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tojikai · 10 months

Text

Sundered 2: EMBERS

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments, implied pregnancy, mentions of abortion

word count: 5.4k

a/n: it's not sad.

Pining so intensely for something you never had to the point where you physically ache.

Each step that you take away from Satoru’s house feels like a stomp to your already broken heart. Your eyebrows furrowed, feeling the waterlines of your eyes start to get hot and itch. You recalled the noises and laughs that you heard from them while you walked out of their door.

They have no idea how much you want to get down on your knees and beg them not to take away the only thing you have left.

Your feet feel heavy with each stride you make toward your car. You could taste blood inside your mouth as you bit your inner lip to channel the pain away from your heart and to your body instead. You found yourself looking for answers on why all of this has to happen to you. As if being replaced by the man you love so easily and having to see how he treats someone else a thousand times better than you were not enough, you also have to witness your own flesh and blood turn away from you. Am I really that far behind that woman?

Is she that much better that even my own child prefers her over me?

You placed your hands on the steering wheel, looking down at your lap as you let the tears fall. You kept glancing over at the gate, hoping that Satoru would come out, running with your baby in his arms. Yet, you don’t want him to see you crying miserably. You swallowed thickly, letting out a large breath in an attempt to get rid of the painfully heavy feeling in your chest.

Driving away was numbing, and all sorts of thoughts ran inside your mind. But above all of them, your eyes were focused on the toy store as it got bigger in your view. You wondered about what you could get your little love to at least make her smile when she comes home. You remembered how your gift to her, her favorite bear that she used to hug as she sleeps ever since she was an infant, was cast aside as she clings to her new ones.

Is that a foreshadowing of how you’d end up being in her life? It scared you.

Reaching the parking lot of the store, you looked at yourself in the car mirror, noticing your bloodshot eyes. You inhaled and let a big breath out slowly, puffing your cheeks as you assured yourself that it’ll be fine when she comes home later. Your head hurts so much but you can’t afford to care, stepping out of your car and heading to the front door of the store. The first thing you saw was a pregnant, young lady checking baby books.

She reminded you of yourself when you were still pregnant with Yui; curious about everything, eager to learn, and all was about the baby. You admit that it wasn’t like that at first, given that you were young and had to drop out of college at that time. You were anxious, torn between decisions, and terrified of what life would be like for you from that point in time. During that period, you and Satoru were ignorant but trying hard to figure everything out.

You met Satoru at a nightclub where you worked as a bartender. He was flashy, and women just flock to him as if it was the most natural thing to do around him but that night, his eyes were on you. What with persistent offers of buying you drinks and talking to your manager to let you off early for the night, you ended up in a luxurious hotel suite with him.

He even wrote his number on the price tag of the fancy lingerie set that he bought you after he ruined the one you were wearing the previous night. He was joking that you’ll never get enough so he’s providing you his contact for next time. You thought that would be the end of it. You didn’t think that it was just fate giving you a helping hand in advance because you’d end up with a child together.

You consider it a dumb mistake. You know that Plan Bs exist. But with a working student like you who couldn’t even have time to get a proper boyfriend, it slipped your mind. The first thing you did after you got the results was call Satoru. You thanked the heavens that he wasn’t seeing anyone, and that he remembers you. It was a tense meeting, what with you asking if he wants you to abort the fetus. Next thing you know, you two were already dealing with your mood swings.

“Look, I really want to work this out with you, Y/N. For the baby.” Satoru sighed, slamming the door behind him as he watched you sit on your old couch. You lean your elbows on your knees as you covered your face with your hands, harshly running them down your cheeks to wipe away the big, fat tears that fell from your eyes. There are just so many things going on with your life.

“I’m only 21, Satoru. I got my whole life ahead of me.” You looked up at his tall figure, frustration was evident in your eyes. You can tell that he was also distressed. His hair was messy, his jaw was clenched tightly, and even if you cannot see behind his tinted glasses, you can tell that he hasn’t been getting enough sleep. The dark half-circles under his eyes and the redness in them show just how exhausted and disquieted he has been in the past few days.

Satoru’s five years older than you. He was born to a rich family of politicians who don't and probably will never need support from him or the other younger generations in their household. He has a stable source of income, he could probably make life investments that could cover your yearly living expenses. He has nothing to worry about, he won’t be dropping anything if he decides to take in another mouth to feed. But you…

You’re basically your mother’s retirement plan and now you got pregnant with a kid of a man you barely know. “Y/N, listen to me.” He got down on his knees in front of you, trying to take your hands off of your face as you sob, struggling to catch your breath. What’s going to happen to you now? You didn’t even get to finish the degree that your mother was working her ass off day and night for.

“You won’t have to worry about anything, you know? I’ll handle everything you need—” He trailed, trying to calm you down as he gently grabbed your forearms. “You don’t understand!” You cut him off, snatching your hands away, aggravated that he’s not thinking about how it could affect everything in your life. “Then, what the fuck do you want to do?!” You flinched as he raised his voice at you, breathing hard as he backed away.

“You think you’re the only one who’s going to be affected by this? You think you’re the only one who’s being robbed of another future! Open your fucking eyes, stop being selfish!” Satoru snapped back, harshly taking his glasses off before throwing it across the room. You started to cry, whimpering as you used the collar of your shirt to wipe your tears away.

“I’m scared, Satoru. I’m just so scared. I can’t even take care of myself, how am I supposed to raise a child…” You broke down, turning your body away from him. There was a long pause, a moment of pure silence, save from your sniffs and Satoru’s ragged breathing.

You felt the couch dip as he sat down before pulling you to him, letting you cry on his chest. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” You would be lying if you said that the back rub, the temple kisses, and his whispers of reassurance didn’t calm you down. Those thoughts were recurring in your head and now that you finally let it all out and got answers from him, you were soothed.

You blinked hard, shaking your head to get out of your trance. You went straight to the dolls section. You can’t believe you just had a flashback of Satoru comforting you in the warmth of his chest. Your mouth started to twitch, wishing that he held you like that earlier when his girlfriend was slapping into your face that they’re gonna give your child siblings. It shouldn’t hurt you, but it still did. You realized that this girl, this woman is gonna have everything you wish you had with Satoru.

You walked past the kiddie pools and trampoline section, stopping when you saw a playpen, almost similar to the one Satoru bought for your little girl but smaller. The size doesn’t really matter though, because you know that you don’t have enough space in your place for something so big, anyway.

Going closer to check the prices, you bit your lip as your eyebrows bumped together. You were calculating your monthly expenses along with the money for your savings in case of emergency. It’s expensive but you’re determined to cut back just to buy it. You kept your eyes on the tag as you took half a step away from it but your back was met by something, or rather someone behind you.

“It’s not cheap, is it?” A man’s deep voice boomed as you turned around, but your eyes were met by a broad chest. He’s big, you thought. He’s literally blocking your view. It didn’t help that you were short enough to have to look up to see his face. He was also staring at the playpen as he held the pushcart beside him.

“Y-yeah…” You answered, a bit awkward as you found yourself admiring the guy. You admired fathers who are active when it comes to their children. You grew up without a father so, you just found it endearing. You looked away from the man, gritting your teeth as an image of Satoru and his girlfriend shopping for baby things appeared before your eyes for a split second.

“Excuse me, sir. I still have to buy my daughter a gift.” You bowed slightly before turning away. He just nodded his head, too occupied to even look at you. You proceeded to check out the little dolls, hoping that you’d find something that’ll really catch your daughter’s eye. Picking up a dark-haired baby doll with big blue eyes sitting on a stroller, you smiled as you remembered how it has the same eyes as your baby.

You went to pay for the doll, and your heart was filled with joy despite the throbbing pain in your skull and the hot feeling behind your eyes. You reminded yourself not to forget to take your medicine. Thinking about getting sick and having to leave your child for a couple of days with them again makes you anxious, afraid that she’ll never want to go home to you again.

You hurriedly went home, driving in the midst of the rain. You put the little doll on the chair, ready to surprise your baby girl when she comes back. You had to bear with the time, constantly checking your phone if your little girl and her dad are on the way to you. Your heart swelled at the thought.

Though, you know that you’ll never be the one he comes home to, it’s still nice to think about.

—--------------------------------

“She really called me Mama.” Naomi giggled as she kissed his daughter’s cheek. Satoru smiled, watching them play together warms his heart. It made him feel like he was staring at his family even if he knows that his daughter isn’t hers. He pursed his lips, remembering the look in your eyes at what you heard the child say.

He felt conflicted, not knowing how to react to all of it. He doesn’t want to embarrass his girlfriend by correcting her in front of you. But he also felt bad that he just watched you walk out that door on the verge of tears. Satoru had you memorized after all this time, it wasn’t a long time but he used to watch everything you do.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, though.” Satoru sighed, shaking his head as he pushed a bit of Naomi’s hair away from her face. Her expression dropped as she adjusted the toddler in her arms. Satoru pulled her close to his side, hugging her waist as he thought about how to explain it to her without making her feel disheartened.

“I’m worried about how Y/N will feel about it, to be honest. I don’t know but it may worry her.” He kissed the side of her forehead before stepping away as he watches his daughter’s eyes look at them. He knows that she’s still too young but he feared that she’ll get confused by all of this.

Like why is her father not with her mother, and why is he holding someone else?

He wondered if she’ll grow to hate him for giving up on their family. “Oh, Is that so…I thought we were fine already.” Naomi’s voice was quiet as she bit her lip, making Satoru rethink. “It’s not that, I just think that maybe that’s how she might feel.” Satoru took one of her hands, kissing it before rubbing his thumb on her soft skin. “No, I understand, I got too comfortable. I’m just a girlfriend, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Satoru doesn’t want to make her feel like this, she’s just really attached to his baby. He knows that Naomi adores kids, they often joke around about it, so he could see why she’s excited about his daughter calling her Mama. Thinking about it now, maybe this shouldn’t be so bad. After all, she’s not gonna be just a girlfriend to him forever, right? Naomi is a great person, and Satoru thinks that it’s not impossible to have a future with her.

“Don’t say that. That’s just my assumption. She’ll tell if it’s not alright, I know. We’re co-parenting so we have to talk about those stuff.” Three squeezes to her hands made Naomi smile sweetly at him, her eyes as kind as the stars. “Yeah, discussions are important. I don’t want her to feel like I’m trying to keep her away from us.” The calmness in her voice comforted Satoru.

—-------------------------------------

After receiving a text from Satoru, you found yourself staring at the mirror, retouching your makeup like it’s gonna make him fall for you. Hopeless. Not long after, the doorbell rang and you dashed to the door. There, Satoru stood with Yui asleep on his shoulders. You took her bags, along with the teddy bear that she was hugging to her chest. Seeing her holding it again made you feel relieved.

“Are you feeling better now?” Satoru inquired, walking past you to put your kid in her little bed. You hummed in response, “She’s full, don’t give her any more milk. Naomi fed her before she fell asleep.” Her again. You thought as the small smile on your face dissipated. You’re just thankful that he didn’t take her with them here.

There was a moment of silence as the two of you watched your daughter sleep peacefully. A sigh escaped Satoru’s lips before he turned to you. He was about to say something, but closed his mouth, thinking. You took a deep breath, pursing your lips as you collected your thoughts. You started to rub your hands together, trying to get rid of the cold feeling on your fingertips.

Your communication issues with Satoru only worsened when he got a girlfriend. Seeing how he is with her made you doubt the importance of your words to him. It’s like if you get stuck in a room together with her and something happens, you’re almost certain that he’d accuse you first. You wouldn’t admit it but you yearn for him. You yearn for the way he acts towards her. You yearn for the things he does for her.

You yearn for the things he so easily, willingly offer to her; things you had to beg for when you were still together.

“Satoru, I just want to ask…Since when did Yui start to call Naomi Mama?” You looked at the ground, somewhat embarrassed of your question but can’t pinpoint why. It just made you feel…weak and insecure. And you are that. But you can’t let Satoru see it. You don’t want him to feel even more sorry for you. You can see it in his and his girlfriend’s eyes whenever they look at you. They probably pity you and the state you are in.

Alone. With no one to hold your pieces together but you.

“I don’t really remember. Look, I was going to mention that…” Satoru trailed, looking everywhere but you. He probably noticed your discomfort earlier. “I know it doesn’t seem right to you because she’s just my girlfriend but…” Here’s the “but” again. How come he can always find the good when it comes to her, even when she literally did you so wrong by letting your daughter call her Mama and even acting like one in front of you?

Ever since Satoru got a girlfriend, arguing with him started to feel like fighting in a war without any type of armor in your body. How are supposed to stand strong, when the fact that he’ll always be on her side was your weakness? There were times when you wanted to fight for yourself but you couldn’t bear to because you know that he was shielding her from everything, heedlessly deserting you.

“I didn’t really appreciate it. I mean… I-I just think she’s not in the place to—” You thought the words you chose to describe the situation were too risky when you were cut off by Satoru, taking his glasses off. You can’t read him but he’s looking at you with that apologetic gaze again. His face was filled with contrite and you can’t quite understand why. But like a mouse sensing danger, you wanted to run away.

“I…I’m thinking about proposing to Naomi.” It shouldn’t hurt. You told yourself again. You don’t have the right to feel hurt. This man disrespected you, hurt you, and made you feel so incredibly small yet here you are, wishing you were the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. “I know she’s just my girlfriend now, but it’s bound to change.” You suddenly just wanted him to leave. “She…she’d like to ask for permission to let our daughter call her Mom. You know she treats Yui like she’s her—”

“I don’t want to.” You whispered firmly through gritted teeth, cutting Satoru off. You don’t wanna hear it anymore. You can’t go through that again and you can’t let that happen again. “Yui is my daughter, and I don’t want her calling anyone else Mama.” You looked up at him with glassy eyes before turning away to walk out of the room, not wanting to startle the toddler from her slumber. Satoru was instantly on your tail, calling your name.

“She’s my daughter, too. Y/n, what is wrong? I know that you have your limitations and that’s why I’m here to talk about it with you, but why are you acting like this?” He walked closer to you, trying to catch your eyes. “I know it’s not just about this, I know you’ve been having problems with her but give a reason, at least. She’s been nothing but good to our kid. ” It’s getting hard for you to breathe as you tried to process your emotions and his questions.

You proceeded to the kitchen, hurrying to grab yourself a bottle of water before you collapse, but failing terribly when Satoru spoke the next sentence “Y/N, we all have to adjust, don’t be unfair to her, she doesn’t deserve it.”

“And I do?!” You shouted at him, taking him by surprise and making him take a step back.

“You think she doesn’t deserve any of that shit but I DO?!” You lamented, shaking your head in pain and disbelief. There were tears streaming down your face and no pattern of breathing can help you control it. You were able to keep it in when he shoved his new girlfriend in your face several months ago, but now it’s taking its toll.

You were about to get the clothes that he bought for your daughter on your way home from work but were met with a woman snuggled up to him on his couch. You hated him for allowing you to see them like that when he knows that you haven’t even processed your split yet because a month before that, he was saying that he could fix his shortcomings for you and his daughter.

You remember how sick you felt in your stomach when he introduced her, saying that you weren’t supposed to see them like that. It’s revolting; how he thought that you were upset because of what you saw and not because he just went back on his words. Naomi kept her head down, standing in front of you as she muttered an apology before scurrying to Satoru’s room.

Naomi was his father’s new assistant and unlike you, she got to finish her studies. Despite being classmates in high school, she was three years older than you due to the frequent relocation of her family. Regardless of her tough childhood, she was known to be a smart kid. No wonder his mother approved of her in such a short amount of time.

You and Satoru were never perfect but it doesn’t mean that you were never happy with each other before. The issues overpowered your interest in each other, making it hard for the two of you to bounce back. You admit that you’ve been negligent of Satoru at a certain point of your relationship but it was only because you got tired of his ways.

He would come home late, making you stay up all night because he failed to reply when you texted him, asking him his whereabouts. He’d be out drinking with friends, and it wasn’t a problem but you just wanted him to at least let you know so wouldn’t be worrying to the point that you can’t even sleep.

His mother was overbearing. You got pregnant by someone’s son in a one-night stand and that’s all she paints you with. You were belittled and told that you can’t even take care of the child properly. Hell, was she so eager for Satoru to leave you and find someone better who achieved something in life.

Consequently, this negligence led to fits of jealousy from Satoru. This drove you to quit the job you used to have after a coworker of yours who only wanted to help became the subject of his suspicions. His mother saw you getting dropped off by your friend while she was babysitting your daughter.

It was only because your car broke down and you don’t want to bother Satoru at work. You couldn’t really blame him for thinking that way because you know that he’s been feeling invisible to you which wasn’t true. You just don’t know how to deal with it anymore and you started to pull yourself away.

It got to the point where you couldn’t even communicate how you truly feel about him because it was overshadowed by your problems. You were arrogant enough to tell him that someone could treat you right and do much better and now, look at you; standing before him and his girl. Longing for him and eating the words you spitefully told him.

Pining so intensely for something you never had to the point where you physically ache.

The memory was tormenting, heart-rending, and traumatic to you. And now you get to watch them write their happy ending while you are here, left in the dust, drowning in the feelings that will never ever get recognized and will never ever be relevant.

It hasn’t even been a year, and he’s already planning to marry her. He’s been nothing but better to her, yet, he couldn’t even change his ways for you and your child? Couldn’t he learn to truly love you after everything you endured just to be with him? You know that you have flaws, and chose some wrong steps and paths in your relationship.

But you can’t bear to lose him like this. You know that you could have fought more for your relationship. He’d always say that you’d work things out. So, why did he stop? How could he stop choosing you so easily?

“How could you give her the world, yet refuse me the tiny bit of what I have left?”

Your voice was small as you backed away, defeated. Satoru couldn’t move. From everything that has happened that morning, he could tell that you’ve been on edge. To Satoru, the only thing that connects you to him is his daughter. He refuses to believe that after all of that, you can still make it work.

At least, that’s the realization he came about when he met Naomi. She taught him that love isn’t supposed to be strenuous, it isn’t always about fighting. Within his tumultuous relationship with you, she came around and showed him that he’s seen. That his feelings are valid. He came to the conclusion that maybe he just wanted to love you because you have a child together.

“Tiny bit?” He asked, frustrated that you just won’t let this go easily, irked that you always think you’re the only one having a hard time. If Satoru’s being honest, he’s just tired of it all. He just wants you to understand his point and get it over with. But now you’re crying in front of him and again, he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t even think of the right things to say or the right decisions to make. It’s like it’s all back to square one with you.

“You call it ‘tiny bit’ when I couldn’t even live my life because of you?! I’ve given everything, Y/N! I just want to be at peace with everything and I’m obviously not having it with you!” You couldn’t even breathe through the piercing ache in your chest from the daggers that are coming out of his mouth. Your hand reached over to your chest, grasping your shirt as his every word irreversibly pulverized your already wounded heart.

“I wish I never met you that night and I wish I never had Yui with you. You’re a thorn in my side, Y/N!” By the time he finished screaming at you, you were shaking like a leaf, grabbing a chair beside your table as your wide eyes stared at him in shock. Grief, mortification, and agony were plastered on your face, and only then did Satoru’s words sink into him.

“Y/N, I—” Before he could even form a proper phrase, a loud cry erupted from the other room. Yui. He watched as you quickly wiped away your tears, seeing the emotions mix inside your eyes until they turned into a weeping void with all the tears pooling inside them.

“I…I loved you, Satoru. And I hate that even now that you’re kicking me while I’m down for the sake of someone else, I still love you.” The crack in your voice had Satoru subconsciously moving closer to you, opening his arms to pull you into him but you were quick to flinch away, sniveling.

“Please, just—just go. Do whatever you want, just d-don’t take Yui away. I’m fine with it now, Satoru.” It’s almost as though something in you died when he spoke those words to you. You don’t know if he heard because you couldn’t even hear yourself. You could feel the beat of your heart in your chest and each one of them sends a burning ache to your body. “Just go, please.” You whimpered as you bit your upper lip, looking down on the floor.

Satoru can’t take his eyes off of your fragile figure as you leaned on the kitchen counter, slowly walking back to your daughter’s room. He remained unmoving until you exited the kitchen area. It was only after a few minutes that he decided to go, not bothering to wipe away the tears that rolled down his face as he listened to your muffled cries behind the closed door.

Each sob was filled with anguish that Satoru knows he’ll never be able to erase.

—------------------------------------------------------

A few weeks later have passed yet Satoru still doesn’t know what to make of himself. He couldn’t focus on anything that he works on. He couldn’t even workout properly, he always ends up getting angry. It was a good thing that both he and Naomi were swarmed with tasks; they didn’t have time to interact any more than what their jobs would allow. If they did, Satoru isn’t sure if he’ll be able to focus on her. She still has time to visit every week, though. During those days, she spends her time with Satoru and sometimes, Yui.

He makes sure to free his time and himself completely when he’s with his daughter so he can give his full attention to her. Satoru picks her up from your house, same schedule as before. Sometimes it’s you, but other times, it was your mother. “All I asked of you was to never break her, Gojo.” were the first words she spoke to him. Satoru can’t look her in the eyes. Your mother was a kind woman, humble and unjudging. And to have her talking to him like that, Satoru was beyond ashamed.

He couldn’t give her a reason, or an answer. All he did was apologize. Like he should. Naomi was unaware of it all and the proposal that Satoru was planning for her was set aside due to all that had happened. He just doesn’t think it’s the right time to plan about it when his relationship with you is strained. Yes, you’re not together anymore but you’re still the mother of his child and he wants to be civil with you, at least.

Yui kept asking for you even when she was with him as if sensing that her Mama was hurting. She’s always carrying the new doll that you bought for her. Satoru once asked her if you cry and she would simply shake her head. He gets nothing out of it, of course, she’s just a kid. But who else could he ask?

Satoru has no idea what you have been doing. He knows that you go to work, but other than that, he’s clueless about the places you go to and why your mother started babysitting his daughter more during the past few days. Satoru thought that maybe you just can’t stand seeing him anymore and is refusing to face him whenever he picks his daughter up. You have every right and reason to despise him, after all.

So, now he stands on the other side of your door, wondering if he’ll get to see your face this time or be welcomed with the frowning face of your mother. He knocked three times, like he always does, adjusting the collar of his shirt. To his surprise, it wasn’t any of the two women he was expecting holding the door open for him.

