You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

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The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

though that moment is long forgotten the next day when you land the last word in another bicker with bakugou in front of his whole army. you know you shouldn’t have been out here but the best thing about your new fiancé was that he was easy on the eyes. so easy that if you didn’t have one of his servants poking you to get changed or to eat up or to do something, you’d be drooling all over yourself just watching him. this led to you sitting and watching him be a dickhead to his army, shouting at them to work harder, be faster, and to, if it was even possible, be more violent. his vulgarity should make it easier to snap your gaze away from him when he turns to face you though it doesn’t. he’s dressed in tight black cloths, chunky silver jewellery around his neck and always, your pupils drift to the silver band around his finger. the item that connects you both together. he’s dressed casually compared to his warriors who are doused in layers of chest and leg armour, you know it’s another way to prove he’s better than them all, that whilst training them he doesn’t need it. though a sharp curved axe that looks heavy to look at hangs by his waist as a threat. he doesn’t scare you though, especially with how attractive you find the hoop piercings littering his ears and the expensive stolen bracelets across his arms.

he bites at you, face like a sour lemon, “why the fuck are you out here? isn’t there somethin’ you can be doin’ indoors?”

“what is with you and telling me to do something? can’t i just watch you work?”

“it’s not interestin’ and it’s unsafe for you,” he’s annoyed, barking an order at one of his warriors right after.

you think the only thing that’s unsafe is the way he makes you feel when he gets too close, you know your skin is too hot to touch. you notice his warriors staring at him, confused at how he is yet to raise his voice at you and how you’re so okay with being beside him.

“how is it unsafe being around the people who’re supposed to keep our village safe, fiancé?” you taunt and he narrows his eyes at you.

bakugou bends his back to whisper in your ear, lips almost brushing your skin. “my men work so hard they barely see women, let alone ones as beautiful as you. you bein’ here is addin’ an extra distraction and job on my list.”

your breath hitches at the compliment, whispering, “distraction for them or you?”

bakugou doesn’t want to admit it yet he’s rising to his full height and ignoring the smell of baked goods that linger off your clothes. “both. now fuck off.”

“you need to learn some people skills if you want to have a wife, bakugou. you’re acting like a prick.”

bakugou rolls his eyes dramatically, tired of this conversation with you. his soldiers are watching the interaction intensely. they’ve never seen bakugou act anything but strict and merciless, usually solving his problems with violence. they definitely haven’t seen him blush in annoyance from a woman. 

“i’ve never heard that one before, good job. now remove yourself before i do it myself.”

you bite your tongue, deciding to give up with this one though you can’t help but wonder how it must feel to get manhandled and thrown over his shoulder.

“you won’t see me at dinner,” you shout over at him, walking away.

“i definitely will, princess.”

he did end up seeing you, dragging you from your room over his shoulder and plopping you in the dining room.

occasionally, you catch him watching you and he doesn’t look away. his fiery eyes are steady on your body with a frown you can’t translate. you’d be brushing your hands through the flowers landscaped across his home while he sits with the other higher members of his army. he scrunches his nose, his head resting in his palm. he’s gorgeous with his wheat blonde locks and scar through his eyebrow. his bicep is the size of your head and you’re perfectly aware of how easy it would be for him to pick you up and throw you around. bakugou doesn’t turn away when you frown back at him, only when one of his excited army members prods a finger at a map does his attention shift before a bubble of laughter floods from them. you think your fiancé is the butt of the joke from the way his red spreads all across his neck.

your new relationship is rocky, filled with tension and pure impatience. 

at least you’re lucky your family chose a handsome fiancé for you. you watch from afar when thick mighty legs and ass step into the bakugou private lake to bathe. his strong shoulders with more muscles than you thought were possible on a human and a large beautiful figure. bakugou is all wide shoulders and tiny waist, scars and slashes littering the expanse of his back and if you voiced how attractive you found a back you’re sure you would be locked up. you’re surprised to see him without his bracelets or necklaces, the only jewellery still on being his ring and earrings.

the weeds and grass that surround the lake dwarf you whenever you bathe, always droop into your eyes and cover you intimidatingly. yet with him, they stretch tall, pointing to the sun so there’s enough space for him to dunk his head in the water. nature isn’t overwhelmingly large beside him, in fact with all the roughness that is bakugou katsuki, the water and greenery cares for him like a lover would.

his blonde hair curls at the tips with the water, dusting to a darker blonde, matching the deep shades of green. his arm rises to scrape it all off his forehead. the lake glazes his body like a shield and you don’t miss how he lightly pinches a lily stem between his fingers to bring to his nose. he hasn’t even turned around yet and the sight of his back, scrubbing himself clean… you don’t think you’ve ever been attracted to someone so much. not even your father’s old scribe was this attractive and he was the most attractive in your village.

you’re careful to be silent and you’re well aware of how perverted this could turn out. you swear you were just on a walk around his land and now you’re distracted by your fiancé cleaning his body in the lake. he’s completely naked, dripping with water. the dirt that marked his skin is washed away, leaving him golden and shiny in the sunlight. you don’t know what you want a peek of more his chest or his—

“who’s there?”

bakugou turns in your direction in a flash. fuck. you curse the skies because you know you didn’t make a sound. his hearing is immaculate and so are his senses. you debate whether to reveal yourself or if he’ll just leave it. actually, you know he won’t leave it.

