around your waist to hold you tight against him as you pepper kisses all over his face. When you pull away, you admire the kiss stains, left behind by your lipstick, that map his face and he’s staring up at you, looking absolutely love sick, if he were a cartoon character, his pupils and irises would be heart shaped. You were wrong; Eddie doesn’t suck. He’s the most loving boyfriend to ever exist, and he’s yours. And your Eddie, in the flesh, is better than any Eddie that can exist in your dreams.

“I love you.” You smile, leaning down to nuzzle the tip of your nose against his before giving it a kiss.

Eddie’s hands finally get to tangle in your hair as he angles you down for a kiss, if it can even be called that. He’s smiling too much for you to even do it properly but you don’t really mind. “And I love you. I’d fuck up that other Eddie though, no one hurts my girl’s feelings and gets way with it.”

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cloudninetonine · 11 months

Text

“He’s not waking.”

“Refusing to sleep for three days straight would do such to a man.”

“Well yes, that and….the lavender mushrooms I put in his stew.”

“Lavender mushrooms- did you spike his food!?”

“Look,” Wild started, raising his hands in defence at Warriors and Twilight’s horrified looks. “The nightmare had scared him witless, it was either this or the hallucinations get to him and trust me, the horrors we have seen do not translate well into insomniac mirages.”

“And this was better!?” Twilight snapped, panic in his eyes. “Champion, he was already refusing to sleep because of nightmares you’ve essentially trapped him in his own head!”

“Would you rather him sleep or start swinging at enemies that aren’t even there!?”

To say it was a tense was an understatement, the whole group staying silent as they watched two of the oldest argue with the cook as the Old Man laid still in his sleep mat. Time wasn’t dead but he certainly looked closed to it, his eyes sunken in with a ghostly pale tint to his skin- you had never seen someone so badly affected by lack of sleep but then again this wasn’t just a lack but any at all. All thanks to the nightmare that had him screaming days before, thrashing violently in his bedroll in the middle of the night which had each of the boys pulling swords ready to fight. Nothing was around. Nothing at all and the Old Man thus began his refusal to set a toe in the land of dreams.

Which led to now.

Glaring at Hyrule beside you, you watched as the brunette slightly shrunk under your gaze. “Is this why you went foraging with Wild earlier?”

Eyes avoidant, the man muttered a hesitant, “...no.” that was enough of an answer to you.

As annoyed as you were you also couldn’t blame the boys. Time was already starting to show the start of losing it- auditory hallucinations, whipping his head around in confusion which was slowly beginning to border frustration with the scowl and hard eyes he had adopted.

Time needed to sleep and finally, he was put to rest.

But what were you supposed to do without your leader? Wallow and fret as he slept off the last 70+ hours that he sorely needed to catch up on? Bask in relief that he was finally able doze? You didn’t really know as you continued to watch the trio argue until finally Warriors snapped for them to shut it.

“We will be stuck here until further notice thanks to your decision, Champion.” Wild flinched at the Captain’s tone, not used to such the aggressive tongue from the other blonde but backing down in understanding. “How long will it take for him to recover?”

“...It took me only a day for the mushroom to finally be rid of my system.”

“Then a day we shall stay, and another to make sure our eldest is well.” Dragging a hand down his face, Warriors grunted. “We are to make sure that the surrounding area is clear- ranch-hand you’re with me and so are you, Champion.”

The two grabbed their weapons, Wild hesitating slightly knowing of the oncoming lecture that the two were about to drag them into.

“Smithy, traveller please keep an eye on him.”

And they left to the surrounding dense forest in search of enemies to hunt.

Gently, your hand moved to brush away a few stray strands from Time’s face. Eyes narrowing in concern, you witnessed the exhaustion over his face with growing concern, “Feel better soon, Link.”

His lips twitched as he slept.