“Who are you?” A shirtless man with a muscular build stood before Satoru, a curious yet accusatory gaze scanned him like he was an intruder in his own woman’s home. He leaned on his tattooed arm against the doorframe, blocking the tiny view he has of the inside. It pissed him off, clenching his jaw for a few seconds before speaking.

“Who are you?” Satoru bit back, raising his brows in an attempt to intimidate the guy. He’s only a couple of centimeters taller than the stranger but he’s bigger. It wasn’t a big deal to him until the man opened the door wider. A short, deep chuckle escaped his lips before a smug smirk appeared on his face.

Tilting his head, the man gave Satoru a clear look at the scratches adorning his nape and the purple and maroon marks on his jaw. It made Satoru’s blood boil, unreasonably so.

“Think you know who I am now?”

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ceilidho · 3 months

Text

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 4; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2, part 3 tags: dubcon/noncon, nsfw

Much of Ghost’s behaviour is reactive. Oddly passive for the assumptions people often make of him. He doesn’t run from trouble, but certainly he doesn’t seek it out. Aside from a few rare deviations from the norm (running his father out of the city at eighteen, not breaking enough bones to count as restitution, and finally leaving home to enlist), that remains the rule.

The way Johnny mopes for days after parading his bird around base has Ghost nearly rolling his eyes, already exasperated. He should’ve known his puppy wouldn’t share well.

It’s worse than he expected though. Johnny mopes for a week straight after the fact, hardly able to meet Ghost’s eyes in briefings. He stares straight down at the floor pathetically, dragging his feet behind him when he’s dismissed. Price notices it right away, raising an eyebrow at Ghost after Johnny leaves the room.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

“In the dog house, I reckon. His girl’s pissed at him.”

“Your doing?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Ghost replies smoothly, face giving away nothing.

Price is hardly convinced. “I’m sure. Nothing to do with you.”

Ghost doesn’t answer that. He waits until he’s dismissed and then takes off down the same hall Johnny just left, curious about wherever his boy’s slunk off to.

He can’t help the latent sadistic streak in him that curls up in pleasure at the sight of Johnny pouting and squirming whenever he walks into the room. Still, his attitude will need to be rectified soon enough—there’s only so much Ghost will tolerate, only so much disrespect he’ll turn a blind eye to. One day Johnny will look back and reflect on this, and appreciate the extent of Ghost’s magnanimity.

Still, he doesn’t enjoy being ignored. One week bleeds into the beating heart of the next and Ghost realizes that he’s had enough of the silent treatment. He’s given Johnny more than enough time to come to terms with their new situation.

He tracks him down to the armoury on a Monday evening after most of the other soldiers have already left for the day, back home or eating supper in the mess hall. It’s empty apart from the two of them, and when Johnny finally notices his presence in the room, his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t flinch at least. Good boy. He’s gotten better at being less reactive, less shaky about being caught off guard.

“Done for the day, sergeant?” He keeps it light to start, taking a step closer.

Johnny tenses at the approach. “Yes, sir.” The title would usually satisfy on its own, but it comes strained, polite but removed.

“Where’d you come from?”

“Layouts and gunners training, sir.”

On any other day, Johnny’s deference might come as a lovely note to end the day on, but not today. It rankles now, the edge of his voice sweetened by a kind of silent dismissal, not giving any more information than what’s required of him. Nothing like the boy who used to open his mouth and sing the world back to him. Ghost has earned his every thought.

“We have a problem, Soap?”

“No, sir,” Johnny grumbles, still not meeting his eyes. His mouth barely moves when he says the words, teeth all but grit.

No dealing with this temper tantrum like adults then. For all Johnny must carp and bitch to himself about the hardships that Ghost has put him through, he seems to have no desire to actually deal with the problem. That’s too bad. It would’ve been easy enough to talk it out like grown men.

They’ll have to come to terms some other way.

“Come. We’re fixing this attitude of yours now,” Ghost grunts, turning before Johnny has the opportunity to complain and marching down the hall towards the gym.

He hears Johnny make a sound like an angry bull before following him down the hall. The loud footfalls against the tile floor betray his simmering anger; it reveals to Ghost what he already knew intuitively. His boy still needs to learn to play well with others.

In time, this anger will fade into the ether, replaced by Johnny’s old doggish need to please Ghost, but it’s causing too many problems now to be tolerated. He hasn’t gotten to see the bird since the week before. Doesn’t even have a photo of his own to look at when he rubs one out. It would be less aggravating if Johnny were willing to spread his legs and let Ghost rut between his thighs, but they aren’t there yet.

The gym is empty as it usually is around early evening when Ghost opens the door, the lights off from whoever last used it. Johnny follows him sullenly, dragging his feet about it. Ghost’s eye ticks at the show of attitude persisting into this space.

“Lock it behind you,” Ghost says without looking back at him, crossing to where the mats are on the other side of the gym.

Neither of them are dressed to spar, still clad in their fatigues, but his blood cranks up to boiling when he turns around to watch as Johnny crosses the room angrily, picking up steam now as well. He comes in hot, not even bothering to suss out Ghost’s first move before launching himself at him.

Ghost staggers back a step at the hit, but he takes it in stride, shifting his weight and using Johnny’s momentum to throw him off, sending him sprawling. He’s quick to get back to his feet, but that moment of carelessness gives Ghost everything he needs. The next time Johnny throws himself at him, Ghost lets him get an arm around his leg and nearly grins to himself when he feels Johnny put all his weight into trying to flip him.

He knows strength isn’t everything, but there’s something to be said about the several inches and even more kilos he has on Johnny. That plus a decade’s worth of experience. Sparring devolves into a sweat-slicked grapple, Johnny’s shirt coming untucked and rucked up, his hair mussed. He tries to go for the mask, eyes gleaming with a wet, savage glint—forgetting decorum or tact, and just going for the most underhanded maneuver.

He pays for it when Ghost takes him hard to the floor, catching him with a leg sweep that he might’ve been able to avoid if he were fighting with a clear mind. Anger makes him sloppy though.

“Fuckin’ bastard—” Johnny grunts when he hits the floor, narrowly avoiding clipping his chin against the mat.

“Folks never married, so guess you’re right,” Ghost remarks, unbothered. Hardly winded even, only the lightest sheen of sweat on his brow, obscured by the mask.

His sudden divulgence makes Johnny falter. So rarely does Ghost open even a crack that the momentary honesty catches him off guard, giving Ghost the opportunity to wrangle him into a tight hold.

Pinning Johnny isn’t an easy task because the kid fights dirty when he feels cornered. Lashes out wildly with his fists when Ghost gets an arm around his neck and holds him in place, less precise than when he’s coolheaded, but still brutal, all raw strength packed behind his punches. He twists Johnny over onto his stomach when the boy tries to buck him off, slamming him down hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

“Gonna tell me what’s got you all riled up now?” Ghost asks, twisting Johnny’s arms behind his back to pin him in place.

He struggles in Ghost’s hold, trying to find a weak point. The search is fruitless. Ghost’s body weighs him down like a boulder pinning him flush to a dirt-streaked mountainside, forcing the air out of his lungs when he presses down harder.

“Ye cannae just take her from me—” he spits out, face flushed. He kicks out a foot, trying to free himself, but all Ghost does is shift slightly to press his shin to Johnny’s calf, holding it down. “I told ye she was different and ye had to—and now she willnae even fuckin’ talk to me. Barely texts me, willnae answer my calls. I cannae—I can’…”

His voice trails off on a hitch. Not quite a sob, but a frustrated, wretched sound.

“Held that in for a while, didn’t ya?” Ghost murmurs, holding Johnny down with ease when he struggles again, trying to wrench his arms out of Ghost’s hold.

“I almost fuckin’—almost just fuckin’ gave her to ye,” Johnny says, shame thick in his voice. “Thought maybe it wouldnae be worth…jus’ dinnae want a girl coming between us. But she’s—I told ye, Lt, she’s special, I cannae jus’—I cannae jus’ let her go. And now she doesnae want anythin’ to do with me.”

Ghost doesn’t bother pointing out the absurdity of that statement. As if Johnny could give him something that’s already his.

“Not trying to steal your bird, Johnny.” He taps Johnny’s cheek, a little reprimand. It makes him blink and scrunch up his nose. “What’d be the point of that?”

He forgets how young Johnny is sometimes, just now nearing the end of his twenties. Still wet behind the ears, all blood flushed and pink cheeked. Green still to the realities of the world and Ghost’s presence in his life (permanent, fixed; unchanging).

There isn’t a version of him that wants someone who doesn’t also want Johnny. Inconceivable. After everything that they’ve been through together, the root of him and what he wants is inextricably tied with what Johnny wants—at times, Ghost almost wishes he could live inside his head, just a constant stream of Johnny’s thoughts into his.

Johnny twists his head enough to glare over his shoulder at Ghost. “The fuck are ye on about? Ye grabbed her ass in front of God ‘n everyone, for Christ’s sake. Said your intentions loud ‘n clear.”

“‘Course I did. She’s got a nice arse, doesn’t she?”

“You’re really startin’ to fuck with my head, Ghost, I dinnae understand what ye—”

“You keep running your mouth off about trying to take the girl from you—I don’t need to take anything.” He stresses the word to be clear, forcing Johnny back down when he tries to buck Ghost off again. This time he stays in place, both calves pinned down to the mat, cheek pressed into the fabric when Ghost slots a hand into the scruff of his mohawk, forcing his head down. “Quit struggling—you’re not getting back up. We’re sorting this shit out now so you quit moping around base and giving me a fuckin’ headache.”

“Stop exaggerating—I havenae even opened my mouth around ye in days. I’m no’ doing anything to your head—”

“How the fuck am I supposed to think when you keep running away?”

The air hangs heavy in the wake of his words, the oxygen all but sucked out of the room.

“The two of you are mine,” Ghost says in a low, harsh voice, the sound making Johnny flinch against the mat. “I’m not asking for just one of you. You’re out of your fuckin’ mind if you think I’d leave you out of this, mutt.”

He’d sooner lose them both, but that’s another scenario that he’d never tolerate.

With some effort, Ghost tips Johnny over onto his back, holding him down before he can start to struggle again. He keeps his wrists trapped behind his back, forcing Johnny to arch his back off the floor, presenting himself. From his vantage point, it’s easy for Ghost to flick his gaze down and find Johnny’s dick pressed hard against the zipper of his pants, all plumped up from being pinned to the ground.

“Good, you’re already hard,” Ghost grunts approvingly, rolling his hips down to alleviate some of the pressure building up in his groin. “Haven’t come since she left the other week, I bet.”

Panic flares red hot in Johnny’s eyes, widening when Ghost settles deeper between his legs, his own hard cock unmistakable. “Wait—wait, Ghost—I’m no’—I’m no’—”

It would be a stretch to say that anything softens in him, but a part of Ghost does feel for the boy. He’s been around Johnny long enough to know his persuasion—strictly women with the occasional appreciative glances towards some men. An appreciation he relegates to furtive, guilty glances, holding it inside of him like a nasty secret that he’ll never part with. Too riddled with Catholic guilt and the ease of just playing it straight.

Ghost has no intention of making it easy on him though.

He tries to imagine what it might be like if he were on the other end, but for him it’s only ever been cunts and Johnny and the bird. Now just the latter two hold any weight.

His protests only last as long as it takes Ghost to unfasten their belts and zippers, fishing Johnny’s cock out first. The second his rough hand wraps around Johnny’s length, the words die on the boy’s lips, replaced by a choked off grunt. His balls are full enough to corroborate Ghost’s words—he probably hasn’t come since seeing his girl off the other day, too frustrated and upset to jack off, the ducts shut, working himself up into a frothy mess only for it to slip right out of his hands at the last second.

Johnny’s eyes roll back when Ghost grips both their cocks in his fist, slicking his hand up with Johnny’s precome. Sweat sluices down the sides of his neck. He looks good with his tongue tied up in knots, thoughts emptying out through his ears in rivulets.

Even with Ghost’s hand as big as it is, he can’t wrap it all the way around the two of them. Johnny’s come provides a nice glide though, lubricating the underside of his shaft when Ghost grinds up into his fist.

It spurs him into a kind of protolithic fervour, desperate only to come. The iron rich scent of blood and sweat makes Ghost salivate, eyes drawn to the tender skin of his neck, the flush now riding high, up and over his cheekbones. Lips bitten red, also swollen with blood. In a better mood, Ghost might indulge him, might roll up his mask and lick into the wet mouth hanging open deliciously, teasing him, but there’ll be time for that later.

He slurs out Ghost’s name when he comes, Simon ripped from his lips like it was dug clean out of his soul. His come splatters across his belly and shirt in thin, watery spurts, the wind knocked out of him again.

Johnny squirms when Ghost doesn’t let go of their cocks, hand still dragging up and down, mumbling that he’s too sensitive, fuck, lemme go, I cannae—

“I’ll stroke your cock and grab the bird’s ass whenever I feel like it,” Ghost growls down at him, at the end of his patience now. He pants out a ragged breath when his cock throbs at a particularly whorish moan dropping broken from Johnny’s mouth. “I’ll nut in her cunt and make you lick it out if I want. And you’ll fuckin’ thank me for giving you a taste.”

Johnny almost goes nonverbal at that, a leg trying to kick out weakly even though it’s still pinned down under Ghost’s heavy thigh. His dick twitches against Ghost’s, a valiant effort.

When Ghost comes, it settles in a thick, viscous mess across Johnny’s stomach, pooling around his belly button. It radiates hot down his back, the ache in his lower spine abating momentarily. Can only imagine how much better it would feel balls deep in Johnny’s ass or the bird’s pussy, a wet warmth clutching him tight, legs wrapped around his waist to drag him closer.

He’ll have that soon enough.

A ragged wheeze is pulled from Johnny’s chest when Ghost drags his cock through it, spreading it over his stomach. It’s worse when Ghost dips his fingers into the mess, a sticky blend of both their come, before bringing his fingers up to Johnny’s mouth, forcing them past his lips and over his teeth and gums. Johnny sputters at the taste, going cross-eyed to look down at Ghost’s hand.

There’s no time for pillowtalk or soft words though. Even if there were, niceties come out of Ghost’s mouth like a ring of smoke. Still, the thought of the bird not returning Johnny’s calls or texts makes him bristle, his annoyance renewed. His own disinclination to communicate aside—a waste of words as far as Ghost’s concerned, he says more with his actions anyway—none of this works if the girl won’t talk it out.

Probably pent up, the stubborn thing. He’ll have to sort that out too. It keeps him young at least.

“C’mon, Johnny,” Ghost says, rising to his feet. He dusts his hands off on his fatigues as if nothing happened, then holds out a hand for Johnny to grab. “Let’s go see our bird.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #soap/reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/soap/reader

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lovifie · 2 months

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Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 12: Finale

Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

“You are not listening!” You shout, frustrated with the man.

In the couple of weeks that you have known and lived with them, you never expected that you would end up arguing with them. Even less with Price.

“No, Birdie. You are the one that needs to listen!” The man argued back.

“You got me fired, John! What else do you want me to hear?” You ask, running your hands through your hair.

It finally set in, the reality that the idyllic life of living with the four of them without a worry was just an illusion. You were here because you were hiding, and they were here because they were hiding you.

“I didn't get you fired, Birdie. Your boss did.” Price says, crossing his arms.

“Don't get sassy with me! He told you that they needed to know if I could get back to work any soon or they would be forced to fire me and you told them to do so!” You shout again, feeling like Price is lying to your face. “Why would you do that?!”

“Because you hate that job!” He shouts back. “And you don't need to work!”

“Yes, I do, Price! Yes, I do!” You say, a dry laugh leaving your throat. “Like everyone! I can't just live sponging off of you guys!”

“That's not what's happening and you know it, birdie!” He exclaims. “Don't manipulate the situation into making it look like a bloody transaction!”

“I'm manipulating the situation?!” You ask, pointing to yourself.

“Yes! You are making it look like we are paying you to stay with us, birdie!” He explains, moving his hands to his hips.

“Oh, for god's sake, Price!” You exclaim, rubbing your face. “Why don't you exaggerate it a bit more?! I don't even know why I'm arguing with you about my job!”

“Neither do I?! Because I think it is pretty much settled!” He says, walking away towards the kitchen.

“IT IS NOT SETTLE!” You scream, shocked by his response. “The reason why I don't know why we are arguing is because I don't know who gave you the right to choose over me!”

That makes him turn around, looking at you like you grow a second head. “Well, excuse me. For believing I have a say in your life, I just assumed I could since we bloody love each other and all that!”

“Don't pull that shit on me, Price! This has nothing to do with love!” You say, crossing your arms. “I don't have a say on your work! So why should you have it on me!”

“It's not the bloody same!” He says, rubbing his face.

“It's not for you because it doesn't benefit you!” You scream, looking back when you hear the door open as Gaz, Soap and Ghost enter the house. The three of them having left the house not too long ago to buy breakfast.

“What's going on? We could hear the shouts from outside.” Gaz asks, entering first and looking between Price and you, seeing the wide cliff between the two of you.

“Nothing!” Price barks, crossing his arms again.

You ignore the looks on everyone's face, instead walking to the door.

“Where are you going now?!” Price asks, moving to be able to see you.

“Out! So I can fucking breathe without feeling I'm choking!” You say, opening the door after the boys closed it.

“Don't go far!” Price says, still caring under all his bad mood

“I KNOW I CAN'T GO FAR!” You say, slamming the door on your way out.

You hate screaming, hate shouting, hate raising your voice and even more if it is at Price or any of the men inside. It's not their fault and screaming at each other is not the way to fix it. But you can't help it, tired of being pushed around at everyone's mercy without asking what's your choice.

Sitting down on the step right outside the house, not wanting or needing to go any further, you hide your face behind your hands, letting your palms get wet with your tears.

“Hey, you alright?” A man's voice says, making you look up, to come face to face with an unfamiliar face.

You don't have time to answer, because something hits the back of your head and everything blends to black.

Price updates the boys once you are out, he tells them your ex-boss called, told him you needed to get back to work the next day or he would fire you, he tells them how he told him to go ahead since you couldn't go back to work jet, he tells them about how he wasn't able to tell you about the empty position at base that you could filled to work with them because you started screaming, he tells them about how he lost his cool and just screamed back instead of explaining.

He tells them everything, feeling like the worst person in the world for making you leave the house with tears on your face. It's Gaz the first one to stand up. “I'll check on her.” He mumbles, as he walks outside to an empty staircase. He walks down, checking both sides of the street only to find it just as empty.

An anxious feeling starts to brew on his stomach, entering back to the house with a worried expression on his face. “She's gone.” He says almost casually, as if not voicing one of the biggest fears the men around him have had for the last month.

“What do you mean she's gone?” Soap asks. “She must be around the block, she'll be back in a bit, mate.”

No one believes him, not even himself. You wouldn't have walked out of his sight like that, not without dragging them with you, not without a phone, not without telling them.

There is a beat of silence, each debating whether it is plausible that you simply left, all of them feeling that the most possible chance is that something happened to you.

“I'll check the car camera, it is parked right in front of the door.” Ghost says, taking his phone out to check it.

They all check the screen, seeing the door open and close. They see you sit down, body shaking as you cry, Price feeling his heart shrunk at the sight knowing it was his doing.

They then see the two men walking in front of you, how one of them takes advantage that you have your face covered to stand behind you, how the other calls your attention to look at your face, and how once he knows it's you he nods to the other man, who knocks you out hitting you with a bat at the back of your head.

The wave of all the different emotions hitting them at once keeps them in place for a second, paralyzed on their chair. Soap jumps first, talking about checking the cameras on the street, checking the cars, their licence place, anything.

But it doesn't reach Price's ears, the only thing he can hear is the voices in his head telling him that he has failed twice now. The first one he wasn't able to keep you close enough when you left in the middle of the night, and now he was the one that pushed you away.

You were just on the other side of the door a moment ago and now… now he didn't know where you were. All because he didn't explain himself and let his emotions take control of him.

“Price!” It's Ghost's voice that wakes him up, standing beside the sergeants. “Move.”

That's all he says, and that's all Price needs.

They'll get you back, whatever it takes.

Two weeks.

That is what it takes them to finally find a trail.

That is what it takes Price to breathe again.

That's what it takes Simon to let be seen outside the office.

That's what it takes Soap to let himself be embraced by any of the others.

That's what it takes Gaz to stop baring his teeth to everyone.

They have a trail.

And god knows that's all they need.

What you need, is a doctor. A shower. A glass of water. A nap. Anything that is not forced or thrown at you.

Two weeks of torture.

Two weeks of just getting hurt, insulted, humiliated, all of it just for the purpose of causing you pain.

The henchmen of the man you used to say good morning to were the ones that have stolen you away.

The ones that have thrown you into an empty dark room.

The ones that have “interrogated” you about who you worked for.

The ones that have “interrogated” you about how much they paid you.

You didn't say a word, which usually resulted in a punch to the face or a kick to the ribs.

You want to believe that they will find you.

That they will take you back home.

That Price will forgive you for shouting at him.

Hell, if you die and the last thing you did was shout at him.

You'll live.

They'll find you.

Two weeks.

Of fighting with yourself.

The side that says you'll live.

And the side that tells you to give up already.

The second one usually wins.

Like today, when the man that enters the room every day walks up to you, limping and with a knife in his hand.

He yanks your hair, pulling you up on your feet and pressing the knife on your throat. “Make a sound and it'll be the last thing you do.”

He moves you into a chokehold, pushing you in front of him as he walks down the hall. There is shouting and the sound of guns inside the building.

The moment he sees the car where they push you in, the one they saw on the cameras; Price almost needs to pull Simon back from running inside the building.

This is it.

This is the headquarters they couldn't find for so long.

The headquarters where all the important information and the guns they have looked for so long are at.

The headquarters where everything that matters is.

The headquarters where they kept you at.

Price sends Ghost to the building on the other side of the road, not trusting the man in face to face with what they can find inside.

And he obliges, hating the rank differences.

They move in, clearing room after room.

No sign of you.

The move to the second floor.

You are not there.

More and more people that hit the ground when they found them.

You are still missing.

Until you see it.

The unmistakable blue cap on Gaz's head.

And you shout.

You shout louder than you shout at Price.

You shout louder than when Soap scared you hiding behind the door.