“i know someone’s there. reveal yourself or i’ll kill you without question.”

you sigh, flinging your head back and looking to the clear skies. for fucks sake.

you stand tall, faux confident because his ruby jewel red eyes looking at you, paired with a grumpy violent frown, has you feeling lightheaded for all the wrong reasons.

he’s stepped to the shallower end of the lake now, his bare chest in view and finally, his face. he’s so gorgeous. tanned skin, rolls of abs. facial features all in the right place yet with a masculine charm that has you humming. you wonder if he realises.

you step out from behind the tree, chin high. “i was coming to bathe but you’re already here. i’ll come back later.”

you’re lying through your teeth but bakugou can’t catch it, focusing on stopping the flush of red up his neck. now the thought of you naked in the lake beside him is filling his head and he’s rubbing his hand against his forehead roughly.

your eyes study his bicep, then the thick scar under his right pectoral and your body flushes with heat when you think he caught you.

“you didn’t bring any cloth to dry yourself?” he asks, voice deep and troubled.

your eyes widen in alarm, that’s true. stupid lie. “i usually… air dry. stand out in the grass.”

now it’s bakugou’s turn to be surprised, “hah?” he can’t help it. “what if someone sees you?”

you blink, “everybody would know i’m off to bathe. only my maid would be around to watch out. well back home anyway.” that’s true.

bakugou grunts. he needs to get that same routine for you here. “i’ll get out ‘n’ you can bathe. i’ll sit out and watch for you.”

“w-what?” you splutter.

he cannot be here while you bathe and what did you say… air dry? fuck fuck fuck.

“i’m gettin’ out. i was done anyway,”

water ripples around his body as he moves, strong limbs controlling the water. he walks closer to you, the clear lake water inching lower and lower down his hips. you can see the brush of hair leading to his—

you spin around in a rush, “bakugou! oh heavens.”

your chest is heaving, your fingers to your lips. you still hear him moving behind you, bare feet against the grass. his fluffy cloth against his skin.

“i’m hurryin’ up for you. don’t want you complainin’ back to daddy that i don’t let you live your life of luxury,” he remarks and you’re about to spin around to curse him out but you don’t want to get a glimpse of his cock. that’s a lie. you really do but you don’t want him to know that.

“i don’t complain to my father!” you shout, completely flustered, “and i can just come back later.”

“you can turn around. i’m covered,”

you do turn, slowly and now he’s the one lying. he’s only half covered, cloth at his waist covering his chunky thighs and that. just by the indent from the cloth, you know it’s large. still, his shoulders and chest and arms are out. they’re a killer.

you force your eyes to meet his. his jaw is strong, arms crossed against his chest and he speaks his next words like they’re scraping painfully across his throat.

“undress then. i’ll keep watch out for you.”

no, no, no. no.

“you don’t need to do that. i’ll just come back later.”

bakugou shakes his head like his word is law. “you still need someone to look out for you like you had back home. i’m doin’ it.”

“don’t you have army stuff to do? you don’t need to stay!”

he ignores your question completely, “nobody else is here to watch you.”

you blink at him. you’ve never thought about someone seeing you the other days you’ve showered here. it’s not something you’ve cared about since not many people on bakugou’s grounds have access to this lake and if they heard someone here they know to walk away. apart from you apparently. but you can’t go back on what you’ve started now.

“do you not want me to see you naked?” his eyes skim your body and your next breath is weaker. then he quirks a brow that makes you mimic his crossed arms, “y’know i’m gonna have to one day.”

“yes i know that. we aren’t getting married today though, are we?”

bakugou has only ever felt this weird, uncomfortable, childlike embarrassment, stupidly horny, oddly at home mixture when he’s by you.

you’re both looking at each other, though you don’t know each other well enough yet to decipher the emotions in your eyes.

truthfully, you don’t mind him seeing you naked. you have a nagging feeling at the back of your head admitting that you want him to. you want him to like what he sees and feel the undeniable urge you’re feeling about him right now. to touch, kiss and lick the fresh lake water off his skin.

you begin to unlace the front of your cardigan, dropping it to the ground. then you’re kicking off your shoes and your finger is hooked in the strap of your thin dress.