----------

The tension had slowly disappeared within the day, leading the lot of you to a more relaxing night. Time still laid comatosed upon his mat, periodcally twitching within his sleep as the evening progressed on- you wondered what exactly went through his mind. Was he fighting the return of that nightmare days before? Was he dreaming of his home or maybe dreaming about his boys? An enigma doused in sopor as you all watched over him.

It was Legend who took first watch. Four, Warriors and Sky would proceed to follow once the veteran’s job had run it’s course, eyes peered into the pitch black of the surrounding thicket to check for any monsters that strayed a little too far into the light. Not that you were expecting anything, when the trio had returned later with dirtied clothes and lightly scathed skin. Tonight wouldn’t be eventful.

Or so you thought.

When you woke up it was still dark, the soft embers of the dying fire casting shadows of the sleeping bodies around it, the dim outlines giants from the position of the fading flame when you pushed yourself into a small kneel, hand rubbing at your eyes.

“Why’s the fire fading…?” You muttered more to yourself than anything, blinking the sleep out of your vision as you glanced around. Something felt off. “Hey-”

Quiet.

It was quiet.

It wasn’t supposed to be quiet.

Just off the edge of the group was a boulder, not too big nor too small, just the right size for someone to sit on as they did whatever it was they wanted. It had become the designated spot for the night watch, a perfect little lookout.

It sat, empty of any participant.

Swallowing the ball in your throat, you glanced around the area nervously counting the multitude of bodies.

1, 2, 3, 4-

Legend, Sky, Four and Wind-

5, 6, 7-

Twilight, Wild and Hyrule.

Blinking, you recounted.

1, 2, 3, 4-

Legend, Sky, Four and Wind-

5, 6, 7-

Twilight, Wild and Hyrule-

Where were Warriors and Time?

“Rulie.” No hesitation, you leaned over the brunette with your hand landing on his shoulder to shake him. “Rulie, please.”

Hyrule did not jerk. He did not spasm. He did not gasp. Nor did he twitch. Still. Hyrule laid still.

Horror dawned your face, the hand on his shoulder slowly sliding to rest over his mouth-

And breaths did leave him.

With furrowed brows, your hand returned and you moved him more violently. “Hyrule.”

Nothing once again.

You violently shoved him.

“Link!”

And there was nothing once more.

Well, nothing from him. Your shout echoed through the small clearing, catching the wind and making your ears ring as you quickly ducked into your sleeping bag, afraid.

One moment, two moments, three- peaking your head out, there seemed to be nothing.

And you hoped it stayed that way.

You went through the entirety of the camp. Shaking and calling, yanking and (whisper) shouting, tugging and pleading but it seemed that nothing was waking them. The boys were alive, breathing but not a single one of them stirred. It was terrifying, the spell that seemed to be cast over them all and the want to go back to your bed roll and hide like a child scared of the monsters within your wardrobe was such an intense feeling.

But you couldn’t sit here, helpless.

Not when Warriors and Time were missing. One certainly incapacitated and the other, well, you weren’t too sure.

It wasn’t the smartest decision but if none of the real heroes could help, then you had to find it within yourself to be the courageous one. You hated leaving them alone but when already 10 minutes had gone by with nothing, not a snap of a branch or the sound of footsteps, you came to the conclusion that any answers laid out in the darkness just beyond the trees. You took Fi for the backup, mentally apologising to Sky for the thievery as you stood just on the line between isolation and separation.

Isolation from the truth and separation from your safety.

The leaves crunched under your feet as you embarked into the lone dark.

Phone light in hand, you followed a non existent path to nowhere. Your breaths quiet along with your steps, glancing around the area with a flick of your wrist to reveal to you more of your surroundings. Tree after tree you passed, save the odd bush or rotting stump from a lumberjack doing his duty, seemed just as normal as the grass beneath your feet. There wasn’t really anything odd. Save for the air. The air felt tense and it felt suffocating, but you blamed such a thing on your own nerves.