You shout louder than when you called for Ghost when you thought he fell on the shower but it was just the shampoo bottle.

You have never shouted at Gaz.

Until now.

And the moment you do you feel the blade dig into your skin, moving your hand between the knife and your neck.

The three of them turn to you, immediately updating Ghost and telling him to move.

The window behind you is almost like a target for a perfect shot.

But Ghost can't shoot.

Not when he can see your head.

Not when there is a possibility that he may hit you.

But he can when you move.

When you grab the blade, breaking the skin of your fingers, and you pull back just enough to squish yourself down.

You are still against his chest, the man still holding you. But Ghost can now see your head, lower than before. And the arms around you quickly go limp, falling forward taking you with him.

A ringing in your ear keeps you from Price's voice calling your name. Everything is dizzy for a moment, there is a warm sensation on your elbow and when you look back a red pool of blood is bleeding onto your clothes.

You liked that t-shirt.

You'll need to try with peroxide, see if you can take the stain out.

Your brain ignores the corpse lying next to you, but for some reason you can't stop looking at the blood on your elbow.

It isn't until Price cups your face, your grimey, bloody and sunken face. And you look up to him, his blue eyes.

And you let yourself cry.

After two weeks.

You cry.

So hard you can't see nor hear anything.

You cling onto Price, hiding your face on his neck, digging your nails on his back needing to feel him under your skin.

Apologies fly from one to the other.

For shouting, for pushing away, for failing to protect, for not shouting, for being taken away.

You feel two more pairs of arms around you, feeling the fourth person only when you start to leave the building.

Not much longer an ambulance arrives, finally taking you to safety.

The four men in the car right behind.

Recovery is just as slow.

No permanent physical damage.

But not all the wounds are on the skin.

Those heal quite fast.

And soon you are back on your feet.

On your scared, wobbly feet.

The boys are back around, always one of them close.

“I'm never leaving you out of my sight again.” Price says, cupping your face as he kisses your forehead. “I don't care if I sound like a madman.”

They make it easy to get back.

Price finally tells you about the job at base, which you gladly apply for.

Surprisingly you got it, and started working soon.

It was easy.

You got a better flat, easy to pay when four more people chime in for the bills.

You got a better job, with better pay and a better boss.

You got, not only one, but four lovers.

And you have all the time of your life to heal everything that's left.

You still wonder how you managed to get into your garage that night.

But now you're glad you did.

And with this, ladies and gentlemen.

Lift Me Off My Feet comes to an end ❤️.

Thanks for joining along, for all the support that you have given me the last couple of months, for the patience between chapters, special thanks to @darkangel4121 for listening to me complain so much and to everyone who has joined and will join the blog.

I love you, my lovelies 💗

TagList: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @cassiecasluciluce @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tired-writer04 @evolutionarry @prettykinkysoul @pagesfalling @skyler-loves-rick-grimes @readerofallthingss @onewattson6529 @mynameismothra @renabear88 @lolliepopsicle @reap3erslov3 @tooloudarts @sodavrr @anirok2 @lilliumrorum @ladyxtiger @multy-fandom-lover @thriving-n-jiving @lotionlamp @spicyspicyliving @xxeiraxx @vampirekilmerfic @keiraslayz @risingofjupiter @witchthewriter @soupinasock @phantomly27 @arbesa-mind @multifandomheathenannie @spadekip @cmbghost @herefor-tojis-tits @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe

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luvring · 3 months

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gn!reader | before your first valentine’s together as a couple, atsumu would not think to ask you to be his valentine. his thought process is that since you're dating, of course he'd be your valentine, and he expects you to be his! his head has already skipped to the step of what to get you, his valentine, as a gift, and where you'd like to go. you basically turn his world upside down when it comes up (albeit as a bit of a joke.)

“why do they put valentine’s stuff out so early anyway?” he mumbles while pushing the shopping cart down the aisle.

you open your phone to check the grocery list and hum beside him. “i’m pretty sure they do that with like, every holiday. it’s to maximize profit or whatever with people buying things early.”

“that’s stupid.” he stops in front of the cereals and rests his head against yours. there’s accomplishment?—smug affection, maybe, as he speaks, “at least we have valentines this year.”

but your reply topples down the podium he’s built in seconds. “and who are our valentines?”

atsumu freezes, the only thing to move being his jaw, dropping at your words. “babe.”

“as far as i can remember, nobody’s asked me to be their valentine,” you tease while reaching for his favourite cereal.

“wh—they better not?! you’re my valentine.”

“woah, really? since when?”

your eyes flicker down to the price. “hey, there’s a 2 for 1 deal right now, ‘tsum. an early gift for you.” you point out, ignoring the blatant betrayal on his face.

and you know atsumu. he takes it as a challenge. he wishes this conversation happened earlier, so he had more time to think of a valentine’s proposal, but with the help of his teammates and searching cute/best/aesthetic valentines proposals on every social media platform he’s on, he gets it all done!

he’s got the bouquet with the flowers prepared properly—dead petals and leaves picked off, twirled upside down to open them up, stems cut at the bottom, a vase ready at home.

a poster with “will you be my valentine?” written in cursive (with the help of his teammates and anyone he thought had good handwriting), and drawing of you two dressed up on the bottom, surrounded by his lipstick stains (he went out and bought a cheap one that he's not sure what to do with now.)

there’s even a basket with a ribbon tied on top, filled with snacks you like hanging from his arm when he gets home two days later, hair done, a dress shirt on, and a big grin on his face when you laugh and say yes.

he whines only a little, only after you hold his face between your palms and plant a kiss to his nose and reassure him you did not, in fact, plan to have anyone else be your valentine, but that you really, really appreciate and love him for asking anyway.

so the real problem comes after, atsumu realizes when you cheekily mention your own plans: how’s he gonna top it for the actual day?

(dedicated 2 my local atsumu fan @reverie-starlight . YAAAAY!)

#haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #just a silly guy in love....yeoowww #didnt want to let valentines pass without doung...Soemthing...#if anyone writes for akaashi Let Me zknow. MY AKAASHI. ill write for him myslelf. MYKEIJI

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hermesmyplatonicbeloved · 6 months

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"Perc@beth is the gold standard and no-one is doing it like them."

EDIT: Perc@beth fans, this post is not for you. Keep scrolling. DNI.

Umm yea. I agree.

I haven't seen any other couple that's equally as unhealthy and abusive get so much praise and be treated as such a high goal and aspiration.

People will be saying this like the following events never happen:

Percy scared Annabeth to tears. She was crying and begging him. And they never :) talk :) about :) it. :)

Percy has been suicidal since he met Annabeth. In BoO he attempted suicide and Annabeth said nothing, noticed nothing and did nothing to help/support her boyfriend. In fact, she ignores him and only talks to Piper. (I'm not saying she shouldn't talk to Piper - she can that's fine - but she needs to talk to Percy. And she doesnt).

Annabeth judo flips Percy and that's treated as girl power and a normal thing. When Percy is an abuse survivor who once lived in fear of his step father beating him into unconsciousness.

Annabeth likes to keep Percy on his toes (her words) which makes Percy constantly anxious and nervous: he can never tell what she's thinking and he's scared of fucking up to the point that he feels like roadkill (his words).

The one time Percy brings up his abusive step father (possibly seeking comfort and support while they were in literal hell) Annabeth laughs it off as a joke. He never correct her assumption and shares the truth.

Annabeth is unapologetically rude to Percy's family (Sally and Paul being the exception). She outright says eww and gross while Tyson compliments her, and she's incredibly rude to him. She spends the entire first book constantly telling Percy that Poseidon is dirty and rotten and makes Percy second guess the gifts Poseidon gives him (there's always a price for gifts). And this is while Percy's mom Sally is dead and Percy is seeking his father for answers/help/support.

Percy constantly thinks Annabeth is going to hurt him when she looks mad/emotional (ttc - she looked like she wanted to judo flip me, botl - I thought she was going to punch me) and you'd think that's just Percy's unresolved trauma from his step father (who, remember, threatened to beat Percy into unconsciousness) but then she actually judo flips Percy in MoA, proving that it's not just irrational fear. It's the cycle of abusive relationships continuing.

Percy has shit self esteem, and doesn't think he's worthy of being Annabeth's boyfriend. The way cotg is written (from the bits I read) is that Percy comes off as the problem boyfriend that needs his girlfriend to constantly help/fix him. She does nothing (from what I've seen) to help Percy or direct Percy to someone who can help with this.

Annabeth pushes Percy to choose between her and his family (Sally, Paul and Estelle). Percy genuinely wants to stay back in Manhatten to be an older brother to Estelle but no. He already thinks he's unworthy, so he'd be horrible to say no to her, right? Not to mention:

Percy has no interest in going to New Rome or university. First page of cotg he's asking Poseidon to excuse him from school forever. He hasn't looked up any programs or fields he wants to go into. He doesn't have any idea of what career or field he wants to work in. His sole reason for going: Annabeth. That's unhealthy. It's not good to base all your happiness on one person; it's too much pressure on both of you. Plus, codependency is not romantic. It's unhealthy.

Not to mention the strongest point of all, and imo the only one that really matters:

Perc@beth is being treated as the gold standard for relationships, and that's teaching tens/hundreds of thousands of impressionable young teens that this behavior is not only acceptable but something to be aspired. They don't understand that it's unhealthy or abusive. They'll aim to be like this and 1. may start treating their partner like this or 2. May allow their partner to treat them like this. This toxic behavior has real world consequences. It's not just a book. It's influencing people irl.

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minihotdog · 7 months

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Schoolboy Crush

Part 2 / Part 1

Pairing: Ghost x fem!reader

Summary: Ghost finally puts the moves on

a/n: ahhhhhh idk what I'm doing. maybe part 3 if I have a vision and I'd want it to be more his POV unlike this one.

C/W: Risk of being caught, Some NSFW actions, Ghost kinda being creepy-ish but also an ass?edging? idk I just work here

Word Count: 14k

The gathering was in full swing, the flat buzzing with talk of the up coming game. Price, like the dad he was, was out grilling hamburgers and sharing a beer with Gaz. Soap was helping you organize the various foods and deserts on the small round dining table until he heard Price call out something along the lines of “You Manchester lot” and ran out to defend his football team from the two giggling men.

You didn’t see Ghost when you entered the flat, assuming he was out on the balcony. The thought of him made your hands start to clam up and you wanted to relax before greeting the menacing man. He was confident, on the off chance he spoke, sometimes would even come off cocky.

At times, his presence was too overbearing. His deadly gaze paired with his sheer size, it made you feel a mix of fear and need. You’d see him walking around the compound with his muscles stretching the material of his T-shirts as everyone scrambled to get out of his way. And to make it worse, when he would speak, his voice would leave your panties sticking to you while you hung on to every word.

“Hello, pet.”

You jump, clutching your chest. Ghost chuckles at your reaction, standing only a foot away from you.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, love.”

His deep, gravelly voice sends a shiver down your spine. You lift your head to meet his gaze, pulling your long sleeves over your hands in an act of nervousness, which he finds adorable. You’d only seen him with his face completely covered but there he stood bare-faced. You’d imagined what he looked like a million times.

He was blond, his typical military cut overgrown, touching his ears, the top now curling over one of his eyebrows. The bridge of his nose carried a scar from one side to the other, along with a light scar running down through his eyebrow just below his eye.

“Ghost-” You sigh in relief only for it to disappear once you realize that the two of you were alone together for the first time. He was a handsome man but the natural intimidation he carried didn’t help with the way your heart pounded when he was nearby.

“Simon.” He corrects “We aren't at work.”

“Right, sorry…”

He was giddy on the inside. His callsign was essentially his one and only name from how often he’d heard it. But he needed to hear his name fall from your lips. And it fell so sweetly.

You glance around trying to think of something to break the tension.

“Simon, would you like some pie?” You mentally kick yourself, realizing that the food hadn’t even been served yet.

Ghost on the other hand didn’t care. He hadn’t heard his name spoken with such a honeyed tone since he was a small child. It stirred something inside of him, leading him to wonder what the two syllables would taste like coming from your pink lips as he tormented your small body with the brutal pace of his hips against the backs of your thighs. He’d bruise your waist with the death grip he’d have on you to keep you from squirming away from him.

He watches you bite your bottom lip nervously when he takes a second too long to respond. He steps closer to you, ignoring the question. You instinctively step backward, hitting the table behind you. The smell of his rich cologne clouds your senses and you try to discreetly press your thighs together to quell the fire rising inside of you.

There you stood trapped between a table and the brick wall of a man in front of you. His hand grazes your exposed thigh, slightly lifting your skirt. Your eyes trail down to his lips, his smugness displayed in a smirk. He raises your chin with his left hand and your eyes dart up to his. His deep blue eyes, usually dark and hidden under his brow, were now clouded with hunger, leaving you feeling as if he was a predator finally having caught his prey.

“Don’t try and run from me, pet.”

He growls lowly, and you feel the vibrations when his chest lightly bumps into yours. He places his large hand on your thigh, gently squeezing the plump flesh before moving under your skirt. His touch sets you ablaze. Your hands grip onto his biceps when cups your womanhood and his thumb grazes your clit. Your breath catches in your throat. The corner of his eyes crinkles slightly when you glance at the door. The voices of his teammates still bleeding through the slight crack.

His hand leaves your chin and tangles itself in your hair. He passes over the bundle of nerves a couple more times until your hips, against your will, twitch into his hand. He coos at you condescendingly, “Oh you poor thing, you want me to play with that sweet little pussy of yours?” You whimper at him and his jaw tightens at the lovely sound. He nuzzles your neck with his nose before leaving wet kisses along your jaw.

His thumb begins leaving circles on your clit and your grip on him tightens. His hot breath rolls over you and he nips your skin.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet.” His words cause you to clench around nothing. Your soft whimpers leave him salivating. He firmly grasps a handful of your curls and forces your ear to his lips.

“What would everyone think if they caught you with my hand up your skirt playing with your little pussy, huh?”

“S-Simon,” You breathe out.

“I think it’s time I show everyone who you belong to.” His growl makes you feel even smaller in his hold.

He releases the grip on your hair and pulls the collar of your shirt just enough to expose your shoulder. His thumb swipes your clit in an up-and-down motion. You moan softly feeling his tongue drag from your jaw to the newly exposed skin. Without warning he sinks his teeth into your shoulder forcing a yelp to leave your lips. Your body stiffens at the pain. He shooshes you, soothing the now red skin with his tongue.

He pulls your collar back to its place and rests his forehead against yours. His fingers push your panties to the side and his middle finger runs up your slit.

You try and push him back when the voices outside become clearer but he doesn’t budge. He plunges his middle finger inside you. Your eyes shut and you bite down on your lip to keep quiet like he told you.

“Tight little thing you are,” He nearly moans. “Bet you’d be a mess with only two of my fingers in you.” You attempt to stifle your moans with his lips when he starts sliding his finger in and out of you but he pulls back.

“Tsk, tsk. So needy.” He teases you, curling his finger. Him tapping that precious spot has you digging your nails into his tattooed skin and your head falling onto his shoulder. His scent paired with his actions almost send you over the edge. He gives you a few more pumps before his hand abandons your needy cunt and he pulls you against him by your waist. Your breaths ragged, face heated from his antics.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you, pet.” He chuckles to himself, pulling away from you as he sucks your essence off his digit. You shutter at the vulgar sight.

Soap's voice becomes clearer and you scramble to fix your skirt and attempt to revitalize your ravaged curls before the balcony door swings open. Ghost leans against the counter already beer in hand, popping the cap off with his teeth.

“Game’s aboot tae start and I’m already ragin’!” Laughter emerges from behind the door. Soap stops in his tracks when he sees you in your disheveled state. He knows better than to say anything, but a suspicious look replaces his scowl. “Ye gonna join us?”

“In a moment,” You force a smile and he saunters off to the couch facing away from the kitchen. Ghost sips his beer unfazed by the intrusion. He leaves you behind not giving you a second look. You stand there bewildered, wondering if you imagined the events that just took place.

Soap elbowed the man now sitting next to him, shooting him a look.

Before you had arrived Ghost had asked him what he should do. It had been a long time since he tried to court a woman and his days of having flings were long gone as he felt more disconnected from what he’d consider “normal people”.

“Ah don’ know wha’ ye should do. Just don’ shag her in ma house.” The Scot said with a goofy smile. “At long last, LT is gonna bag some. Ah cannae believe it!”

“Fuckin’ hell...”

#simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #cod fanfic #cod smut #ghost smut #myfic

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rainybubbles · 1 year

Text

When COD men realize their crush on you

Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, Alejandro

Part 1 if you want more context to understand

G H O S T

Remind : you're a cashier and a strange man came every day at 2AM to buy ropes.

-After questioning if this masked man was here to hurt you or just to do some things with the ropes he bought, you have started a staring contest with him.

-Which was a bad idea because he didn't blink.

-At all.

-Which was scary.

-But you acknowledged your defeats, each time, by letting your employee discount to him on the ropes.

-It's not like you'll need one.

-Isn't it ?

-It was entertaining for the both of you, this little challenge when he was entering in the shop, and the small talk when he made his purchase.

-(It was more him nodding while you said "hi" but...yeah it's a talk.)

-But what is worse than one client buying rope and scissors at 2 am ?

-Two clients doing it.

-An another man did the same thing but with some knives and ropes.

-The first thing that came to your mind was "what is going on in this fucking town ?"

-And...

-"Sir, is there any bondage club you go with this guy ?"

-...yeah.

-It was the only solution to buy this much ropes.

-Or maybe he was his twin ?

-But the only answer Ghost gave you was a frown of his eyebrows.

-He seemed a little worried.

-You laughed trying to clear up the mood because it was clear your joke wasn't funny to him at all.

-And...

-Ghost disappeared.

-Guess he's not scared about killing people or doing stare contest with you but a bad joke could make him run away.

-Damn, you felt like you were back to 12 during school where just being yourself felt like a burn.

-You fucked up the only thing that distracted you a little.

-But Y/N remind the other guy ?

-Yeah knives one.

-He...-Unlike Ghost he gave you bad chills.

-He was smiling at you, asking you personal questions that feels too personal.

-Such as your hand size or even if you have good relationship with your family.

-You tried being professional, ignoring him.

-But slowly you had the impression he was everywhere you go.

-So...you quit.

-And you found a job in a pet shop.

-It was okay.

-That was the problem.

-It was okay.

-And not...weird or fun like your little meetings with Ghost were.

-One morning while you started your shift, you saw on the checkout 2kg of rat poison.

-You stared the thing because how many cold cases did you have seen with this poison ?

-You looked up slowly and...

-"Fuck Sir. I don't know if I should worry about you or me at this point"

-"Good to see you again, Y/N" Ghost said.

-You smiled.

-"Yeah. Good to see you again too."

-You didn't know what to say, so you let him pay.

-But when your shift ended, you saw a figure with a mask.

-"So you're here to wait for your victim, or are you so impatient to see me again ?"

-"Who said you're not my victim ?"

-"...my mom"

-"I didn't meet her."

-"Me too and well, now we have a common point so you can't kill me."

-"That-" he sighed."That's not how it works you know ?"

-"It seems to work for me, I'm still breathing."

-"...you're a case Y/N."

-"I know, I mean it seems like men with an obsession rope are attracted to me. "

-"Men ?" he repeated, hearing the plural.

-"Yeah the other guy he...he was kind of a creep. That's why I'm here now. "

-He seemed to think about it.

-"Do you want me to go home with you ?", he asked, worry to let you alone.

-"That's sound creepy you know."

-"That's why I ask, if you don't want to, I'm leaving."

-You stared at him.

-"I...I would love to but-"

-"I understand." he said cutting you

-"Wait, let me finish. I would love to but actually I'm fucking hungry so I don't plan to go home. I want to buy some food."

-"Okay."

-"But Thursday I'm free if you know, you want to become my personal bodyguard and disappear again mysteriously."

-He nodded.

-He didn't know how he felt about you.

-But one thing was sure, when he was at the base he was searching for one thing : your eyes.

-And just this tells him it was to late to step back.

S O A P :

-So after complimenting your father's ass in French, he ended up to ask you if you could teach him

French.

-But you're not a charity.

-So you said that if he wanted some French lessons, he had to give you something.

-In reality you just think about some food, like his dessert because the military food was not the best except the biscuits.

-But he proposed some anecdotes.

-About his team.

-Each lesson will be about one secret about the 141.

-You could have said, "no, Soap, it's too private and we're professional."

-Yeah.

-But you're Y/N.

-A human.

-Who loves gossips.

-So you accepted.

-And slowly every night after you taught him French, you learned how Price ended up in underwear on a roof in Siberia, or how Ghost almost married a grandma accidentally during an infiltration, or Gaz became bald when he tried bleaching his hair.

-It was cozy.

-Those nights were the best.

-You were chatting next to a fire, while the Scottish man was narrating you with his accent and gestures his stories.

-You had this impression to be in those teen movies where the guy seduces the main character with his guitar on the beach near to a camp fire.

-Except that you were on a military basis, with Ghost checking you (or intimidating you, you couldnâ€™t tell).

-And the only music was Price's snore and some soldiers farts.

-Which by the way could awaking a dead.

-Yeah, it was fun for the both of you.

-Until the sounds of your laugh were replaced by the silence.

-You were only a translator.

-And your mission was done.

-So you left.

-And Soap turned out to be alone again during those nights.

-He's not alone in fact.

-The 141 is here.

-But he feels lonesome.

-During his insomnias he could find you and pretend he had one more story he had absolutely to tell you, while in reality he just wanted to hear your laugh to feel this...this peace. But youâ€™re not here anymore.

-Hearing you was like....like peace, yeah. He didn't have any other words to describe it.

-"I should call them, isn't it ?" he murmured to himself.

-"If you don't. I'll kill them. Nobody alive should know about Giselle." Ghost answered.

-Soap smiled.

-"You just say that because you miss them too L.T. "

-Yeah, he should definitely call you.

P R I C E :

-A child.

-It was a child they saved during a mission and that you had patched up, he looked at him and-

-"You suck at being nice with them. I'm going marrying them before you."

-Price blinked his eyes.

-"Someone seems to have competition here." Gaz joked.

-Price just stared the kid.

-His first thought was "Language, kid."

-And...

-Was he so obvious ?