“wait, you’re undressing now? let me turn around or somethin’ woman!” he grumbles,, stepping around you and facing towards his home.

your laugh feels like butterfly wings against his skin, light and melodic and he thinks it’s the first time it’s for him. “i thought you said you’re going to have to see me naked?”

“y-yeah but i didn’t mean…”

you pull your dress down over your breasts and ass, watching it fall gracefully to the ground. next is your underwear and you’re completely naked before your fiancé. though he’s got his beautifully toned back turned away.

“so what did you mean?”

bakugou’s whole face is flushed pink, the tips of his ears red. he wipes his large hand across his face, grateful you can’t see him from the front. “i just meant i will in the future. that’s it.”

you dip your toes in the lake water. it’s sun toasted. warm between your toes. you hum to yourself at the feeling.

it’s silly where your trust for this man comes from. you’ve barely spoken these past few weeks minus snappy remarks and quick-tempered conversations. though you know he wouldn’t turn around for a peek at you so you take your time submerging yourself in the water. you scoop all your hair to sit on your head, re-wrapping it in a silk strip of cloth.

“so i think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had without arguing. if it could be called one,” you try and you notice his head twitch at the sound of his voice.

“i wonder why.”

“what?”

“you sit with me at breakfast for a full three minutes, pushing the food around your plate before runnin’ off like i smell like horse shit.”

“oh,” you pause, biting down on your lip, “you don’t smell like horse shit.”

“yeah, princess. i know i don’t.”

you’re not a princess, you’re a chief’s daughter so you have no clue why he always calls you that. you do enjoy the name though you despise it when it’s used mockingly by him. which it is. often.

 you sigh, “i am not the biggest fan of your breakfast and in the morning i usually run off to pick something up from the bakery.”

“what? how come nobody told me?”

you shrug even though he can’t see you, “nobody comes with me. i sneak out the back.”

you’re not sure why you admit it but you guess it’s that weird trust you have in him. 

“well, we’ll change it then. i can’t have you sneakin’ off just to fuckin’ eat breakfast.”

he doesn’t make it sound like it’s a chore or you’re being childish or stupid. he says he’ll fix it. your chest blooms with warm fervency. you push it away.

“since we’re here i also think your horse hates me. every time i try to stroke him he grunts and growls at me. kinda like you. so that’s why i stay away from you outside.”

this time bakugou laughs. this is the first time you think you’ve ever heard it and the smile naturally flows onto your face too. it’s oddly boyish compared to his body which is nothing but man.

“daisy hates everyone but me. just feed her and she’ll be fine. i’ll give you some food for her next time. she’ll fall in love with you.”

the same question is on the tip of your tongue. how do i make you fall in love with me? because that’s what happens in normal marriages right? not because you, for some reason, want this man’s affection.

“and what’s the excuse for your attitude?”

“i’ve only got attitude because you do,” you accuse.

“really?” he bends to sit down, leaning back on his arms and stretching out his legs in the grass. he’s still got his fluffy cloth around his waist. “that’s why you’re snappy at me before i even talk?”

“i’m just… bored and erm…,” you sigh and it feels relieving, admitting the thoughts plaguing your mind about your new life, “there’s nothing to do around here and i don’t know anybody.”

“i’ve got a library,” he blurts, head turning to the left but he’s unable to see you behind him at that angle, “and we can… i guess you can come drink with me and my friends and their wives. they’re alright.”

“really?” you’re shocked at the prospect. bakugou inviting you to be with him in his free time?

“yeah. you’re gonna meet them anyway and the library you get into with a key. i’ll get my blacksmith to make one for you.”

you brush your hand through the lake water, fixating on the ripples it creates. you weren’t expecting any of this today. who knew your fiancé was willing to compromise? you don’t know how exactly to say thank you, you’re not even sure if you should yet since nothing has come to fruition.

“i don’t mind you turning around. this all just caught me off guard.”

you can tell by his back that he tenses up, muscles tight and bunched. he scrambles to his feet, adjusting the cloth around his waist with his head looking down at himself.

there’s a tight pause in the air minus the soft tweets of birds. “are you in the water?”

“yes.”

“completely?”

you laugh again and bakugou doesn’t mean to flutter his eyes shut. “yes bakugou.”

“soon you’ll be a bakugou. my name’s katsuki.”

“yes katsuki, i am completely in the water sans my head and shoulders. i need it to talk.”

there’s a grumble, one you can’t make the words out of. he shuffles on the spot but still doesn’t turn.

“so are you going to?”

“no.”

“why not?” you frown, watching the six foot five body before you, “what happened to you’ll see me naked anyway?”

“i’m keeping watch.”

you feel a streak of stubbornness gush through your veins. maybe it’s the lack of attention you’ve gotten since being dubbed bakugou’s fiancé or the growing need blooming in your lower half. maybe it’s these odd mixed signals you’re getting from your lover to be.