Not that you didn’t blame the circumstances, oh, they were your true enemy.

“Wars?” You could barely make out a proper call, your voice more of a whimpered mutter than a concerned cry. “Warriors, are you out here?”

Nothing heard you.

Well, that’s what you thought.

Turning past another grand oak tree, you saw the edge of the forest, the moon peering past the abundance of leaves on the outstretched branches. You had strayed too far, was a thought that popped into your mind, glancing past the nature to see the field that laid beyond it.

Nothing for miles but that didn’t mean the two hadn’t been taken- that they were long gone.

You turned back towards the forest and began to make your way back towards the camp.

Maybe, just maybe, you could wake the group now. Maybe you could have some help and maybe you wouldn’t be alone-

A twig snapped.

Your hand tightened around The Master Sword’s handle in an instant, clutching at her cool surface with an ice cold fear climbing up the expanse of your gut to travel to the depths of your chest. There had been nothing, not a single thing and now something other than you had broken the silence. Would a monster be so still? Be so quiet, so calculated as it possibly stalked you in these moments of solitude.

Was it Dink?

A shiver ran up your back at the feeling of eyes casting upon it. The cold chill digging deeper into your spine when footsteps grew heavy behind you as whatever it was got closer.

Your eyes fell close in uncertainty. It wasn’t real. This was a nightmare. You were back in your bedroll. Experiencing a nightmare.

Though everything was all too real to be just that.

Fi pulsed. Be it a warning or reassurance, you weren’t quite sure. Her sounds did not bring solace as you fought the fear within your heart to escape whatever approached you. You hated the four reactions, why did there need to be four? Why did you need to fight? What did you need to fly? Why did you need to fawn- why did you need to freeze?

The footsteps finally stopped behind you and the presence was large. Your animal instincts tossing about visions of a monster of slender or a creature with rows of teeth, with eerie black eyes, with a too wide of grin. You couldn’t quite fathom what exactly was behind you and you really didn’t want to.

But after a moment and a shaky breath you spun around with Fi at the ready.

Blood. There was blood. There was a lot of blood. The smell of copper finally rolling over in waves as you choked and spluttered at the overwhelming smell, eyes tearing from just how strong it seemed to be. It dripped to the floor and formed a small puddle beneath it as it just stood before you, watching, waiting as it just stared. Your light cast away, but you could see those glowing eyes of white glaring down at you from the darkness overhead.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to scream so bad.

But only a pathetic whimper could make it past your dry lips.

The armour, the cloth, the radiating aura of rage and those eyes…

Fierce Deity was silent.

Fierce Deity was still.

And Fierce Deity was violent.

One step, two steps, you backed up slowly not willing to break the spell cast between you. You didn’t want to encounter the power that so easily rolled off him, scared for what kind of consequences what befall you if his hands even grazed your skin- would he break your arms? Your legs? Would he snap your neck? Would he rip you apart? What would he do? What could he do?

Fierce Deity’s hand raised.

And you had decided you didn’t want to find out.

You ran. Like a coward, like a dog with it’s tail hidden between its legs, you turned tail and sprinted away. Instincts screaming, evolution running its course, you blasted through the bush with the only thoughts in your head being screams of anguish. Leaping over logs, ducking under branches, it was impressive just how much your body pushed its limits when you were truly and utterly afraid.

Dodging another tree your foot began to raise from the ground to take another step only to be caught by the weight of something and leaving you crashing towards the dirt blow you with a choked cry, face scratching against the sticks and leaves.

“Wha-” You thanked the heavens that clutching your phone with a death grip was relfex by now as you span around with that piercing gadget light.

More blood. More copper. But this time there laid a body that stayed awfully still, the familiar light of royal blue sullied by crimson.