-He knew he had something for you.

-He's not that stubborn to deny an attraction.

-But he also knew that involving someone in his life will be complicated.

-So he didn't do anything to show his feelings.

-But it seems that even an unknown 8y.o kid could tell he likes you.

-"You know what kid ? Yeah I suck at this. But even if I did, just see them smile at me is enough to highlight my day."

-The little boy was surprised at this confession.

-"I could help you, I mean....I got my best friends wedded at school, so I'm kinda a love expert." he said self-confident.

-"Is that so ?" Price smiled, amused by him

-"Yeah. The first thing is giving a gift. Thomas, my best friend he gave Leo some Pokemon cards and he had a hug. Maybe if you do the same, Y/N will hug you."

-Gaz and Soap laughed their ass off as the kid continues listing his techniques.

-But...the next day you found at your office some Pokemon cards.

-And chocolates.

-With a little note.

-Maybe Price should let himself expressing as openly his feelings as this kid express honestly his thoughts.

(even though the Pokemon cards were not his, Soap and Gaz just found it funny to put them when they saw the chocolates)

G A Z

-After your kiss undercover, you didn't see each other.

-You didn't talk about it even if you both had dreams about it.

-And time passed.

-And on this Tuesday morning while you were chatting with your neighbor, because you finally came back home, she decided to set you up on a blind date.

-Telling she had a wonderful grandson, kind, nice and-

-You said yes.

-And you regretted it.

-Because her grandson was undoubtedly the stereotype of the "nice guy" who complained how nobody loves a nice guy nowadays.

-You tried giving him a chance, but the longer the dinner went, the longer you wanted to strangle him or beat him up between the cookies and the turkey.

-"I think they had to leave, sir," a voice said.

-Your date frowned his brows.

-"No I don't think so, we're only at the starter !" he answered to the waiter.

-You didn't listen.

-Your eyes were glued to the said waiter who was none other that Gaz himself.

-"I promised you; we have a call by their mother. They have to go at the hospital, so please stop shouting."

-"I DIDN'T SCREAM, AND I'M SURE YOU'RE LYING BECAUSE YOU'RE A JEALOUS -ASSHOLE. THEIR MOTHER COULD WAIT, WE'RE HAVING A FUCKING DATE"

-Well.

-Remember the turkey.

-He ate it.

-By his nose.

-You stood up and punched him.

-"Fucking finally, I don't hear your shitty thoughts anymore." you sighed of relief.

-Gaz smirked while you both left the restaurant.

-"I guess it's a mission?," you asked.

-"Yes, we tried to contact you, but you didn't answer."

-"He took my phone saying "it's only us", kinda romantic at first until he starts speaking."

-"He didn't want you to runaway." Gaz realized.

-"Scary."

-He nodded.

-You walked with him at the car waiting for you with your baggages already there.

-"I'm surprised you didn't make any jokes about the turkey.", you asked.

-"Because I was too concentrated on the fact that I was kinda relieved, your date was..."

-"Shitty? Horrible? Terrible?"

-"I would say, "not good", but yeah," he admitted.

-"Want to take me on a good date then, Garrick ?" you asked with a smirk.

-"Yeah. But no kiss at the first date, sorry Y/N.", he joked

-"Too bad we already kiss then." you answered with the same irony.

-"Yeah it seems we have to kiss again on the first date.",

-"Wow that's so terrible, I don't know if I could survive."

-"Wait after the mission to know."

-"Just don't bring a turkey." you said.

-"Promise, I don't."

-He did it, he brought a fucking turkey.

-And he asked Price how to cook one, just to mock you during your date.

A L E J A N D R O :

-Through reports.

-After you put microphones on him, the mission ended. And you had to complete the list of what you had used, how did it worked, in order to help the company to improve the equipment and the gear.

-Little do you know this report also went to Alejandro's desk, who saw the occasion to thank you for your hard work.

-You replied with a note, saying it was your job.

-He answered you could have said no and...

-Every mission you had together ended up with some exchanges through your reports.

-But only through papers...

-Because when you were seeing him on the base, you were unable to put words without stuttering, or even talking to him like a human being. Too anxious to approach him.

-And it was okay.

-You had a friendship with the Alejandro Vargas that you had seen in a bunny outfit, and it was perfectly okay.

-Yeah.

-But your brain decided to make up some scenarios.

-You were already attracted to him.

-He's gorgeous.

-But now you knew him a little bit more.

-And you were fucked.

-That's why on the last report. You decided to imitate your dad : you ran away and bought milk.

-Cut everything to put some distance.

-You accepted a mission on another basis and...

-And that's how you were supposed to stop feeling this sparkle about him.

-But you didn't.

-And now it was too late to try to even pursue your friendship with him with what you had done.

-"I fucked up," you whispered to yourself while you were listening to a military audio you had to write down.

-"Well, if it's not our favorite technician," a raspy voice said suddenly to your ears.

-Awoop.

-Jumpscare.

-You felt down and looked up to see the 141, Alejandro and Rudy.

-"What the fuck is happening, why are you in France-"

-"We worked with this unit. We have an enemy in common who is helping the cartel. After we had all we want, Alejandro will interrogate him to have information about the relationship they had with the cartel." Lasswell explained.

-You nodded.

-You didn't know what else you could do.

-Until you felt something on your wrist.

-' Mind if we talk, cielo ?"

-Yes.

-But you just nodded again and followed him, ready to be eaten up alive.

-"Listen Alejandro; I didn't want to be an asshole, I fucked up and-"

-He interrupted you.

-"Calmos. You had your reasons. and-"

-"And there was no reason, I was just scared." you interrupted him.

-"Scared ?" he asked.

-"Yes, I...I had a crush on you. And all the crushes I had didn't end well. I mean the last one dies, before he had a fiancé, before this before they used me to make jealous his ex and before this before and this before he said I was only a 4/10 and-"

-"They're just fucking pendejos."

-"Except the one who dies." you corrected him

-"Except the one who dies, I guess. But it's not because it happened, that it will be like that again."

-"Please Alejandro, you're like...Like a main character of a badass series. And I'm..."

-"The main character of a badass series too, cielo. I wanted to ask you on a date since day one. Rudy stops me because you were a civilian."

-"I work with military every day."

-"I know, but I have to make sure you knew the life we lived if we start a relationship. I wanted to know you before starting something."

-"And when I ran away, you-"

-"I had bought roses to ask you on a date, the day you left."

-"...fuck." you said realizing the consequences of your actions

-He laughed.

-"Yeah you can say that. But I was sure that if you did something like this, it was probably because you thought about it."

-"Well, surprise I'm not clever. I'm just a wimp."

-"We called that un gallina."

-"Well a gallina, then. I'm sorry for the roses, the reports and everything really."

-"You could make it up, if you accept the roses, cielo, you know ?."

-You opened your eyes wide.

-"Wait you-"

-"When I like someone, it's with my whole heart, cielo. So yes, I still want a date."

-"...how am I this lucky?"

-" I could say the same."

-You laughed.

-"Yeah, I- Yes I would love a date with you Alejandro."

Sorry for the mistakes, English and Spanish are not my mother tongue :(!

If you want more : my masterlist

#cod x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #ghost x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader

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st4rfckerz · 3 months

Note

Ugh, Nai. I might submit this earlier. I remember writing it but I can't remember if I discarded it, so if I sent 2 just ignore this one.

The other day someone mentioned Anakin's body odour. Do you think his dick has a smell? Do you think he's got a few different flavours of lube for you specifically reserved for oral bc I heard some guys do that.

SOME PERSONAL HEAD CANNONS ⬇️⬇️⬇️

AOTC Anakin doesn’t know much about self-care. He’s one of those guys who uses “10 in 1”shampoo and somehow gets by. He knows how to shave, but asks you to help because he saw your body and skincare routine once and got so overwhelmed by all the steps, he thinks you’ll help teach him a thing or two.

TCW Ani is trying to keep himself as decent as possible for you, but it's hard when he gets sent on long missions frequently, he doesn't have much time to think about self-care, and trims at a bare minimum. But if he doesn’t have any time to shave and he's grown out, he's defo enjoying pushing the back of your head and choking you. He loves getting off on your nose being buried in his crotch hair, forcing you to inhale him. He lets you use flavoured lube on him bc he’s scared that he tastes bad as he barely has time to take care of himself, and he feels bad that you rarely see each other. He wants you to enjoy as much as possible. “Bought you the Alderaanian Strawberry flavour bc your fav strawberries are from Alderaan.” Cost him 20 fucking credits, but he takes the price label off so you wont see it how expensive it was.

I think if you bought flavoured lube for ROTS Anakin, he'd throw it right out, lol. He's fully embracing his cock as it is and wants you to appreciate his natural smell. TCW made you both feel like you had to look like royalty when you got in bed bc you barely saw each other. It got to the point where you both cba anymore. Defo keeping clean for you, but you’re both so unbothered that you embrace your natural states. No makeup? “I don’t care, you look good. Let me cum on your face, babe. Looks better on you than that “Charlotte Tilbury”

i'm not sure if you're the same anon that asked something about if anakin likes using flavored lube but i'm answering this one anyways because i love you way you described each anakin era.

first, i agree that AOTC anakin uses 10 in 1 shampoo like it's so on brand for him. i also think he'd be somewhat interested in your skincare routine and wouldn't mind at all if you slapped a face mask on his face, he'd enjoy it a lot more than you'd think. i also believe he has a bad habit of popping his pimples but he never scars from them???

secondly, TCW anakin loooves it when he can feel your nose brush against his crotch hair, it drives him crazy knowing that his cock is buried in your throat and you're just taking it so well. i like how you said that "he's scared that he tastes bad" because he would definitely overthink something silly like that.

lastlyyy, with ROTS anakin he wouldn't care at all what you looked like, he thinks you're beautiful the way you are so of course he's gonna decorate your face with his thick ropes of cum :) in my head ROTS anakin has a scent kink so we wants to smell everything, and i don't think he minds his natural smell at all.

#nai answers!#anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker drabble #st4rfckerz

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kimboo-york · 2 months

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Unpopular opinion time:

The LN and manga fans are on a tear of "hahaha you were wrong about him the whole time!" and yeah, I was wrong, but also, I'm not really sold on Lakan being a tragic antihero, anymore than I'm sold on Fengxian actually being in love with him. He's not a bad guy, sure, but he's not a good one either:

1. The man is a brilliant chess player. The courtesan he cares for suddenly changes up their "game night" right before she's going to be sold off to the highest bidder and...he just ignores that? Are we supposed to believe he's the most talented strategic mind alive and he just didn't notice he was being played? Nahhhhh. He wanted a piece of her and did not want to be bothered with complications. Why didn't her letters get through to him? I assume his family kept them. However, why did none of his letters to her get through to her? Because he didn't write to her. He totally forgot about her, as a person, for three years. He comes back, realizes he fucked up, and cries about it. I don't that that makes him a victim here, and I am not sympathetic. Mao Mao does not need to be sympathetic either. He literally made this bed.

2. Fengxian was not in love with him, but knew he would be better for her long-term than any of the jerks trying to buy her, and he at least appreciated her mind. The clue is that she asked him when he would be back, and he said "three months as usual." She knew then that he did not have the money to buy her out; if he had said "next week" or smth she would likely have asked him to put a bid in. But she knew he could not afford her, so she did the next best thing: baby trapped both him and herself. She knows he's honorable enough that once her price dropped, he'd buy her out, for both chess and baby reasons. But her plans were thwarted by fate stepping in to send him away for a long time.

She rolled the dice and lost the bet, and that sucks. But the real question here is why she went insane. Let's be real, Fengxian is SMART. She'd know how to find out where Lakan went, and even if her letters went unanswered, she had a lot to gain just holding her shit together until he came back. Instead, she went utterly bonkers. What? Why??? (Something was already off, IMHO, given her creepy singing in bed with Lakan. Poison? Addiction?)

Anyway, Lakan literally let himself be a pawn in Mao Mao's mother's game then just walked off the board without a second thought of the repercussions of his actions. Lakan has a long way to go to prove himself and I don't think his daughter owes him any kind of forbearance about it.

#kimboo's musings #the apothecary diaries #lakan #fengxian #mao mao #nah bro i still don't like him #or trust him #and neither should mao mao #opinion subject to change #but for now i'm not a fan of his

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baby-jaguar · 6 months

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Drop Everything Now; Part 2

Part 1

CW: PTSD come down, trying to comfort an emotionally avoidant Captain

GN!Reader WC: 2,665

AN: Just some build-up to a smidge of sweetness at the end, as Y/N tries to comfort Price by not pushing him to close off. Once again, this is my first hand at trying to write PTSD so it's an experimental post, please let me know if you have some (nice) constructive criticism to share with me, as I would like to make it accurate and good writing of combat PTSD. Hope you enjoy.

A loud clap of lightning tears the moment apart as you feel him tense, drawing away from you with hiss against your lips. When you open your eyes, you note the way he is back to squeezing his eyes shut, trying to reign himself in while in front of you.

“-s fuckin cold-” He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, hands moving to squeeze your shoulders.

“Come on, let's get inside. Don’t need you to get sick.” Moving your own hands to grip his wrists, you begin to lead him back towards the barracks. Your voice stays soft but holds a level of authority to lead him forward, trying to contain any spur of anxiety or adrenaline in moving through the storm.

Thinking prospectively, you need to slip John and yourself into the barracks to evade any attention. While the Captain garners fear and respect alone with a glance, he’s in a potentially volatile state. A window pane after it's been hit, but still standing as one regardless of the cracks.

The grip of his rough and calloused hand slides to the meat of your bicep as he lets you lead, being sure to have a connection to your body before letting go when you open the entrance to the stairwell.

As you walk through the dirty linoleum floors of the barracks, both yours and his boots squeak from the rain that has soaked them. With a hardened face, you ignore any spare glances of the few soldiers that still remain awake in the late hour.

Reaching back towards his wrist, you slip the wristband that holds the key to his captains quarters, then opening his door smoothly that would make any bystander believe you’ve done it before.

You haven’t, of course.

The sound of the rain pounds against the top of the metal roof, and a warning rumble sounds off in the distance.

Stepping in quickly, you enter into the dimly lit space of his room. You’re both still dripping from the rain, eyes catching the small puddles that formed outside of his room before the sight closes with the door.

“I’m sorry.” He begins slowly, hands shaking again slightly as the rainwater slowly drips onto the floor. “I- I don’t know what happened…” He whispered, eyebrows furrowing in agitation at what happened to make him get caught in the past. His body slightly trembles as he looks at you.

The words are a surprise, and you turn from the door to look at him for a moment. A pause floats over the room as he leans on the edge of the wooden dresser.

“You don’t need to apologize, John. You know it happens. Not just to you.” The words simmer out of your mouth, low and hushed.

After another moment, “Did you need help with anything? Want me to hang out?” You ask eyes focused on the back of his dipped head as he gazes at his hands that grip the wood.

Shaking his head slightly, he started to speak as his eyebrows furrowed once more. “Don’t need help, I’m fine. I- I don’t want you to see me like this.” He grunts, but it comes out a bit cracked.

This. This is Price, not John. It makes a small roll of anxiety float through you, feeling as if you’ve taken 5 steps back in whatever the hell just happened outside; he’s closing himself off.

The silence between you is muddled with the sound of a fresh wave of rain hitting his window, the room begins to feel humid.

Deciding to boycott his answer, you shake your head, not giving him a response but rather moving towards his bathroom. The ensuite is small, but it's a luxury built in mind for the higher ranks. Flicking on the sole light above the mirror, you quickly glance and see the small amount of products he keeps in the open before moving to slide the cheap shower curtain back and starting the water.

Coming back into his bedroom, you lean against the bathroom doorframe with crossed arms. “Need you to shower or else you’re gonna get sick.” The answer is simple and firm.

When he doesn’t move and shakes his head once again, your steps are heard coming towards him. Price was just about to ask what you were doing before the feeling of your hands pulling to take off his soaked jacket was felt.

He gives a surprised look, questioning you as if you’ve just grown a second head. “What-”

“Take it off, and get in the shower… Sir.” You use the honorific to save your ass in case he wants to put up against it.

Price raises an eyebrow, but sighs before moving to stand up straight and shucking his jacket off and into your hands. Not wanting to waste any more time, he took your command without much hesitation, as if he was accustomed to it, and quickly moved into his bathroom.

You hear the sound of water alter after he strips out of his clothes, the spray hitting his body. A low tremor of him muttering something to himself resonates within the small bathroom, though barely able to be made out.

Deciding to use this moment for yourself you quickly dash out of his room and into yours, conveniently adjacent to his room, and change into comfortable and dry clothes; An oversized hoodie, sweatpants, and socks to cover your cold feet.

Dipping back into his room after, the spray of water can still be heard. Closing the door silently, not wanting to startle him out of the warm water’s comfort- or what you hope is both warm and comforting- and move to look around his room.

Old pictures, memorabilia, and some fancy cursive papers adorn the walls around the small desk. Nothing too personal, and not much to even begin with.

You jump when the water stops, and place yourself in the chair of his desk. Having limited time to decide what social protocol would be best, you settle on curious and not caring, eyes looking towards the bathroom door as it opens.

When he exits, you can see his frame is barely dried off, the tight compression shirt painted onto his body, sweatpants that should be oversized fit around his legs tightly, and his hair looks as if he just tried to spike it up with gel- assuming he vigorously rubbed it with the towel.

Eyes trailing up to yours, he purses his lips pensively, making you tense. “Listen… I don’t want anyone to know of this.” He states firmly, but the look in his eyes appears questioning asking- Would you tell the others?

“Of course. Not something to share.” You answer back with a dip of your head.

You shift in your seat, now not knowing what to do or what his mind is running through. “Did you still want me to stay?” You ask, voice hesitant and timid.

Price looks at you for a moment before looking away, nodding in answer to your question. “Yes…” He murmurs, the deep bass of his voice making you question if he actually accepted the offer.

He walks to his bed and sits down, looking down at his thumbs that twiddle against each other. The hairs of his mustache move as he purses his lips, the telltale sign he’s thinking over something deeply.

You notice his tired eyes when he catches your stare. Body leaning forward, elbows coming up to rest on his knees before he looks down again.

“I can’t be alone right now…” He whispers.

Embarrassed or shameful, you suspect it may be both.

“Good- that you’ll let me stay.” You respond simply before taking quiet and tentative steps to sit on the edge of his bed next to him.

“Wasn’t gonna leave even if you told me no.” You add after a moment, voice quiet enough that it blends in a melody of the light above. “You wanna do anything?… Talk? Tv?”

The expansion of his ribs is visible, and you can feel the brush of his shirt against you at the action of him taking a deep breath before exhaling loudly. You shift your weight enough to be able to bump your right knee against his left one, your eyes trailing over his room.

He hums and moves his gaze to your leg, bumping yours back before sitting up. His breath slow and deep, trying to center himself.

“Can we talk?” He asks in a soft voice, his hands having a slight tremor in them still.

A small smile graces your lips as you nod your head. "Yeah, let's lay down though." Moving your hand to his wrist to give a gentle tug while shifting backward onto his bed. Your back leans against the wall and sitting cross-legged, as he grunts while adjusting himself to fully lay down.

“What do you want to talk about?” You murmur, setting your gaze on his tired face.

His eyes look to yours with a soft gaze before looking down at your hand, taking hold of it firmly once he felt your gentle touch on his wrist. Taking a moment to try and choose his words, his hand moves to hold yours and squeezes it. “I- I’m scared.”

“What of?” You whisper, eyes moving over his to try and absorb any signs or gives of emotion. In a test of comfort, you move your thumb along the back of his hand.

“Losing myself…” He finally answered, his voice breaking slightly. “I- I can’t fight if I lose myself. Get confused or stuck in-” He cuts himself off with a grunt of annoyance.

Heart dropping at his words, you sympathize. You know with this level of combat, you’re not going to come out of it unscathed either. A part of your mind already knows you hold the trauma back, using the adrenaline of the current missions to help you stay in the present.

You don’t know what will happen when you leave. Or if you'll survive long enough to figure out the answer.

“John…” You start, now trying to configure what he needs to hear at this moment. “How often does this happen?” You decide to ask since this could be the most you get from him.

Meeting your concerned look, Price takes in a moment to try and calm himself to not break down in front of you. He lets go of your hand and leans back again on his bed, looking away.

The separation stings you, so you move your hands together and rub your thumb over the calluses on your palm.

“It comes and goes.” He answers after a moment, “It was more often when I first got into the military, but now, not as much... It hasn’t been anything much like tonight in a long time.” He added. His eyes look more sad and serious than usual but soon, a quiet chuckle leaves him as he looks at the clock on his nightstand. “Already 02:00?… Fat chance of rest before the day starts.”

The subject change is an obvious sign of defeat on your end and a shelf to the conversation on his. One that won’t be visited again for a long time.

Pursing your lips in response to the change, you carry on with the pace he sets and ultimately nod your head. "Yeah... not like we haven't done worse though." You answer before trailing your eyes over his room.

Not knowing what to talk about, you hum in thought. "You wanna try and catch some?" The question comes out softer than you meant to, and a sigh escapes you in addition.

At your comment, Price slowly opens his eyes again, a small smile floating onto his lips. “Catch some rest?” He mutters softly, shifting his head a little, his voice now sounding a bit sleepy himself, while the sound of the rain hitting the windows is heard over the night's quietness.

"Mmm, yeah. You need it, Capt'n." You answer back, now deeming this as your sign to leave, having been perched on his bed for some time. "I'll get the lights for you. Goodnight, John." You whisper, moving to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze before shifting your weight to crawl over him.

Before you can even swing the second leg over, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. You’re surprised at his quick movement, although you really shouldn't be, your head whipping to look at him and finding the blue orbs already staring at you.

“Wait… where are you going…” He asks softly, still holding you back as he looks up at you with tired eyes. “Stay here, with me.” He murmurs in a tone thats akin to a command, moving to pull you down against him, successfully making you land with a quiet oof against his chest.

Your lips part in surprise staring back at him. "...You sure?" You decide to ask, wanting him to confirm his choice.

Now holding you against his chest, the motion of his strong arms wrapping around your back brings warmth to your body. With certainty and calmness, he moves his free hand to your chin and tilts it up to have you look at him properly.

"Yes." He mumbled softly, his tone also sounding a bit more steady. “Just… hold me close….”

You try to hide the surprise of his words, the softness being sweeter than anything he’s ever said to you. “-m not gonna let go of you, John.” You murmur to him after taking a second to react.

Price sighs softly, now moving his hand to the base of your skull to pull you up and into the crook of his neck. His body shifts for a moment, turning his lamp off as your arms wrap around his neck and hold onto him. His arms move to wrap around your waist in response, leaning his head against yours, burying it into your hair.

Taking in your scent and warmth against him, his eyes began to droop with sleep having the feeling of calmness began to seep into his bones just by being held by you.

“… Love you,” He mumbled quietly, his eyes beginning to drift shut. In the quiet darkness, with the only sounds coming from the outside rain and thunder, his breathing became slow and steady once more.

The quiet confession sends a jolt of surprise through you, breath catching as your eyes snap open. A smile bleeds onto your lips against his neck, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to try and contain your reaction.

Moving to lift your head, you find his eyes in the soft glow of the dim lights outside of the base that shine into his room. “Love you too.” You murmur back before placing the lightest kiss on his cheek.

With a seamless shift of his head, he captures your lips softly. His eyes close slowly once more, his lips parting slightly, waiting for your response as he exhales a shuddering breath.

In response, your lips match the press of his, parting in invitation to deepen the kiss. He pulls you upwards, your hand sliding to cup the base of his skull. The kiss is gentle with an underlying firmness that keeps it calm, moving in tandem with each other.

But he couldn’t fight the tired feeling that was beginning to take over, as one of his hands goes behind your head and gives your hair a gentle tug before whispering in your ear.

“Sleep, sweetheart…” The sound of his voice is a deep tremor, vibrating his chest and in return, yours. “Sleep for me…” He whispers, breathing out slowly.

“Sleep well. I’ll be here when you wake up.” You answer softly, settling your head back into the crook of his neck and letting the smell of his body wash envelope you.

Letting your eyes fall closed as your breath begins to even out with his, now melting and beginning to fade into sleep together.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #captain john price #call of duty modern warfare #john price x reader #john price #captain jonathan price #john price mw2 #captain price #captain price x reader #cod price #captain johnathan price #tf141 #task force 141

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twistedroseytoesy · 1 year

Note

Hi!

I'd like to be called 🍬 anon!

Could I request Savanaclaw with a quokka reader?

These little guys are the cutest things ever!

Oh, oh my gosh those little fellas! The happiest little creatures with award winning smiles! I absolutely would love to do this 🍬 anon!

Also image of an adorable little fella just under the cut

Description

you and your family happily lived on an island near the Sunset Savanna but technically outside of its rulings. you and the other Quokka beast folk lived happy lives, trading and bartering goods and trading goods with the mainland but not really needing a lot of money. Everyone gets along and everyone on the small island works together to make sure everyone else is safe and happy. You and your family were rather small but you never minded and always loved taller company. You have cute small little ears in your messy brown hair, with cute brown eyes and a continuous smile. you are about 4 feet tall, with dark skin and a short little tail. the tips of your hands and feet were slightly darker than the rest of your body and you had small little claws.

Savanaclaw

Leona: Tch, think those cute looks are going to get you pity from him your right wrong. He tries to ignore you a lot, but can't help but poke some fun at you since your reactions are just so cute. Though if anyone messes with you when he's nearby be prepared to be taken to be his nap buddy, his tail swishing angrily at someone messing with what he's now claimed. you were picked on a lot at the beginning but luckily after his overblot, Leona stepped up his leadership a bit and made sure to tell the other savanaclaw members t knock it off. he also never made you do spell drive practice, "you're too small to be any help" he would tell you. but for 1 he wants to show off to you on the sidelines, and 2 he knows how dangerous spelldrive can be and he would actually feel BAD if you got hurt. If you somehow become friends with him expect to be his nap buddy often, calls you his cute little plush. but only in private, Ruggie likes to chuckle at you two. Leona may never say it out loud but if you are observant you can tell he thinks you're cute, and he wants to protect you. will wake up only for you, also falls for your puppy eyes so bad don't tell anyone.

Ruggie: shihhihi well aren't you the cutest little thing? careful since a lot of beasts around would love to take a bite outa you. takes you under his wing, for a price of course. but honestly, you remind him of the kids from his village he would take care of. gets you to help him with some stealing, you distract them with your cuteness and he gets the goods. Eventually, he starts to share his food with you and protect you with no repayment required. Of course, from him, you learn a lot of good scavenging habits and self-defense. He honestly is so proud of you when you take down a bigger guy or weaponize your cuteness like how he taught you. He also uses you to get Leona out of bed. even Leona isn't immune to your little begging eyes! shihihihi. will feel betrayed if you turn those adorable eyes on him but he also can't say no to you...

Jack: Immediately was reminded of his younger siblings back at home and became unbelievably protective of you. Tsundere wolf style. he tries to stay near you and will fight anyone who tries to take advantage of you and your cuteness. He does smirk when you weaponize your cuteness, he will introduce you to epel also because you two are pretty similar. can't say no to you. Would rather die than admit it though. He tries to train you to be able to defend yourself if and when anyone tries to mess with you. his tail wags a lot when you're being really cute and you love and help him with his little cacti collection. He's proud of any accomplishments you do and likes to have you on his shoulders, it makes you smile so much and he can't help but smile too.

#🍬 anon #my writing #my stuff #savanaclaw #leona x reader #ruggie x reader #jack x reader #ruggie #jack #leona #leona kingscholar #jack howl #ruggie bucchi #twst x reader #twisted wonderland mc #twisted wonderland headcanon #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst

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ggjunkie · 7 days

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Heavenly Hazards

Chapter 1

It was your official 5-week anniversary of heaven. And although you may be far from an expert, you’ve gained enough experience and went through enough trial and error to create a list of rules. These rules, under no circumstance, are to be broken, bent, nor rewritten. You may need some reminders every now and then, as they’re all extremely persuasive, but you refuse to falter.

Ahem! So without further ado, here is your list of “Heavenly Hazards!”

Number 1: Steer Clear of the promenade food court’s smoothies.

You made the honest mistake of indulging, and paid the price. In your defense, you really didn’t know any better. Even the worker seemed surprised you had wanted to order. One sip was the equivalent of one hour spent crouching near the toilet. You spent that time wondering if there was an afterlife after this one, or if you’d be forced to die forever. Based on those two days, the second option seemed the most comforting. No more fancy promenades and no more poison-smoothies.

Number 2: Don’t look too closely at the street performers

One fact about heaven they don’t write home about is that these angels will sing. That doesn’t always mean the same thing as “can” or “should,” but you will always find fun numbers on the street. However, watch for too long and that solo will become a duet. Sometimes it can be exhilarating. But when you have concrete plans you’re already running late for and suddenly you find yourself triple time-stepping to the latest edition of “Count On Me,” it can be frustrating.

And the final, most important, at all cost followed, never to be broken rule:

Number 3: Avoid Adam.

Being the first man, he came with a lot of titles. For instance, “the first— and therefore the biggest- baby” and “the first face your fist may meet” were both strong. Or alternatively, something fitting a bit closer to home for you: “The first hookup you had in heaven even though you know you shouldn’t have, and now you have to ignore and avoid his stupid smug face.”

Real catchy name.

It was a serious problem though. Especially since he seemed to want the opposite of that– for whatever reason it may be. Knowing him, it could range from craving a Hookup the Sequel, to wanting to slut-shame you for sex before marriage. However, day after day, you’d always end up “mysteriously” bumping into him. From the streets to your place of work, it’s only a matter of time until he finds out where you live and manages to start bugging you there too. You wondered if he harassed all his past hookups like this, before shaking your head and realizing “yeah, probably.”

The hook up wasn’t your fault though!

Upon arrival into heaven, there was a mysterious ticket slipped into your brochure. It was rich black– a stark contrast to everything else behind the Pearly Gates, everything alternated between white and off-white. Scribbled in a gold marker was what you assumed to be a signature, but you couldn’t be too sure. If anything, it more closely resembled a stick figure– somehow. You would’ve marched back up to that gleaming angel sitting behind his desk and handed over the ticket, only to have been assured it was some sort of mistake and now be promised a million heaven-bucks or whatever other apology he would’ve offered. However, there was one thing stopping you.

Up at the top of the ticket, above the not-quite-signature, was your name. Granted, it was scrawled in a hard-to-understand handwriting. But you can recognize your name anywhere. Or wait… if you squint hard enough, it sort of looked like a second stickman.

Looking at it made you nervous though, so into the trashcan it went. As you tossed it, you clapped your hands clean, ready to open back up that brochure and find out where you will be staying when suddenly everything went black. You sputtered, reaching for your eyes to find something covering them. You peel it off, staring back at none other than the ticket.

With a shocked yelp, you threw it to the floor, watching as it immediately flew back up into your hand. It obviously wasn’t alive– or at least you hoped not– so, maybe enchanted?

“Problem?” the angel behind his desk smiled softly, tilting his head to complete his look of the pinnacle of all things sweet. Quickly, you hid the ticket behind your back, afraid to accidentally be caught with something bad, and shook your head ‘no.’ Ever trusting, the angel grinned back, noticed one of his pens out of place, quickly pushed it right, and then delved straight back into his boring paperwork.

However, the pen he had moved was gold.. Or, wait… yeah no it’s white. Curse this bland place!

With his attention now diverted, you exited the building, started walking– you’re afraid you’ll never get used to these wings–and pulled back out the ticket. Due to most angels taking to choose to fly and soar above, you didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone. You flipped the ticket back and forth, looking for any sort of clues or hints as to what it could be.

You came back with nothing.

However, because of your distracted pacing, you found yourself at some sort of open area. You swapped out your ticket, fumbling around in your pockets for your brochure and checking the attached map. According to the red star marked “You are Here,” you had found yourself at the promenade. There were places to relax and eat, something that seemed very much appealing after dealing with both death… and this stupid, impossibly infuriating ticket!

Your wings fluttering- a new and weirdly uncomfortable feeling--you moved to join in line and order food. Unfortunately, most of the food lines were a tad bit long. Ever impatient, you decided to hop to the most empty line, which seemed to be…

You squinted up at the sign– oh!

Smoothies!

#hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel

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havecourage-darling · 2 years

Text

Firsts

AO3 | Part 1 of 12 (each chapter is a standalone)

>> Firsts: Panic Attack || masterlist

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Henderson!Reader

wc: 3.1K

warnings: none, some heavy kissing, drinking, cursing

A/N: Hi! It's me again, back on my bullshit, obsessed and inspired by your lovely messages. This follows the same eddie x henderson!reader from: Don't You (Forget About Me) and Object of My Desire. There are going to be 12 parts -- all detailing first time moments -- but they can all be read as standalones. Some intertwine with a later story idea I have (that I'm waiting for volume 2 to post!) this chapter has no S4 spoilers. Your comments, kudos, and messages give this adhd ridden hyperfixated weirdo life, tysm!

First Kiss

The first time you had kissed him, Eddie was almost sure he’d accidentally smoked a laced joint and had hallucinated the whole thing. Then, you’d snuck your hand into his hair and tugged his neck back. If that hadn’t been enough to turn him on, you had bit down on his neck – worrying the skin between your lips -- and Eddie was halfway in love.

His day had started normally. He’d spent all day in his mind-numbingly boring classes, eating lunch while terrorizing the cafeteria, sold some bud, and planned his next campaign. He didn’t think this was where he’d be by the end of it.

He promised Rick that he’d sell the rest of his stock to make room for some new stuff coming in next week. The best customers were none other than the seniors of Hawkins High. Fortunately for him, it was also the week of Halloween. While he normally wouldn’t be caught dead at any school dance, he knew it was his best bet. He’d hang around for an hour, sell out, and go home a happy guy. Maybe pick up some pizza and a movie for the night.

“Dude, I didn’t know you were here selling,” Jeff, his fellow Hellfire Club member, said just as he’d stepped into the gym.

“What are you dressed as?” Eddie asked, eyeing his outfit.

“Tommy Lee!” Jeff grinned at him, pulling out a pair of drumsticks. Eddie nodded, offering up his fist.

“That’s sick,” he said, glancing around the room. He caught a few odd stares, ignoring them, and a good amount of interested ones.

“Do me a favor dude,” Eddie, grabbed Jeff’s sleeve before his date could steal him away. “Spread the word that I’ve got some stuff to sell.”

Jeff shot the chaperone’s a look before nodding. “I got you man,” he slapped Eddie’s back before going off to the dance floor.

Eddie stationed himself at the edge of the bleachers, mostly hidden by some decorations. He grinned when a basketball player approached him after a few minutes. Typical.

“What are you supposed to be?” Eddie snorted, glancing at the pathetic costume.

“A cowboy,” the guy – Nick? Adam? – sneered. “You got any or what?”

“Or what,” Eddie muttered, handing him a small bag. “Same price.”

The cowboy handed him two pairs of freshly printed, crisp bills. “Pleasure doing business,” Eddie tilted his imaginary hat. Without a word, the cowboy turned on his heel and walked away. Oh the irony of being outcast by the top tier only to have them crawl to him for their needs.

Thirty minutes later, Eddie was all but sold out. He had two joints left but he knew he could smoke through them if he didn’t have any more buyers. Eddie ran a sweaty hand through his hair, why did the gym always feel like it was a thousand degrees, and caught sight of a teacher walking in his direction.

Without preamble, he ducked under the bleachers and waited her out.

“Munson?” A voice called out. Eddie whipped around, startled out of his fucking mind – who hell hides under the bleachers?

“Jesus fucking Christ Harrington, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” Eddie said, clutching at his heart dramatically. If he was going to be over the top, why stop because he was hiding?

Steve laughed, as if that was the most hilarious joke he’d ever heard. “Uh, Harrington?” Eddie called out, taking a few steps towards him. Steve was leaning against the wall, his legs sprawled and expression akin to someone who’d lost their puppy. As Eddie bent down, he wrinkled his nose. “Shit, Harrington, that’s some shitty tequila.”

“You want some?” He said, perking up. Eddie winced as his arm smacked into his side, the bottle sloshing. Eddie picked it out his hand before he could spill anymore. He sniffed it experimentally and shrugged, why not? He took a swig and fought the urge to spit it out. That, is why not, he thought to himself, gagging.

“This tastes like lighter fluid,” Eddie told him, “and I’m not exactly known for having refined taste.”

Steve grinned. “Good shit, right?”

“That was not a compliment,” Eddie told him, standing up. “Why are you piss drunk, dressed like Mario, at a school dance? Isn’t there somewhere, I don’t know, with less supervision that you could be doing this?”

“Nope,” Steve said, popping his lips obnoxiously. “Love sucks, man.”

Eddie fought the urge to roll his eyes. He’d heard that King Steve had broken up with the perfect Nancy Wheeler. He had a hard time believing that someone like Harrington couldn’t get another date, he drove around a BMW for shit’s sake.

“Hey, do you have any….” Steve trailed off, looking confused.

“Weed?”

Steve brightened, snapping his fingers and missing. “Yeah!”

“It’s your lucky day Harrington, I’ve got two joints left,” Eddie said, tossing one into his hands.

It took him a minute, but Steve handed him a few crumpled bills from the front pocket of his denim overalls. Eddie tried really hard not to contemplate his life.

“Steve Harrington!” A new, distinctly annoyed, voice cried out. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I turn around to dance for two seconds and you disappear.”

Eddie watched, a little awed, as you stomped over to them. Without hesitation, a pink heeled foot kicked Steve’s leg. “Get up you moping loser, you promised me dancing,” you said.

“I’m sad,” Steve whined, moving to stand regardless. Even Eddie rolled his eyes at that one. He should’ve known – Harrington seemed super glued to your side this year. Where you went, he usually followed.

“Go be sad on the dance floor!” You urged, hopping in one place, the pink dress around you moving fluidly with you.

Eddie tried his best not to let his eyes settle onto your chest but, he was only a mere mortal, and the more you bounced – the more your assets bounced with you.

A third voice joined the fray and Eddie ducked. You glanced at him, as if surprised he was there, and blinked. “Don’t worry,” you whispered, “Natasha’s not a narc.”

“Damn right I’m not,” the girl dressed like a skeleton said. She wrapped Steve’s arm around her shoulders and winced at his breath. “Jesus Harrington, can’t you hold your liquor?”

“Can you get him something to drink?” You asked her, your face wrinkling in worry. “He needs to sober up a little before we go home.”

“At this rate, Amelia’s the only one who hasn’t touched the stuff,” Natasha snorted, dragging Steve out from under the bleachers.

You turned to him and squinted. Eddie grinned, excited to have your attention. With a flourish, he bowed. “Pleasure to see you tonight, if you’re looking for some weed – you’re in luck. I’ve got one left,” he said.

“What are you dressed as?” You asked, completely ignoring his question. Eddie quirked his brow and realized that your eyes were also a little glazed over.

“As a demon cult leader, what do you think? Did I do okay?” Eddie turned in a circle, putting on his show. He turned back to you, expecting you to look annoyed or put off – like everyone in the popular crowd did when faced with himself. Eddie felt his whole-body freeze when he caught your heated stare. You dragged your gaze up his body and Eddie swore he felt it like a physical touch.

Well, that was new.

“I’d say you look good, but you usually do,” you said, stepping towards him. Eddie, instinctively, took a step back. Scared and turned on were a very weird, although not unheard of, combination for him.

“Back at you princess,” he said, trying not to sound breathless. What the fuck?

At that, you quirked your head. “Princess?”

Eddie smirked, letting his obvious gaze trail down your body. You were clearly dressed as Princess Peach, your yellow wig pulled back into a messy ponytail, although…

“From my recollection, Princess Peach never wore a dress that short,” he said, eyeing your legs. He braced himself for a scathing reply but found you laughing instead. What the hell was it about this holiday that made people go insane?

“Princess Peach never had to attend a dance in an old smelly gym,” you said matter-of-factly. “Short as it is, it still feels like it’s a thousand degrees in here.”

“It’s the testosterone and steroids from the basketball team,” Eddie quipped, raising his brow. “No offense to your boyfriend.”

“Steve Harrington is not my boyfriend,” you said, laughing like that was the funniest joke you’d ever heard. “He’s literally crying over his break up.”

“Weirder things have happened,” he said, leaning against the wall. “I’m pretty sure-”

“So, this might be the tequila,” you interrupted him, loudly, “but I really want to kiss you.”

Eddie would’ve been less surprised if you’d taken out a baseball bat and smacked him with it.

“Uh, how much tequila?” Eddie asked.

You shrugged, stepping closer to him, “enough to make me feel good, not enough to not know what I’m doing.”

“You know,” he said, pensive, “that is really good enough for me.”

“Great!” You said, throwing yourself at him.

Eddie winced as your foot collided with his ankle but quickly forgot about the pain when your lips pressed against his. He dropped his hands to your waist, the rough fabric bunching around his grip.

You tasted like tequila, fruit punch, and something else he couldn’t put his finger on. You were soft, so fucking soft, and pliant. Hands frantic, you fisted his collar as if assuring yourself he wasn’t going anywhere. Fucking zombies couldn’t pry him away with their cold dead hands.

Eddie felt you lean back for air, your eyes had a glint in them that he couldn’t describe and soon after, you’d pulled his head back by his hair. With his neck exposed, you latched on and Eddie desperately tried to remember that you’d both get in a lot of trouble if you were caught from the noises that were trying to claw out of him. Satisfied with the bruise you’d left, you beamed up at him and Eddie couldn’t help the fond smile he shot you back.

“Didn’t take you for a biter,” he said, thumb coming to swipe across your lower lip.

“I’m not usually, you’re just enjoyable,” you said nonchalantly and unaffected, like you weren’t just shaking up his entire world. Unable to help himself, he nipped at the crook of your neck and was rewarded with the most delicious sounding moan. He wanted to carve that noise into his memory.

You immediately pushed him back, eyes hooded, and lips swollen. The red bite he’d placed on your neck felt like a neon sign and he couldn’t help but feel turned on by it. Holy shit, he couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

Then, with a quick motion, you dropped to the floor. Eddie jerked forward, worried you’d tripped or something when he realized you were kneeling. He straightened and shot you a confused look.

“Come on,” you urged, placing a warm hand on his calf.

Come on what? He thought, still wildly confused. He watched your lips part and you looked up at him through your lashes. Eddie shifted, his dick trying to get in on the action as well. He froze. No…you couldn’t… Eddie dropped his gaze to you and you shifted your weight onto your heels, hands reaching for his belt.

“Don’t you want me to?” You asked, smiling sweetly up at him. Holy fucking shit, Eddie thought. Maybe he was hallucinating? There’s no way you – you of all people – were on your knees during a Halloween dance, under the bleachers, with him, dressed like goddamn wet dream, and offering him a blow job. He nodded absently, still dazed and trying to process this moment, and you beamed.

Your impatient hands fumbled with his studded belt and Eddie reached out to help you. He stepped back, needing the space to unbuckle his pants, and watched as you fell forward.

“Shit, are you okay?” Eddie asked, looking for what you tripped over.

“I may be drunker than I realized,” you said, giggling. Eddie felt his blood freeze. Fuck. Slowly, he untangled your hands from his waistband and lowered himself to the floor next to you. “Why’d you stop?”

Eddie sighed, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’m pretty sure, given your squeaky-clean reputation, you’re not the type to lightly offer up what you just did,” he bumped your nose with his and felt his stupid, idiotic, heart flip at the sight of your wide smile. “Definitely not sober at least.”

“I’ve only had one boyfriend before,” you whispered, falling over onto your butt. You blinked, as if shocked, and brought your gaze back to him. “We did stuff, I’m not some stumbling virgin.”

“I’m sure you’re an absolute minx,” Eddie said, biting back laughter at your serious nod.

“He said I was good,” you frowned, looking pensive. “Although, he was also a virgin when we met so maybe I wasn’t?”

Nothing like tequila to bring around an existential crisis and brutal honesty. He was sure this wasn’t something you’d be telling him if you were sober. Still, Eddie couldn’t handle your sad little frown. He placed a hand on your bare knee, flinching at how hot your skin was. Although he was the one who’d touched you, it felt like you had branded him.