“Wars!” Scurrying to sit upright, you leaned over the injured man with more tears cornering your eyes. “Link, oh my fucking God, please-”

A deep, rattled breath made you yelp before relief flooded your system as you realised that he was still alive. “Oh Link, oh Christ, it’s okay-”

Fierce Deity stood just beside you. So large yet so silent, his giant height made bigger with your kneeled position as you looked upon him in horror. The blood which coated him was red, partnering the blood over your fallen comrade and leading your eyes the narrow with an understandable rage which lead to less understandable actions.

You raised Fi towards him. “Stay the fuck away from us!”

Silence.

Fierce Deity did not speak.

Fi no longer hummed.

And Warriors only shook in pain just beneath you.

The god slowly leaned down and you hardened your gaze. “Fuck off!”

He paused and your heart beat pounded in your ears from fear.

Did you really just tell a war god to fuck off?

How the hell had you survived this long?

After no more words from you Fierce Deity continued until he was kneeled, face still place as the Master Sword’s sharp point pressed just against his temple as he observed you. No more movement, not a blink or a breath, Fierce just watched as the weight of the world grew heavier and heavier on your shoulders. What was he waiting for? Why did he stop?

You slowly dropped Fi, looking back into those eyes filled with bloodlust.

“...what do you want?”

Fierce tilted his head but did not break eye contact as he acted.

The god’s arms slowly moved under Warriors’ broken body, gentle and careful as the man hissed in pain even within the confines of his pained coma before he raised a knee and finally stood back to his full height. All while still keep that same, eerie eye contact.

He waited.

And waited.

…and waited.

Then when you finally stood, phone illuminating the forest with Fi staying quiet beside you, did Fierce Deity begin to move. Heavy footfalls, with the plants crunching beneath his boots, you watched as he moved in a random direction. With purpose but no prompt, he walked just a little before pausing once again and staring back at you, waiting.

One step, two step- you followed.

Making it back to camp was much faster than leaving it, the embers finally dead within the fire pit and the others still surrounding it, still slumbering away. You did not question the god about anything and instead went to work.

Relight the fire. Prepare a fairy or two. Clean and wrap any remaining wounds.

Fierce Deity was…obediant. Being a god, you expected him to shake you off or growl when you crossed any boundaries, but nope, he let you boss him around. Placing Wars where you demanded, kept him still when the fairies tended to him (Gilda was off with others sisters but the fairies promised to have her return for the extra help) held him up as you wrapped his chest and laid him down gently in his bedroll, watching as you tucked him in carefully.

The blood was gone now. Both from Warriors and from the god. You weren’t sure how exactly the blood had disappeared from the skin and you wondered if he had somehow absorbed the liquid, a disgruntled shiver wracking through you.

“Hope they wake up soon…” Glancing over the group again, you worried hard over each and everyone one before you turned back towards the giant, his eyes still trained on you. “...sorry for shouting at you earlier.”

He tiled his head- you wondered if he liked to do that.

“And thank you for helping me with Wars- hopefully he’s gonna be okay…” You deflated, “Hyrule usually does the healing, I don’t know anything about medical care. You probably know that though.”

Still no words. Fierce probably couldn’t talk.

Or just didn’t want to, for what would a war god need to say?

“...Time’s okay too, yeah?” He narrowed his eyes a little but you didn’t back down, fighting back wetting yourself on the spot. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m concerned.”

When a few moments of more silence passed you sighed, laying back in your bedroll. “Whatever.”

You were tired. Really tired and lying here wasn’t really helping. You needed to stay up, after all, you needed to make sure they everyone was safe while slept away, unaware of anything.

Your eyelids fluttered, fighting back sleep.

Fierce’s hand moved to gently pull the covers over your body, the shock in your system overshadowed by the fatigue slowly making it’s way through you.

“Sleep.” Only a single word, distorted yet familiar as it reached your ears.

You welcomed this darkness with open arms.

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #lu #linked universe imagine #player au #a player's aid #lu fierce deity #lu fierce deity x reader #Not super there #But ya know

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