In fact, he was pretty sure he’d be unable to forget about this interaction for a while. Now that you’d caught his attention, you weren’t likely to go anywhere. “I’m pretty sure you rocked his world and have no doubt you could rock mine too. Especially considering that that’s how you kiss when you’re drunk. Not sure if I can handle a sober one.”

You grinned, lighting up the entirety of this dirty dark corner – even a little piece of him. Fuck, how had he never noticed how pretty you were? He thought back on all the times he’d seen you around the school.

“Come on, let’s get you back to your friends,” Eddie said, lifting you up. You laughed, your breath fanning over the darkening hickey on his neck.

He knew you floated from group to group, notorious for having friends in every clique, club, and class. Shit, even Billy Hargrove seemed to have an eye on you – not that you’d accepted any of his advances. Jeff had almost peed himself laughing when you’d kneed him in the balls for trying to cage you in by your locker before homeroom.

Anyone with eyes knew how hot you were, Gareth had even mentioned it a few times – especially in Physics, the only class you shared with them. You seemed to always have a sarcastic quip or friendly jab at the ready. Good grades, popular, sarcastic, and ready to throw a punch was exactly what he liked about you and exactly what put you so far out his league it was painful.

He emerged from the bleachers with a glance around the gym and tried to find your friends from earlier. One of your fingers trailed down his abdomen, your lips pressing an open mouthed kiss to his neck, and he groaned. Out of his league or not, you had been the one to come onto him. Because she’s drunk, Eddie’s stupidly moral mind reminded him. But what if she is interested? You obviously weren't wound as tight as Wheeler but was clearly not someone who offered without thought. Tequila did have a way of changing people though…

As he dropped you off next to a slumped Harrington, he caught the eye of the skeleton girl from earlier. She shot Eddie a thumbs up and started to make her way to the table.

“Hey,” he squatted down next to you.

“Hey handsome,” you said, giggling again.

Eddie really needed to get a fucking grip. He’d barely spared you much thought before tonight and in fifteen minutes you’d all but carved your name into his skin. What’s worse? He didn’t mind a bit. Shit, he really was a loser.

“I’m gonna go,” he said, “you gotta keep an eye on Harrington, okay? Your friend is on her way over to make sure you’re okay.”

“You don’t want to dance with me?” You asked, wide, beautiful eyes stabbing at his conscience.

“You’re a little too drunk for that right now, okay?” Eddie tugged a lock of your synthetic hair. “I’ll save you a dance at the next party.”

You nodded, trusting him entirely, and wobbled in your seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” You squinted.

Eddie huffed a laugh. “Tomorrow is Saturday princess. I’ll see you Monday,” he added quickly when you frowned sadly.

“Don’t forget about me,” you stumbled, hand still clenched around his, “promise?”

“Sweetheart, I’m absolutely positive that this night is branded into my memory for life,” he said, standing and pressing a kiss to your temple. Last one.

“Bye cult leader,” you whispered, laughing at your own joke. Skeleton girl dropped into the seat between them and exhaled.

“Thanks Munson, I owe you one,” she said.

Eddie waved away her gratitude and took one last look at his Princess Peach.

“See ya,” he said, forcing himself to walk away. He’d barely made it to the doors when Jeff all but jumped him.

“Dude, what the hell were you doing with Henderson?” Jeff asked.

Henderson? Aw shit, that was Dustin’s older sister. Eddie groaned; he’d completely forgotten. In his defense, most of his blood was firmly south of the border.

Jeff blinked at him, waiting for an answer and Eddie…hesitated. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to keep tonight to himself. “Harrington was buying and Henderson followed. They’re drunk and I was just helping her back to her table.”

“Which is why you kissed her?”

“What?” Eddie froze.

Jeff eyed him. “I saw you; you kissed her forehead. I’m amazed she didn’t threaten to cut off your dick. Henderson’s cool but I wouldn’t fuck with her.”

Eddie exhaled, relieved. “Right. Uh, I don’t know. You know me man, I’m crazy.”

“Shit, I didn’t think you were that crazy,” Jeff said, shaking his head. “Respect man.”

“I’ll see you Monday,” Eddie said, “I’m out of here.”

“Later dude!”

Eddie took one last look at your table, where you were being force fed some food before disappearing out the doors. He brought his fingers up to his neck like he could still feel the ghost of your lips as you nipped him. Eddie hopped into his car and finally relaxed into his seat.

What a fucking night.

>> Firsts: Panic Attack, Part 2

A/N: guys, I also am very aware that I messed up the timeline for S3, S4 and when Don't You (Forget About Me) happens so we're just gonna smile and wave like that little mistake isn't there lol in my defense, I didn't think I was going to build a whole series around that one shot! muaha, I fixed it!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #reader insert #stranger things

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candycandy00 · 4 months

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Choose Your Own Price Fanfic Commissions

I’m now open for commissions!!!!!

If you’d like to request a fanfic from me, here’s how to do it!

What You’ll Get:

A one-shot fic. I never even look at word counts and the idea of being restricted by such a thing scares me so I can only say that it will be a one-part story around the same length as my other one-shots. Look over my master list for plenty of examples (in particular, look over the requests I’ve filled).

I can’t give a specific time frame but, depending on whether or not I’m currently working on something, it will probably take me around 5-10 days to complete it. When we discuss your commission, I’ll be able to give you a clearer time frame.

What You Can Request:

All of the rules on my Welcome Post still apply. No minors, no animals, no scat/pee/vomit. I can do SFW or NSFW. Any genre (though I warn you that I suck at comedy). I’m fine with doing dark content like horror, gore, rape, etc. I’m fine with doing AU’s, sequels to my previous fics, anything like that. If something is a little too far out of my wheelhouse, I might have to say no, or perhaps “dumb it down” a bit. I’m not going to do a ton of research. Like if you want an AU set in a very specific historical setting, please don’t expect total historical accuracy. I’ll do my best to capture the feel of what you want but that’s all I can promise.

I can do Character x Reader or Character x Character. I’m also willing to do “threesome” situations, like Gojo x Reader x Geto for example. But no more than two canon characters per commission.

I’m fine with doing fem, masc, or gender neutral characters. I’m fine with any/all sexualities. I won’t write Reader as a specific race. I can do some specifications such as a chubby Reader, short Reader, etc. as well as some personality traits (example: shy Reader). But please don’t get super specific on the Reader if you can help it.

I will write for the following characters: Shigaraki, Dabi, Mr. Compress, Twice, Spinner, and Hawks (My Hero Academia) - Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Toji, Nanami, and Choso (Jujutsu Kaisen). If you want something from a different series, feel free to ask. I might not feel comfortable doing it if I’m not real into the character, or not familiar enough with them, but there’s no harm in asking!

I’m also willing to write for general concepts like “Vampire x Reader” or “Serial Killer x Reader”. You must be able to describe the concept character (the vampire or the serial killer in the examples I gave) and possibly send image references.

Price:

I’m very uncomfortable with the idea of pricing my work, so for now at least, I’m going to go with a sort of “choose your own price” system. Once you read your commission, you can look over my Amazon wishlist and choose an item to buy for me. In case anyone doesn’t know how Amazon wishlists work, when you buy an item directly from my wishlist, Amazon sends it to my address. You don’t have to mail it to me or know my address.

I have a very wide range of items on there, in terms of prices. There are lots of things on there under $10. You can choose what to buy based on how much you enjoyed your commission. And no, I won’t be upset or offended if you pick the cheapest item on the list. 😄 There are some more pricey items on there because this is my general wishlist that I show to family and friends around Christmas/birthdays. Feel free to ignore them.

How To Commission Me:

Here’s how the process will work.

Step 1: Directly message me telling me about your commission. Describe what you want, what characters you want to be featured, any plot/concept details you feel are important, a basic idea of what kinks you would want included, etc.

Step 2: I’ll reply letting you know if I can do your commission. From there we will discuss it further and iron out all the details. You can be more specific about the kind of smut you want (if you want smut), things you want me to avoid, things you want me to include no matter what, all the nitty gritty details. I’ll also give you an idea of how long it will take me to do your commission.

Step 3: I write your commission and post it on my tumblr (and maybe ao3). I can tag you if you like, or you can remain anonymous and I’ll send you a message when it’s posted.

Step 4: After reading your commission (and only after), you look over my Amazon wishlist and buy whichever item you choose for me. Send me a message letting me know you bought something and I’ll confirm that it was purchased (Amazon will display it on the list as a purchased item). I’ll expect you to purchase something within one week of me posting the commission. Unless you have a great explanation, I will be unhappy if you take longer than that.

Why do I want you to wait until you’ve read your commission to buy an item? Because my life tends to get hectic at the strangest times, and anything could go wrong and keep me from writing it. I don’t want to feel stressed and pressured because you already paid me. Also, I want you to be satisfied and to pick an item based on how well I did. Knowing that you can pick the price will motivate me to do my best!

Even if you don’t want to commission me, I would greatly appreciate any reblogs/signal boosts! Thanks!

#Gojo x reader #shigaraki x reader #dabi x reader #geto x reader #jjk x reader #league of villains x reader #x reader #Jjk smut #league of villains smut #fanfiction commissions

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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All Of The Girls You Loved Before

Summary: I want to teach you how forever feels

OR:

That time Elain was a witch and Lucien was condemned to hunt her down

Part 1/2: Just Pretend | Read on AO3

Note: Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for the prompt and @the-lonelybarricade for being my beta. This is for @elainweekofficial day [mumble] because I don't want to post on a Friday/Saturday.

She sensed him before she ever felt him.

Like a hollow cry in her bones, a tug at her gut, Elain Archeron felt the witch hunter the moment he stepped into her territory, though in truth she’d always known him. They’d been born mere seconds apart. First her—and then him. Balance, as all things ought to be and the price of magic. For every trueborn witch, an adversary was created, too. They were fated by the very gods themselves to hunt the other, a brutal dance that ultimately would leave one of them dead.

Elain had parted ways with her sisters early on hoping to avoid three witch hunters descending on their little cabin. One witch was suspicious enough, but three were impossible to hide, besides.

Sandwiched between two sisters who were more elemental in nature, Elain had always been the one left out. Her magic skewed toward visions—and poisons. She had a way with nature, as though the great goddess of creation flowed through Elain’s fingertips. She could make things grow with merely half a thought. Once, as a girl, Elain had only thought of flourishing life.

That was before the men came. When she was eleven years old, men swept through the village in search of witches. Not hunters, but just scared villagers who didn’t understand magic wasn’t inherently evil. They’d smoked her family out and burned her mother atop a smoking pyre while she’d screamed curses—and then screamed in agony. Their father had stolen them away before they might be next and in a fit of fury, Nesta had struck him down for letting their mother be taken at all.

It had left them alone, wandering from place to place first as orphan beggars, and later as healers. And with nothing but each other and the memories of the men who’d once come, Elain, Nesta, and Feyre had become cold—almost cruel. They could no longer reside together and one night, on Feyre’s nineteenth birthday, they’d divided the continent into three sections. The borders had been drawn in Nesta’s blood, procured by one of Elain’s sharp nails.

They’d sworn not to cross the borders, to send word on the back of a crow's wings if they needed any assistance—but to otherwise stay out of each other's way. For Elain, that meant settling back in a rural village far from the more populated cities.

Elain had the gift of prophecy, and she’d always known, since she was a little girl that the man born in response to her magical blood, would never rest until he found her. He wouldn’t be settled, the call too heady for him to ignore. She wouldn’t be caught off guard in some dense city.

No.

When he came, it would be to the rolling hills and the wide open space of the world she occupied. She’d built a cabin just outside the village center which, on occasion, had made her the target of a different sort of man. The sort that tried to ambush a woman, to force her to do things she didn’t want to, all because he found her interesting.

Her beautiful face was a different sort of curse. Elain never said anything on the nights she heard them creeping to her door. Nor did she ever try and stop them when they rattled at the locks and window, certain there must be a way in for them. And Elain had certainly never deterred the wild animals at the edge of the forest she lived just beside, from creeping out in search of their own prey.

Though she enjoyed the sounds of their screams when they were caught and dragged away, choking on their own spit and blood.

There was only one man who would ever touch her, and she’d grant him that honor only if he managed to best her. The witch hunter, after all, was supposed to be her equal. If he managed to get his hands on her, he’d kill her. And Elain knew if he touched her, was close enough to slide his fingers over any part of her skin, she was as good as dead anyway.

It could take him years to find her. Wherever he was, it wasn’t close enough to scare her. Only enough to keep the hair on the back of her neck perpetually on end. Her blood thrilled with each passing day—days in which she stayed in the sprawling, rural village to help deliver babies and see the sick, the elderly, and the infirm off into the under realm where they might know peace again.

And each day, that man crept closer and closer. Elain caught herself wondering about him. Who was he? What was he like? Was he battle hardened? A cunning warrior? She’d long wondered about him and the kind of man he’d be. What kind of skills she’d need to kill him.

Elain could sense him stronger that misty morning when woke. Perhaps he was close—had figured out where she’d exiled herself to and was coming for her. Elain groaned into the gray, moody room she was in, kicking off her blanket sullenly.

She dressed in lavender, her heart pounding with each new step. Down, down, down she trekked, her leather boots covered in spring dew by the time she reached the village. Elain knew where she wanted to go first, despite her rumbling stomach.

The village was cleaner than it had been the day before, with great, colorful banners and awnings strung about. Welcoming a visitor—likely not a witch hunter, though she couldn’t be sure. The streets were cleared of any debris and though people walked along the gray cobblestone just as she did, there were no animals out. They’d been penned to keep shit from stinking up the walkways.

Elain veered down a back alley toward a familiar tavern. The Ensnaring Snake had a gleaming brass sign hanging above the door, swaying gently in the wind. It was too early for a drink, but not for the owner inside to be awake. Elain pushed inside, nose wrinkling at the smell. Some attempt had been made to clean, if the lemongrass and mint hanging in the air was any indication.

But vomit and sweat still permeated the very pores of the building, collecting the grime no amount of muscle could scrub away. Elain turned to the bar and the man just behind, offering him a friendly smile. She hated men—all, except this one.

Lucien Vanserra.

“Elain,” he said with an easy smile. He was folding freshly laundered napkins and when she went to the swiveling chair to join him, Elain plucked one of the white pieces of fabric from the basket to help. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet,” she said, half hoping he’d make her something. He would if he had time—and no one stumbled in, still half drunk from the night before to demand his attention. It was rumored that she and Lucien were courting. Laughable, given Lucien had never shown any interest in her beyond friendship. She knew he’d been engaged as a very young man and that woman had died, and she suspected that like her, he had no interest in that sort of companionship from the opposite sex. He was the perfect cover for her, though. No one thought twice about the orphaned girl living at the edge of town if a man was willing to speak for her.

One day they’d grow suspicious, and Elain hoped this friendship with Lucien would shield her from the kind of violence her mother had once endured. That he wouldn’t be the sort of coward her father was, no matter how unfair it was to put that burden on his ordinary shoulders.

He offered her a smile, one that stretched the entirety of his beautiful face. Elain had always wondered what had caused the trio of vicious scars that cut down one of his russet colored eyes. The markings started in his scalp, like nails dragging through soft butter, and vanished just beneath his jaw. It kept the other women away which, Elain supposed was lucky for her, even if it was unlucky for him.

She’d long thought it was their loss. Lucien was still beautiful. Broad shouldered and muscular beneath his tunics, with a sort of grace to his movements she admired. His long, auburn hair was often half braided off his face, the rest left to tumble down his back, and his skin caught the warmest shade of gold in the bright rays of day.

Sometimes she felt so tempted to touch him.

She’d always admired beautiful things, after all. Coveted them, even. And of everything lovely in her seaside village, Lucien was the most beautiful of them all. It was folly—he wasn’t for her and she knew it. As long as another man hunted her, there could be no peace for Elain. So he smiled, with those warm eyes and his gleaming teeth, and Elain willed herself to feel nothing at all. Willed herself not to love him, burying it deep, deep down in the quietest corner of her heart, until she could pretend it didn’t exist at all. He was just her friend. And she wanted nothing more.

“You fold, I’ll cook,” he told her, unaware of the battle constantly raging through her. The smell of leather and cinnamon stole over her. He vanished in the back, a smile dancing over his features. Like he knew some secret she didn’t. He always looked like that.

Elain folded in companionable silence, finishing just in time for Lucien to reemerge with two plates laden with potatoes and sausages and beans.

“So,” she began as Lucien leaned against the smooth wood counter, fork in hand. “What’s going on outside?”

Her skin was icy, blood thrumming in warning. Whoever came was a harbinger of her death, and the icy fear sliding down her spine was an omen of the terrible thing to come.

“Lord Nolan from the north,” Lucien said, lowering his deep voice ever so slightly. “They say he’s hunting witches–that he found one in the Illyrian mountains and butchered her before she ever knew he was coming.”

Elain’s heart leapt in her throat. Nesta was somewhere by the Illyrian mountains. Had he found her? No, she reassured herself. This was mere legend and human braggary. Witches were bound to one hunter. Once that bond was severed, she had it on good authority the witch hunter lost his immortality and became little more than a regular man. If Lord Nolan had killed Nesta and was looking for her or Feyre, he came to Elain as little more than a mortal male.

Easily killed, then.

“There is no such thing as witches,” she heard herself saying with a pretty laugh. Lucien’s eyes searched her own, some emotion she didn’t recognize streaking over his features.

“You should stay in the village,” he finally told her, gripping his fork just a little tighter. “You’re out there on your own…you could have one of the rooms upstairs. I’d make sure no one bothered you. And if anyone questioned…”

So he would shield her. Elain fought a shiver. “That’s not necessary,” she assured him, though in truth, his idea had merit. If a man was coming to hunt out witches, he’d start with anyone unprotected like they always did. How many widows with no sons or husbands to vouch for them had been caught up in the hysteria when the word magic was uttered? Too many.

And though Elain was a witch, she didn’t need anyone to know until she was ready for them to know. She didn’t need to be caught unaware and had to be extra careful, given she couldn’t pour fire or water from her fingertips.

“Elain–”

“Everyone will expect an announcement if they learn I’m staying here,” she said, her voice strained. “They’ll assume…”

Pink crept up his neck. “Right. And that would be…”

“A lie,” she supplied when no words came out of his mouth. “One not easily taken back.”

And she would not risk her friendship with him over a few days of safety. No, Elain would take her chances alone, trusting that if a question arose regarding her, Lucien Vanserra would defend her. She could see he didn’t like what she’d said, though he must have known she was right.

“You’ll take care of yourself?” he asked. As though that was ever in question.

“There is no such thing as witches,” Elain said again, though with far less humor. “And Lord Nolan will have no interest in me. You’ll see.”

Far past breakfast, after she’d left Lucien to his tavern and had restocked her supplies at the market, Elain found herself wondering if Lord Nolan wasn’t her fated killer. She could practically feel each step reverberating through the stone and settling in her gut. He was coming for her. She waited on the side of the road, ignoring the gathered crowd. She wanted to see the witch killer before he realized who she was. Would he recognize her on sight? Would he know her by instinct, or would he have to root her out?

Elain’s anxiety was at a fever pitch, the magic in her blood all but bubbling as Nolan approached. She could see his white horse in the distance, flanked by sentries and warriors likely just as battle hardened as he. A hand settled on her shoulder, causing her to jump—her whole body jerked, hyper aware of the witch killer coming for her.

Twisting, she found it was merely Lucien Vanserra beside her. He squeezed, which did little for the dread coiling through her. He didn’t know, thought her nerves were the same as everyone else's. A fancy lord from the city coming to their village didn’t bode well for any of them, especially if he’d come to root out witches in the name of glory and fame.

Lucien’s solid, warm presence beside her steadied Elain just enough to look Lord Nolan in the eyes when he approached. He was princely, she supposed. Handsome enough with his dark brown hair and matching set of eyes. A sharp jaw and a soft mouth set in a disapproving scowl didn’t hide his handsome face well enough. The thrumming in her body reached a fever pitch until Elain knew with certainty the witch killer was right in front of her. Unaware he was being watched by his very prey as his eyes swept over the gathered crowd. He swung powerful legs over the side of his beast and prowled forward while his guards and retinue remained atop their steeds.

There was no pretty preamble introducing himself. Lucien’s fingers dug into Elain’s shoulder when Nolan called, “There are witches living among you!” Someone she couldn’t see snorted with laughter. Nolan’s eyes fell on her for only a moment, sliding to Lucien and his claiming hand on her body. It was a warning, she supposed. Alone she might be, but unspoken for she wasn’t. She wondered if Lucien thought she was afraid and needed reassurance and protection.

Excitement was replacing the bubbling dread. She’d spent her whole life waiting for this. Once Nolan died, she’d have nothing but immortality ahead of her, assured she could not die so long as she kept to the margins. She wasn’t even thirty yet, had just turned twenty three a few months before. He could have made her wait centuries before hunting her down. She rather liked the thought of getting things out of the way now so she could live her life.

“You laugh?” Nolan cried, eyes sharp as he looked at them. “Witches are everywhere. They’re clever, rooting their way into your villages, your homes—all before cutting open your children to devour their hearts!”

Elain almost laughed. That sounded like the sort of rumor Nesta would spin. She didn’t want to draw any attention to herself and so she stepped just a little closer to Lucien to feign fear. Like she needed the strong man beside her to protect her. His grip slid down her arm, until his fingers were brushing her own.

It was tempting to give in. To take what she knew he was offering. Elain kept still, even when his finger hooked around her own.

“I killed five witches in the Illyrian Mountains,” he said, the absolute liar. “All in villages far smaller than this.”

Five innocent women were dead. Did he know he’d been wrong? Had anyone taught him what he meant to be a witch killer? Or did the humans lie, like they so often did, about his importance and the curse upon them. He’d learn.

Nolan looked at her again, though without awareness. A different sort of hunger slid over his features. It was one she’d learned to read well. Was it wrong to be disappointed? She’d expected…well, she’d expected more. Killing him would be easy. That should have filled her with relief and yet it didn’t. If he killed her, it would be because she’d gotten sloppy.

Not because he had any true skill.

No one dared to argue with the lord, and though Elain said she wasn’t afraid of him, she trailed behind Lucien back to the tavern, along with so many others. The topic of conversation was Lord Nolan—Graysen, she learned—was cause for amusement.

“Witches,” someone called, which caused riotous laughter. Even Lucien chuckled, filling mugs as quickly as they were thrust in front of his face. Elain drummed her fingers against the bartop. Graysen would be staying across town in the lord's manor which would make him difficult to get to. She could always try and court him, but that left her without male protection if he declined her advances.

No. She’d need to be clever. She was far from the most recent transplant and yet she wasn’t married unlike so many other women who’d come and been snapped up quickly. There were more men than marriageable women here, and when one arrived, they were claimed almost immediately.

She thought that was what Lucien had tried to do when she’d strolled through his doors and inquired after lodging. He’d been the one who helped her find someone to build her cottage and it had been room number four just upstairs she’d spent six months living in while he kept her fed and entertained.

She turned her eyes to him, surprised to find him watching her, too. Maybe she ought to use him, then. Just as a cover. She could always leave once Graysen was dead. Lucien was mortal and was doomed to a mortal life. Even if she did love him, there was nothing to slow death that was surely coming for him. She couldn’t remain here forever—better to leave once she was free of the curse and start somewhere else.

“You’re rethinking my offer, aren’t you?” he murmured, leaning his elbows against the bartop. “Five dead women, Elain.”

“I know,” she whispered, closing her eyes. She didn’t want to be anywhere but her bed—and she couldn’t invite him into it. He wouldn’t understand she only wanted protection. He’d read too much into it. He didn’t love her and she loved him and Elain knew if she gave in even a little, she’d want far too much. She’d make mistakes, she’d compromise too much and she’d end up dead anyway.

“You’re not going to stay?” he asked, though it wasn’t truly a question. Lucien’s mouth was set in resignation as a sigh rose through him. “I—”

“Smile,” he interrupted as a patron made their way toward the pair of them. She did as she ordered, bristling at his brusque tone.

“Is that a yes, lady?” he asked, raising his voice loudly. He’d arched a brow, rising to his full height to look at her. Elain blinked, unaware of how the tavern had become silent around her.

“Yes?” she agreed, not realizing what he’d just done until cheers broke out in the space around them. Lucien, too, grinned a dazzling smile. Hoisting himself up over the bar counter, Lucien slid to the floor just beside her. He slid an arm around her and pulled her close. Elain could only brace a hand against his chest and squeeze her eyes shut when his mouth fell on hers.

It was chaste—polite and almost apologetic in its insistency. Her first kiss, she realized with a daze. Lucien cupped the side of her face gently, like a lover getting everything he’d ever wanted. This was a different sort of trap, she realized.

She wanted to be furious and yet—and yet when he went to pull away, Elain curled her hands in the lapels of his tunic to hold him close and kiss him again. It was nothing—she would leave just as soon as Graysen was dead. So what did it matter if she kissed him once or twice, or pretended to love him if it kept her safe? Lucien’s lips were soft and he tasted just as good as he smelled.

“I’m sorry about the ring,” he rasped when they pulled apart, his eyes glazed. “I got ahead of myself.”

Another lie. “It’s fine,” she breathed. There was no ring because this was not real.

Lucien stepped apart to accept congratulations from the largely male patrons. Elain stayed in her chair, dazed from the kiss and the predicament she’d found herself in. Selfless Lucien had given her more than just roots. He’d claimed her publicly, in front of a good fifty something people.

This woman belongs to me, not the dark god of the underworld.

Unaware that Graysen wasn’t even wrong. Elain was a witch. And though she meant no one in the village any harm, it didn’t change the fact that magic coated her veins or that everything Graysen had said was true. She’d come to this place specifically to hide.

To wait for him. What would Lucien do if he realized he’d just betrothed himself to a witch?

Lucien left his tavern in the hands of an apprentice when night fell, earning wolf whistles as he slid his hand against the small of her back.

“I’m going to walk you home,” he said as they emerged into the cool, crisp night. “I want everyone to see—to think we are together.”

“We are,” she said dryly, not daring to look at him. What kind of man went to so much trouble? “You can’t make that kind of declaration thinking you can back out of it.”

A small smile crept over his features. “I trust you’ll find a way.”

“And if I don’t?” she whispered, letting him lace his fingers through her own.

“Lucky me,” was all Lucien said in response. Her head whipped to look at him, catching the pained smile on his face. “Surely you must have guessed…”

Elain felt terrible. “I—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I don’t expect anything. I never have. I just—I know what men like Nolan do, how they whip everyone into a frenzy and send innocent women to the pyre so he can tell our bloodless king he’s rid the land of evil.”

Elain’s heart pounded in her throat. “No one could think I—”

“Who would speak out against a fine lord?” Lucien asked bitterly. “I’d hoped for more time but…”

He drew a breath, stepping beneath the gated entrance of the village. Just in the distance, atop the hillside, lay her little cottage and her garden just beyond. She wasn’t the only one who lived among the plains. Plenty of farmers were counted among her ranks. Elain wasn’t the only one with a massive herb garden, either—though it was likely hers was the only one with so much carefully cultivated and hidden poisons.

All healers maintained gardens like hers. It was how Elain had learned to plan one outdoors to begin with, rather than using pots inside her home where no one could see. Let them walk to her door and see the blooming hydrangeas and the rosemary all woven together. She was no threat to them—that was true.

More than a few people watched them walk out together, clasped hands. The approval on their faces told her that this was what people had hoped for. Unwed Elain Archeron and the handsome tavern keep Lucien Vanserra, betrothed at last. He finished grieving and was ready to try again, and Elain…well, Elain had waited dutifully, had stitched up his broken heart like a good woman ought to.

Elain’s pulse hammered hotly against her skin. They walked silently, unsure what to say to the other. To hear him admit he wanted her—that he would marry her if it came down to it—left Elain without a clever come back. Lucien Vanserra was a distraction she could ill afford. The witch hunter was here, making threats and determined to dig her out. If Elain was thinking about Lucien, she put herself at risk.

She should have ended it right there. Right on her doorstep where he paused, looking down at her with those simmering eyes. Send him home. No man had the right to touch her—the only man who could claim to was the witch killer in the village.

“Would you like to come inside?” she breathed. Lucien blinked, eyes sliding to the round, wooden door behind her.

“Yes,” he admitted.

And though she knew she’d live to regret this moment, Elain let Lucien Vanserra into her home.

Lucien stepped into her cottage with wide, curious eyes. He seemed to dominate the small space, far larger than she’d ever realized right until she’d closed the door. Unaware of how nervous she suddenly was, Lucien peered at the little kitchen and her books lined neatly along the shelves on the wall. While Lucien ran his fingers over the innocuous spines, Elain rushed past him to start a kettle.

What was she doing?

“I always wondered what it looked like up here,” he murmured, turning his attention to a crocheted blanket hanging over her sofa that faced the fireplace. If he hadn’t been there, Elain would have flicked her fingers and brought it roaring to life. Instead, Lucien went to it, stoking the flames with a poker until a rosy warmth filled the space.

He sat, then, not daring to look at the archway behind them where Elain’s bed was hidden. It put her at ease, enough to steep tea leaves and bring him a cup as she sat beside him. His thigh touched her own, his body close enough she could have leaned against him and perhaps absorbed some of his strength.

“Well?” she finally said once he’d had a sip or two. “Is it how you imagined?”

“About,” he admitted, eyes sliding to her face. Elain didn’t dare ask what else he’d imagined, though she could guess. Her own heart was thudding at the very thought of what they could do together. They were betrothed, after all—it was as good as married.

Everyone who saw them leave, who counted the minutes until he didn’t return, would assume as much. Part of her wanted to prove them right while the rest of her knew whatever she’d find would only further damn her.

Lucien drained his tea after another moment of silence. Elain cleared her throat, embarrassment heating her cheeks. “I uh…I’ve never…I um…I’ve never been with a uh…”

“Right,” Lucien mumbled, rising quickly to take his cup to the sink.

“Have you?” she called after his retreating form. He stilled for a moment.

“Yes.”

Of course he had. He’d been engaged, after all. It was a stupid question to ask. Lucien braced himself against the edge of the sink, the muscles in his powerful back expanding and contracting before he turned to look at her.

His eyes betrayed whatever inferno raged within him, exciting her though she didn’t dare admit it. The magic in her body recognized that look, despite his mortal existence, and rose to meet him all the same.

“Are you telling me so I will be careful, or as a warning not to touch you?” he all but growled. Elain couldn’t suppress the shiver that raced through her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, which was the truth of the matter. Lucien prowled forward, dropping back to the sofa with that gleam in his eye. The one that told her if she asked, he’d sweep her off to bed and do every little thing he’d imagined when he wondered about the inside of her cottage.

“Can I kiss you, at least?” he whispered, perhaps guessing that no matter how much he might want to do more, she was going to make him leave. “A proper kiss this time?”

He was coming closer, reaching for her jaw to draw her nearer. He smelled good, warm and rich—that leather and cinnamon that Elain was always thinking about. He paused just before their lips met. “Say yes.”

“Yes,” she agreed, her eyes fluttering shut. It was nothing like the bar. There was heat to his kiss, enough to burn her, to feel as though he were standing before the hearth all but consumed by flame. Elain, too, wanted him to devour her. She was clumsy, moving against him in a mimicry of what he was doing.

He liked it, at least. Liked it enough to wrap his arm around her, to pull her close enough she was straddling his lap, hovering over him like the kiss had been her own idea. Maybe it had been. When Lucien licked the seam of her mouth, pleading for entrance, Elain granted it hungrily. She was lost, adrift in the heady, masculine taste of him—her first ever.

He would be her ruination, of that she was certain. And right then, she didn’t care. Would damn them both for another frantic kiss. Raking her fingers through his hair, Elain didn’t stop him when his own began pulling the hem of her dress up over her legs.

“Can I—” he groaned, kissing her again like a starving man. “Can I touch you?”

He was touching her. Elain didn’t understand what he was asking until that same hand slipped beneath her dress to run the length of her thigh.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Reaching behind him, Lucien pulled the couch cushion to the floor, dragging them both down with it. He’d rearranged her easily her back to his chest, braced against his legs. The cushioned softened the wood beneath them, and when he whispered, “Spread your legs,” while tilting her face for another burning, claiming kiss, Elain could only do as he asked. His hand was back beneath her dress, pulling down her undergarment until he’d flung them somewhere far from them both.

“This engagement isn’t real,” Elain breathed, though the great goddess only knew if Elain spoke those words to Lucien or herself. He kissed down the column of her throat, his hand inching and further and further up between her legs.

“It’s real to me,” Lucien replied. Elain felt the world still for only a moment, dragging her awareness away from the man behind her to the magic thrumming in her veins. Whatever was happening, the fates themselves seemed to approve. And maybe—maybe she was supposed to be here with him, even if it was for only a brief respite of time. Or maybe she just wanted that to be true because for two years, he had been the closest thing to family she had.

Elain cared about Lucien. Cared enough that when he told her to say yes, she did it without question. And when he dragged her to the floor so he could kiss and touch, she didn’t worry he’d hurt her.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered, his other arm banding around her stomach. Elain did as he said, spreading herself apart until her ankles touched his shins.

Elain tried one last time. One last valiant attempt to remind him this was going nowhere. “Lucien–”

“I know,” he interrupted, as though he couldn’t stand to hear the words. His mouth covered hers, claiming a brutal kiss that stole the very air from her lungs. His tongue found her own, stroking just as his fingers brushed along the center of her body. Elain’s hips jerked off the cushion, startled and excited all at once.

“Soo fucking wet,” he growled, teeth nipping at her lip. “Just how I imagined.”

“Lucien,” she panted in response, trying to widen herself, to angle her hips so he’d touch her like that again. He held her tight against him, kissing and sucking at the side of her neck. There would be no mistaking what had happened tomorrow when she returned to the village. The villagers would see those claiming bruises and they’d know that finally—finally—Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra had given in.

Clever fingers rubbed against the sensitive nub of flesh only Elain had ever dared to touch. But Lucien did, moaning softly behind her when he swiped through the slick desire pooling between her legs.

“You will be my wife,” he spoke against her skin, licking the salt from her with another shuddering moan. Elain couldn’t find it in her to protest. Not when she felt as though she were being consumed by flame. And certainly not when Lucien hooked his ankles around her legs to spread her wholly apart, her cunt bared to the fireplace in front of them.

“I want to hear you come,” he whispered. She turned to kiss him, not embarrassed by how she was grinding against his hand. His tongue was relief, heightening the building, pooling pressure pressed against her spine. “I want to feel you on my fingers.”

She didn’t have the presence of mind to ask why he wanted that. She was writhing between his own spread legs, pinned to his body by his ironclad grip. She could feel him behind her, rigid and hard against the base of his spine. He was grinding himself into her, but when she twisted to try and touch him, Lucien batted her away.

“Another night,” he promised, which seemed absurd given she had two perfectly good hands. Lucien redoubled his efforts, his fingers stroking and circling until Elain’s eyes were a vision of bright, dotted stars and her whole body imploded in on itself. Pleasure overtook her, racing through her very marrow until Elain could do nothing but ride through it—she was boneless, at his mercy for as long as he wanted her.

She was happy to be his captive.

Elain came down with a whispering breath. His fingers slowed and then stilled, wiping the wet mess of her release against her bare thigh before he brought them to his own lips. She could only watch, entranced, as he slid them against his tongue before wholly sucking them into his mouth. Licking himself clean of her, Lucien groaned softly, his hips bucking behind her. “I should have started with my tongue. I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Regret should have begun seeping in—and it was, but not how she imagined. Elain regretted he had to leave, and regretted even more that she hadn’t been permitted to touch him. Sensing her rising argument, Lucien kissed her cheek.

“Next time,” he murmured. “Tomorrow, even—though I won’t be in until late.”

“Come whenever you like,” she heard herself saying. “Stay, even, if you want.”

He exhaled. “You could come back with me. Come to my bed…I’ll even make you breakfast.”

She smiled as she replied, “You’ll do that regardless of where I sleep.”

He smiled, too. “I know. I should go before the whole village knows I’ve compromised you.”

“I doubt it matters.”

“Still,” he said, helping her to her feet. “Let me claim a little innocence, at least tonight. By tomorrow everyone will have heard the good news and when I bring you to bed, there will be no surprises.”

She leaned up on her tiptoes, not allowing herself to think about the implications of his words. There would be no marriage, regardless of what he’d said. At best they’d only have this fractured, limited time before she killed Graysen and fled. What would he make of it in the aftermath, she wondered?

She intended to cherish this time. Elain kissed him, delighted when he turned his head for a full, deep kiss.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured.

Elain smiled. “Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came in the form of pounding on her front door. One of the women had gone into labor and needed a midwife. She was bleeding badly, they’d said, and Elain knew how quickly things could go wrong. She’d grabbed her supplies, thinking only once of Lucien’s promise to make her breakfast. He’d understand.

It took hours to deliver a set of twins. By the time Elain managed to turn one of the breech babies around, the sun had risen fully overhead and mom was exhausted. It happened quickly once she managed to get the shoulders through. One healthy boy—and then another. Elain applied salves to halt the bleeding and to help with the bruising and gave a tonic that would help the new mother sleep.

And once she’d cleaned herself up in the washroom and packed away her spoiled clothes, Elain felt a pang of longing—and regret. This was what she’d miss, more than anything. These women, this place, and a job that made her feel important and special.

She wanted to bathe before going to Lucien and begging him to feed her lunch. Even with her apron and gloves tucked away in the bag over her shoulder, sweat clung to Elain. It seemed like an ill omen to go to the man she was infatuated with reeking of another person's blood.

There, just outside the market square, stood Graysen Nolan. He wore a blood red cape about his shoulders, and was dressed in well-made black trousers and a fine cobalt tunic. He turned as she approached, ignoring the villager he’d just been interrogating.

“And you are?” he asked by way of greeting. Elain tensed, her body reacting to his nearness. This was him—this was the hunter. DId he recognize her? Elain met his stare, surprised when his own gaze flicked down her form.

“Elain Archeron, lord,” she replied demurely. He hadn’t recognized her. Oh, how that disappointed her. More and more, Elain was beginning to think he was hardly a true adversary. Merely a bumbling fool who gotten lucky. If he was distracted by her looks, that was even luckier for her.

“Ah. Congratulations on your engagement,” he sneered, never taking his eyes off her breasts. He took his time admiring her form before returning to her face with an arched brow. She understood the suggestion on his face.

He was a lord—what low born lady didn’t want that sort of husband? And thought Elain didn’t believe for one second that was what he was offering, she did think he wanted her to believe her might. She offered him a smile that was just suggestive enough and sank into a bow.

“Perhaps you’ll join me this evening? For dinner?” he pressed.

“Just dinner,” she clarified, noting how he looked at her hand that was without a ring. His smile widened, as though he’d ensnared her in his trap.

But it was him now caught in hers. Elain wanted to know the layout of the lord’s home, wanted to know who would be around—what servants she’d need to get out, who she might also have to incapacitate. If she could get him alone, that would be even better.

But she suspected she might not.

“Of course,” he swore. “Just dinner.”

For now, his brown eyes implied. Elain didn’t disagree with him. She merely allowed him to kiss the back of her hand, revolted by this casual touch he had no right to, before turning back for her cottage. It was there she bathed, taking her time to ensure every last inch of grime and blood was gone from her person. She took care with her appearance, choosing her nicest dress and curling her hair carefully.

Seeing Graysen was work.

But joining Lucien in his bed—that was what Elain prepared herself for. It was why she took such care to make sure she was pleasing to look at, that she smelled good, that everything he’d find, he’d like.

She made her way to Lucien first. Just to see him. Stupid, really, given Graysen might be dead in a matter of days. It didn’t matter, she lied as she made her way back to the village. People beamed as she passed, as if they knew exactly why she looked so lovely. Those smiles widened when she pulled open the door to Lucien’s tavern where he waited behind the bar.

His eyes found her the second she stepped inside and whatever had caused the frown gracing his beautiful face vanished instantly.

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me,” he teased, earning a chuckle from a patron nursing his mug.

“I couldn’t forget you if I tried,” she promised, pleased when he hopped the bar to come to her.

“You look pretty. Is this for me?”

“Yes,” she agreed. He gave her a rather chaste kiss which didn’t keep someone from whistling, though they both pretended to ignore it. “This is for you and only you. But—Lord Nolan has asked me to dine with him this evening.”

The entire tavern seemed to be hanging on their every word. Lucien, who’d been rubbing his hands up and down her arms, froze when he heard the words. “Oh?”

“It’s nothing,” she assured him, looking into those russet eyes. “I couldn’t say no.”

Lucien nodded, forcing a smile on his face. “I know. Of course. How—how long will you be gone?”

“Not long I hope.” The words all came out in a rush.

Behind them, someone coughed loudly, a sound that might have been a concealed he’s a bastard, though Elain couldn’t tell. Lucien brushed a curl from her face.

“Lunch, then? I heard the good news,” he added, arm around her shoulders to lead her to the bar. Elain exhaled, relieved he wasn’t angry. Beaming, she nodded.

“Twins.”

Lunch stretched over hours, with Lucien doing his best to keep her in her chair, talking and laughing and telling him every little thought she had. The other patrons, too, seemed determined Elain would not go to Graysen’s, and when a servant came to retrieve her, the whole tavern had soured. No one wanted to see her go and all of them seemed to understand that Lord Nolan was trying to steal Elain right from under Lucien’s nose.

She appreciated their concern, but each step walked her straight toward a destiny she was grateful to meet. He thought of her as a pretty trinket—a little bit of decoration he could play with while he worked to ruin the peace of their home. Elain was curious about him, though. She’d heard witch hunters were gifted with powerful magic to balance whatever she’d been gifted with.

What lurked in Graysen’s veins, she wondered?

If dinner was any indication, whatever magic he possessed wasn’t special. Elain found herself frustrated as the time passed. He talked endlessly of his great wealth back at the capital and his many conquests. The only time he deigned to ask her anything was when he was curious about other villagers—all women, all young, all beautiful. Elain supposed she knew who he was considering as witches. Typical male brutality. He wasted her time with flattery and flirting, so clearly hoping to bed her.

What Elain did learn was how careless he was. If she dined with him again, it would be easy enough to slip a little poison in his cup. He’d fall over dead and Elain could run for it, packing up in the night and vanishing before anyone ever thought to look for her. She could hide for fifty years—just long enough for everyone to forget her. It sent a pang of sadness through her as she imagined Lucien picking up the scraps she’d left behind. Of realizing yet another woman he’d cared for had left him.

He’d love again, she told herself firmly.

It would have been a kindness to leave him alone. To let Lord Nolan walk her back to her cottage, eyes gleaming when he reached the threshold, just as Lucien had done the night before. And the irritation that bordered on rage when she closed the door firmly in his face with little more than a bow and a murmured thank you.

She stared at the window, noting how he trampled through her garden purposefully before making his way back down. Petulant. Spoiled and cruel. She wanted to be sure he was long gone before she made her way back down to Lucien’s bed—just as she promised.

Fingers gripped her arms, a hand pressed over her lips to suppress a rising scream. “He’s gone,” Lucien whispered against the back of her neck.

“How—”

“I thought he might try something at the door,” he said, letting her twist in his arms. “And I’m terribly jealous.”

“I had it under control,” she told him, unable to pretend she didn’t like the sight of him in her little cottage again. “Who is manning the bar?”

“A friend who is almost certainly robbing me,” he replied cheerfully. “When I said I needed to go so I could defile my new wife, everyone was understanding—”

“You did not say anything of the sort.”

“I implied it,” he replied with that unapologetic grin. “Heavily.”

“I take it you aren’t hoping for a long, drawn out engagement?” she asked dryly.

“I’ll marry you in the morning,” Lucien replied, his voice husky from wanting. “I’ll wake the priestess and marry you right now, if that’s what you want.”

Lucien reached into the pocket of his pants and procured the thing Graysen had been looking for earlier. It seemed far too nice for a simple barkeep to own. The ring Lucien slid against her finger was made of gold, with a pretty orange stone shaped like a bright summer sun now perched against her skin.

“It was my mothers,” he told her, his eyes so impossibly soft. Elain didn’t dare ask if he’d once given it to the other woman—and taken it back when she died. “And now it’s yours.”

She was fooling herself. Elain tried to twist it off, to give it back but Lucien took a healthy step away from her, palms raised. “It’s yours,” he repeated, his eyes flashing with warning.

“Lucien, I…”

“I know,” he said, though he didn’t. He didn’t know at all—didn’t know tomorrow she'd begin brewing a tasteless, colorless poison and as soon as it was done she’d free herself of the curse that bonded her with the worst man she’d ever met. And he didn’t know that because she was doomed to complete this task, she would be forced away from the best one she’d ever met.

That even if she could somehow stay, he’d notice she wasn’t aging one day. That every year he got older while Elain remained exactly the same. No matter what, fate would drag her away from Lucien Vanserra.

It felt so obscenely unfair. Elain looked up at him, wanting more than anything some loophole that would allow her to keep him. She was already drowning in her regrets—what were a few more? She brought her mouth to his, pulling him down as his arms snaked around her waist. Lucien responded immediately, moaning softly when he felt her pressed wholly against him.

He hoisted her into the air easily, like she was weightless and made of nothing but air. Elain wrapped her legs around him, squeezing until he moaned again. Everything she did was merely accidental, hoping he liked the way she touched his back, his hair, his shoulders. Lucien, it seemed, like anything at all so long as she opened herself for him so he could taste.

She hadn’t realized he was walking until they both fell sideways, still wrapped around the other. He’d brought her to bed—just as he’d promised the night before. Elain hadn’t saved herself for any special reason. It had merely worked out that way. She was so focused on killing the hunter destined to try and kill her that she’d had no time to consider romance.

Lucien pressed her into the blanket, grinding against her so she could feel his arousal, just as she’d felt the night before.

“Are you going to let me touch you tonight?” she gasped, arching her neck so he could kiss her there, too.

“Eventually,” he growled. Didn’t he want her to touch him? Elain slid her hand down his clothed chest, trying to thwart him. He grabbed her wrist and pulled it over her head.

“If you touch me, I’ll lose myself,” he told her, kissing her until she was breathless. “I won’t let you stop, and there are things I want to do first.”

“Like what?” she asked, trying to imagine what might take precedent. “I want to touch you. I want to see you.”

Lucien released her to straddle her hips. Eyes locked on her face, he reached for his tunic and pulled it over his head. His body was lovely—all smooth, golden brown skin and lovingly carved muscle. When had he found the time, she wondered? As far as Elain knew, Lucien was always behind the bar of his tavern, monitoring the festivities and doling out food and drink. She’d seen him drinking often, and yet when she reached up to run her hand down his toned stomach, she found herself touching a man who very clearly had dedicated a lot of time honing his body.

She wasn’t complaining. Not when the carved vee at his hips was pointing toward the prominent bulge in his pants. She wanted to touch that, too, and knew Lucien wasn’t going to remove them for her.

He was already reaching for the buttons trailing the front of her dress, put there for ease over style.

“You didn’t finish,” she complained, pulling at the laces of his trousers. Lucien’s hips bucked into nothing as he ground his teeth together.

“You first,” he rasped, pushing the sleeves of her now billowing, open dress off her arms. Elain arched up, pressing her stomach against his cock which earned her another soft, delicious moan.

Elain let herself pretend what was happening was real. That they were two newly engaged lovers finally giving in to the simmering passion between them. Assured he wouldn’t leave her stranded at the altar, that they could have this now.

“Is this what I can expect all the time?” she teased as Lucien made quick work of her underthings.

“An eternity of it,” he swore in the dark. Elain only smiled, turning her head into her hair so he wouldn’t see. He had no idea how wrong he was—but oh, she half wished he was right. At best, if everything went perfectly, Lucien could be assured a decade. At worst, he had a week.

What would her sisters say if they knew how she was altering her plans? For a mortal man, no less—the thing their father had been when he’d so cowardly left their mother to burn on that pyre.

They weren’t here. They’d spit up, were still bound by the borders they’d drawn in Feyre’s blood and whatever she did was between her and the great goddess. It was only Elain and Lucien, back to kissing in the dark. Skin to skin, arms wrapped around the other like they might vanish into mist and shadow if they let go.

She could have stayed like that forever. Ignoring the pooling arousal in her stomach and her own excited need, kissing Lucien felt like the answer to a question Elain had been asking herself her whole life. Like he’d been made specifically for her and her alone—the way she wanted him ought to have frightened her.

And she wondered, as his mouth began to trail down her neck again, licking and sucking and biting, if he wouldn’t understand what she was. If he wouldn’t accept it, even. Her father had, albeit cowardly and without true love. But Lucien…

“Lucien,” she whispered just as he licked her peaked nipple. She was going to tell him, she swore. He looked up, russet eyes bright in the waning moonlight pouring through the window.

“Yes?” he replied softly, his breath fanning against her skin.

Maybe she was a coward, too. Because Elain merely raked her fingers through his hair, snagging on one of the careful braids she liked so much. Maybe he’d accept her—maybe he’d still want her, would still marry her and love her.

But maybe he wouldn’t. And she couldn’t leave it to chance. Not when the witch hunter was on the loose and not when men always believed other men. Lucien could tell—and Graysen would believe him.

“Don’t stop,” she said instead, parting her legs wider so he could fully lay between them.

“I couldn’t even if you begged,” Lucien admitted, running his hands down her sides. His words thrilled her beyond anything—the idea that he was so ruined, so wrecked, that this was the only path forward.

“Gods, Elain,” he breathed, teasing both breasts with those clever fingers she liked so much. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long…what I’d do, if I ever had you here.”

Elain exhaled. “And?”

“I feel brand new,” he said, sliding further down her body, even as his hands remained, drawing soft moans from her. Elain’s hips undulated beneath him, and when Lucien pulled himself up just a little, she could see the slick patch of her arousal gleaming against the trail of copper hair just beneath his navel.

Lucien reclined back on his haunches, hands moving to her thighs to spread her wide open. Elain squirmed beneath his gaze, but Lucien didn’t budge, drinking her in as though she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“I’ve had your taste burned in my mouth all day,” Lucien whispered, lowering himself so slowly, still looking at her spread apart with ravenous hunger. “It’s all I’ve thought about.”

“You’re going to eat me?” she questioned. Lucien kissed her cunt, unaware of how his lips against the most intimate part of her sent a thrill shivering up her spine.

“I’m going to devour you,” he swore.

He gave her no reprieve, no chance to demand he explain before his tongue replaced his lips and he was licking her with wild, desperate abandon. Nothing in her entire life had ever felt half as good as his mouth—as his fingers holding her open as he slid up and down her aching, swollen cunt.

She wanted to make it last and she knew she couldn’t. Not tonight, maybe not if she had a hundred nights with him. And from the way Lucien’s hips were bucking against the mattress, rubbing as though to alleviate his own ache, she doubted he could, too. Elain gripped his head, pushing and pulling alternately to keep him flush against her, to keep his tongue flat against her clit.

Lucien groaned every so often, the sound vibrating through her. Elain rolled into him, chasing the bright, burning release unspooling through her until she couldn’t stop—until she screamed so loud she was sure the village must have heard. Lucien pulled himself off her as she drifted boneless in the dark until the warm, solid weight of his body resettled her.

Lacing his fingers through her own, Lucien whispered, “One moment of pain—just one—for an eternity of pleasure.” She hadn’t realized he’d removed his pants, couldn’t be sure when it had even happened. She certainly felt the proof of it, lined against her soaked cunt, pressing into the opening. She didn’t have the sense to ask what he’d meant until Lucien thrust the long, thick length of himself wholly into her body.

A bright spark of pain made Elain gasp, her eyes pricking with tears. Lucien gripped her hands, holding himself still as he kissed her sweetly. His fingers had been nothing compared to his cock, and the stretch it took for her to accommodate him bordered on impossible.

“Breathe,” he whispered. Could he feel the frantic thumping of her heart? “Take a breath, Elain.”

She did, well aware of how she tightened around him. Lucien’s own breath caught in his throat though he did a good job of hiding how much he wanted more, kissing her instead. It felt impossible to feel so much. He was in her, sharing the same breath, her body—her very soul.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, connected and unmoving as Elain let herself relax and unclench around him. And she wasn’t quite sure when the pain faded into a soft ache she just barely noticed when need crept back in.

Lucien didn’t release the hand he was holding when he realized she wanted more. Eyes searching her own, he merely murmured, “I love you.” She wanted to say it back. She wanted to tell him the truth and knew she couldn’t, not when she was hiding so much from him.

Not when she knew she’d have to leave him. Better to let him think she’d never cared. That the problem was her, and not him. Elain suspected Lucien would blame himself if he believed she loved him only for her to vanish. And she knew, without a doubt as he took that first, long stroking drag in and out of her body, that he’d look for her.

That was unavoidable now. She could see it on his face, peering from those russet eyes. He wasn’t going to let her go easily. Elain pressed her forehead into his shoulder and wrapped her free arm around his neck. She wasn’t letting go of his hand for anything and it seemed he wasn’t either.

Lucien stroked, slow and deep until they were both shuddering from the pleasuring building through them. Elain was taut, pulled by a thread deep in her gut—the one she often felt when she sensed the hunter. This was different, though she wasn’t sure how. Only that fear and hatred were the mark of the hunter and whatever magic wove around her heart felt like love.

It was.

Elain came with a soft cry against his lips, arching into him to take more. Lucien’s careful rhythm stuttered as his breath became ragged and desperate. The hold on her hand was so tight she wondered if he wasn’t bruising her.

“Elain, Elain, I—”

He came with a whimpering cry, face buried in the crook of her neck. His thrusts had become harder, deeper, like he was trying to bury every inch of himself within her. Elain took all of it, holding his gaze to silently say she’d take more. All of it—whatever secrets he had, she wanted them. They couldn’t be any worse than the ones she kept clutched at her breast.

Lucien collapsed against her boneless though hardly spent. She could feel the wild, erratic pulse of his heart pulsating in his cock, a match for her own.

“Holy gods,” he whispered, not bothering to withdraw.

Elain only nodded as Lucien brought their joined hands to his lips for a kiss.

“Lucien?”

“Yes?”

“Can we do it again?”

A slow smile spread over his face and as he dragged the blanket over their bodies, Elain couldn’t help the giggle that tumbled from her lips.

“We can do whatever you like.”

Elain woke up wrapped around Lucien’s body, tucked safe against his chest. They’d been up half the night, and judging from the way the sun filtered through the room, were missed in the village. A polite knocking at the door pulled them both apart, Lucien groaning as Elain slipped on some clothes and made her way to the front.

Before she dragged herself out of bed, Elain indulged in one soft kiss—one Lucien returned enthusiastically.

“I think it was fate to find you,” she whispered, earning a heart stopping smile in response.

The sister to the woman who’d given birth the night before had come for a pain tonic, and a little more herbs to help with bleeding. As she waited, Lucien stumbled into the front room, mercifully wearing pants, though little else. There was no hiding what was happening, then. The woman averted her eyes when she saw his bare chest and Lucien swore, vanishing back into the bedroom to finish dressing.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek and bade her farewell before winking at the woman still waiting on Elain’s couch. Word would spread like wildfire through the village—Elain and Lucien, together as husband and wife. If Lucien backed out now, he had the potential to ruin her reputation, though from the soft, rosy look on his face before he’d gone jogging for the village, Elain very much doubted he would.

It would be her backing out.

She thought of nothing else all morning. Long after her client had vanished and she began grinding and boiling her poison for Graysen, all she thought of was Lucien. She needed to focus, or she was going to burn just as surely as her mother had. Elain could not bare the shame of her sisters learning she’d been bested by a witch hunter—or that the cause of her demise lay at the feet of a mortal man who’d had the audacity to love her.

The urge to tell Lucien everything and beg for his help overwhelmed her when she made her way to the village. A vial of poison—strong enough to destroy half an army—lay in the pocket of her dress. She’d dressed carefully to draw no attention to herself and wound toward the market mid-afternoon where she knew Graysen would be.

All she had to do was convince him to invite her to another dinner where she might slip it into his drink and watch him die. Graysen was waiting, interrogating several older women with those dark, suspicious eyes. Elain couldn’t make sense of him—had no one taught him anything? Or was he so convinced of his righteousness that he simply didn’t care?

“Elain Archeron,” he said with a smile that was anything but friendly. The vendor standing behind a cart of assorted nuts averted her eyes, an apology etched in the harsh lines of her face. “You are all anyone talks of today.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. “Oh?” Because of her dinner—and the potential to betray one of their own, she assumed.

“Do you know the king forbids any unmarried woman from engaging in…” his voice trailed off even as his eyes raked down her body. “And any woman caught doing so is considered…fair game.”

Her heart picked up. “That’s a lie.”

Anger rippled across his features. “So sure, are you? Perhaps I’ll drag you before him and we’ll find out who the liar is.”

He gripped her upper arm, unconcerned with the utter spectacle he’d made before everyone. That was part of the humiliation, she supposed. If they didn’t know what she’d done by then, they certainly knew now.

“Or,” Graysen lowered his face, his breath foul against her skin. “Perhaps you are free for the takin—”

“Get your hands off my wife,” Lucien’s voice interrupted, snapping through the silence like a whip. “Step away from her.”

Graysen turned, though he didn’t release her. Elain’s heart thudded wildly. Wife—he’d called her his wife.

“Wife?”

“Wife,” Lucien confirmed, striding for her like some sunlit prince. “I married her in the dead of night last night because I simply couldn’t wait any longer.”

He angled his head toward the priestess, draped in blue. Teal eyes narrowed in calculation, as though to say I better see you later today, before she nodded her head in agreement to Graysen.

“Take your hands off her,” Lucien repeated, forcing Elain—and every other villager watching—to wonder what he might do if Graysen told him no. There was no deference in his tone. No respect. Only his blazing, unguarded hatred.

Graysen released Elain with a little shove, sending here stumbling toward him. “Rules are rules,” Graysen snapped at Lucien, who merely shrugged.

“Until the king forbids sleeping with your lawful wife, I think she’s safe.”

“Watch your mouth.”

Lucien offered a practically feline grin before sweeping into a flourishing mockery of a bow. “My apologies, your grace.”

Elain reached for his hand as Lucien straightened, the challenge on his face. Everything was going so poorly—all wrong, and not how she’d once imagined. Nesta and Feyre would have incinerated him by now. Elain was forced to be more careful which put her in danger.

Lucien slid an arm around Elain’s body, allowing her to slide her hand—the one that bore his ring—over his shoulder. Graysen noticed, his face rippling with hatred. He’d punish Lucien for this moment, of that she was certain.

Everything was far too tangled. Graysen stalked away, allowing chatter to erupt in the market once again. The pretty priestess held Lucien’s gaze before she approached. “We should get your documentation,” she murmured, cognizant people would be watching. “I’ve just drawn it up.”

Lies. Pretty lies for the ears around them.

“Lucien,” Elain tried to whisper, but he brought his face to hers for a soft, sweet kiss.

“This isn’t how I wanted it,” he whispered, soft enough she might have dreamed the words entirely. “I’m sorry.”

There was no helping what came next. The clasped hands, the vows spoken in the priestesses small temple. Lucien pledged his life for hers and Elain wondered what the mother goddess made of all this. It felt ordained somehow—as if the world had stopped breathing when Lucien spoke those words, and Elain repeated them right back.

A document was procured for Lucien, the date and time carefully altered to fit his lie. To the rest of the world, Elain had been married a full twelve hours already, and her night with Lucien was to be expected. No one in the village would have cared so long as he eventually married her, and Elain wasn’t convinced Graysen hadn’t made the whole thing up simply to soothe his wounded pride.

The whole thing led to a vicious, too fast coupling in the room Lucien lived in above his tavern. She hadn’t cared that he hadn’t taken his time with her, nor did she care when he’d merely lifted her up on his dining table and buried himself with one mighty stroke. She’d clung to him, his words still bouncing through her skull.

My wife, My wife, My wife.

“I’ll come to you tonight,” Lucien had told her in the aftermath, holding her face in his hands. “He won’t remain for much longer and then we’re free.” Elain only smiled, her poison burning a hole in her pocket. She’d nodded, thinking she should say something—anything—for what he’d done.

Thank you.

I love you.

I can’t leave you and I’m scared.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said instead, forcing herself out of his embrace. She still had work to do, still had to kill Graysen somehow. Maybe this was his dark, immortal gift—his brutal cruelty, his ability to destroy communities with little more than a pointed finger. His unending, ugly hatred. She supposed that made Graysen a perfect foil, given how Elain believed everything would work out. That in the end, she’d have happiness.

Peace.

She trudged back to her little cottage, her throat burning with emotion. As she worked inside, Elain began to practice how she’d tell Lucien. He needed to know, needed to understand what she was and why she couldn’t stay. He deserved that, after everything he’d done for her. Misery curdled in her chest as she pictured his revulsion, his horror.

By the time she heard his boots coming up the steps, Elain was a trembling mess. She went to greet him at the door, blinking back tears she didn’t want him to see. Not yet. Not until she’d told him, her voice clear and calm.

It wasn’t Lucien on the other end. Graysen pushed his way into her cottage, a sword on his hip. At the bottom of the path stood four sentries, lingering at the grassy hillside with matching expressions of boredom.

Elain’s heart froze.

“So. Married,” he said, eyeing the dried lavender hanging over her sink.

“Yes,” Elain agreed, still holding open the door. Night hung thickly around them, and Elain wondered how long before Lucien arrived.

Graysen guessed her thoughts. “You’ll be delighted to know that your beloved is currently entertaining a host of drunkards—my men are thirsty.”

She took a breath. “You have no right—”

“I have every right,” he whispered, spinning so quickly she nearly tumbled to the floor. “Did you think I wouldn’t figure you out? Witch?”

Elain swallowed. There was a sword at this side, but worse than that was the magic she knew he commanded—magic designed to destroy her. There would be no rescue, not from Lucien. Only her and her wits could save her.

Elain whirled, reaching for a vase at the end of the table. She smashed it against his face, moving far quicker than she ever dared before. She caught him off guard for only a moment before he whirled and slammed her to the floor with every ounce of strength he possessed.

“Fucking bitch,” he snarled as blood dripped from his face. Elain tried to stand up, but Graysen pressed his boot to her throat, choking the hair from her lungs. Elain clawed at his shoe, twisting to try and escape him, which only made him push harder.

“I am going to enjoy watching you burn.”

Blackness dotted her vision, pulling her into a dark abyss before she could truly fight back. Elain tried—oh, how she tried.

But in the end, Graysen was the victor.

Elain woke to the sound of weeping and wet stone seeping through the fabric of her dress. She groaned, only to find Graysen standing at the bars of the cell he’d thrown her in. Elain hadn’t even known there was a jail in their village. Daylight shimmered somewhere behind him, illuminating him brightly despite the gloom Elain found herself encased in.

“Just in time,” Graysen murmured, his eyes wide with delight. “I was starting to think I’d killed you.”

Elain ran her fingers over her burning throat. “Go to hell,” she whispered.

“You’re heading there soon,” he promised, pulling a ring of keys from his pocket. The sound of weeping intensified at his words, betraying that Elain would not be going to that pyre alone. Just as her mother had done.

As though he sensed the direction her thoughts were heading, Graysen said, “Seems fucking you wasn’t enticing enough to convince the barkeep to come for you.”

The burning in her throat intensified, though Elain didn’t let Graysen see. What had Lucien heard? She’d wanted to tell him the truth of the matter herself but perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered who told him. If Lucien knew and had hardened his heart toward her…Elain couldn’t picture it. Eyes closed, she let herself imagine Graysen strolling in, so smug despite his bleeding face. How he must have lorded it over Lucien that his brand new wife was a witch and he’d been made a fool of.

She could see the hurt on Lucien’s face, knowing he’d given her his mothers ring. Elain still wore it, though she thought she should take it off so he could have it back.

“Wait,” she breathed when Graysen stepped in. “Wait, you have me. Let the rest of them go.”

Graysen blinked. “You’ll all burn together.”

“But—but they’re not—”

Elain reached for him and for her trouble, was thrown black to the damp stone floor. Guards rushed in to bind her hands. She could hear them doing the same to the other pleading women who would go down with Elain. She twisted as Graysen pulled her forward, his face inches from hers.

“You should have taken what I offered when you had the chance,” he whispered. She hadn’t used any part of her magic while he was here, too afraid he’d realize what she was and come charging. But Graysen already had her, and for that, it didn’t matter if she confirmed what he already knew. Elain poured her magic outward, searching for the hunter.

All her anger, her hatred rushed out of her with enough force to slam Graysen to his knees.

He didn’t budge, though she certainly felt a twin reaction of groaning, twisting pain on the other end. A pulsing plea for her to stop from someone too far away to help.

She was going to be sick.

She knew the hunter was there—she’d felt him. She swore it, even as Graysen dragged her out of the dungeon and into the bright light of the village, Elain was willing to stake her life on the hunter somewhere among the crowd of villagers.

There was no joy on their faces. Not like when her mother had burned. No gleeful delight, no celebration. She saw horror and grief as five women were tied to unlit pyres.

No Lucien. That was for the best. Elain couldn’t stand the thought of him standing silent while she died before him. She didn’t want his cold indifference, his hatred, to be the last thing she saw. Elain closed her eyes when the soldiers came forward holding torches and willed herself to feel nothing. To give in to the curling smoke she knew would choke her first without ever feeling the licking flame. She could do that.

Amid the restless crowd murmuring in anger and the pleading women beside her, Elain swore she felt the ground shake. Rage—or something like it, silenced them all. Was it the goddess, angry she’d been thwarted by mere mortals? It was not Graysen’s place to kill Elain, after all.

The torch lit the kindling beneath her feet, warming the wood. Graysen was grinning, watching her with hungry eyes. He’d devour her, just as he’d wanted. She couldn’t look at him, and so she didn’t. Instead, Elain turned her gaze toward the horizon, and wondered what happened once she died.

Someone was coming down the hill, red hair aflame in the sunlight. His steps echoed in her blood as he pushed forward, eyes all but burning with hatred. Her husband.

Lucien Vanserra didn’t take his eyes off her, shimmering with magic she ought to have recognized the moment she’d seen him.

Lucien Vanserra—the man she’d been looking for her whole life. The first person she’d met when she’d come to this village.

And Lucien Vanserra, who spoke loudly as he pushed through the crowd.

“Untie her. Right now. She belongs to me.”

#elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fanfic #i just miss posting elucien #thats literally why this is here im just missing them #and i think this is my favorite thing ive ever written

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