“katsuki, turn around and look at me.”

“i fuckin’ said i can’t.”

“nobody is going to come and see me, i bathe out here alone all the time!”

“yn, i said i can’t.”

he doesn’t raise his voice the way you see him do with his army. he doesn’t even say it angrily with clenched fists the way you see him get when his army is getting things right. he says it steady yet almost shameful, a whine twinged at the end. it sounds like he wants to but something’s stopping him.

your brain doesn’t connect to the rest of your body when your legs begin to move. towards the lake’s edge with your toes raking through the grass.

bakugou’s head twitches, “the fuck are you doin’?”

your wet hand lands on his arm and he tenses again.

“yn, you… fuck,” he dips his head down.

“what’s wrong?”

he doesn’t tell you, instead he shows you and… holy fuck is it hard to miss.

bakugou katsuki turns around to face you and your first surprise is the way he keeps his eyes directly on yours, not your dripping wet body in the golden evening glow. he’s got a pained frown, pulled eyebrows and baby pink cheeks.  his jaw is clenched so hard that you’re sure it must ache.

your second surprise is the growing bulge under his white fluffy cloth. the thick, long, massive bulge that you think, if your calculations are correct, has to be about eight inches? holy fuck, how will that fit inside you?

“oh my—,”

bakugou looks up to the sky with a loud exhale, “fuck, i’m sorry—,” he’s not sure the last time he’s ever apologised to someone. let alone for being hard.

“w-why? since when?”

bakugou huffs an uncomfortable laugh, rubbing his eyes.

“i could hear you being naked behind me and the fuck do you mean why? d’you know how hard it is to not look at you right now?”

you bite down on your lip, looking down at yourself and remembering oh yeah… you’re naked right now. the only thing on you right now is your pretty ring, glinting in the light, the same as his. you hold your hands behind your back at the observation. he’s attracted to you, like you are to him.

“i said you could. you can look at me.”

with those five words, bakugou’s pupils drop below your eyes. your skin burns wherever his eyes focus. on your lips, the curve of your bottom lip. your soft shoulders with glittering water droplets dotted across them. then your chest and he makes this weird grunty sigh. he wants to cup one or put one in his mouth. maybe cup one and put the other in his mouth. taste the lake water off your skin and circle your cute nipple with his tongue. then your soft stomach, he wants to lay his palms over you, he wants to touch, he’s dying to. then your mound, unshaven and he’s wondering how you taste. whether if he dips his fingers between your plush thighs, will they come away wet? he hums at your hips, thinking about spinning you around to see your ass and if it’s how he imagined it would be under your dress. then your feet, hidden in the grass.

bakugou feels lucky, elated, he thinks you’re so fucking perfect.

you were not expecting that. maybe some horny monologue, but to be called perfect? he gulps, eyes wide like he wasn’t planning on letting that slip.

“i’m not takin’ that back. you’re perfect. better than i imagined.”

“you’ve imagined me like this?”

he snorts, “of course. you haven’t imagined me like this?”

he thinks it’s very possible you haven’t but he risks it by pushing it back on you. he wins because you only give him that glare he’s growing to think is adorable.

“i’ve also imagined your ass and from the front i already know it beats expectations,” he grins and you’re wondering where the shy to show his boner bakugou went.

you shove his shoulder, “you are not what i imagined.”

bakugou doesn’t know what to make of that. he tilts his head to the side, “what did you think?”

you’re surprised at how you don’t feel self conscious or at all awkward being completely naked with bakugou. he’s back to focusing on your eyes though when you talk they drop to your lips and when you move to hold your side, he glances at your breasts. otherwise he’s back giving you his full attention.

“well, everyone back home said you were cruel, vicious and violent. how you were known for going berserk in battle,” you give him a smile he can only class as cocky, “you don’t know how many grandmas i have praying for me.”

bakugou raises his eyebrows. he knows what people say about him so he’s not completely surprised. “i am all those things, though i’m not in a battle with you. i haven’t tryin’ to be. us being bitchy to each other just happened.”

“i thought you hated me.”

“i think you thought you were supposed to hate me.”

you sigh, taking the silk ribbon out of your hair and redoing your bun. bakugou’s been doing a good job so far ignoring the pulsing in his cock. it’s heavy between his thighs and it’s only getting heavier with the sight of your arms in the air, your tits moving too. you’re gorgeous, pretty features all in the right places.

“i guess so? i didn’t want this arranged marriage stuff,” your hands dance in the air as if to explain before landing on your hips, “but i’ll do it for my family.”

bakugou wants you to do it for him, for yourself. he thinks he can get you to admit it.

“i was the same,” he mumbles, “hated how you were suddenly just here. in my space. i wanted to run my village on my own because i know i can but fuckin’ family. don’t wanna disappoint the ‘rents.”

you hum before him in agreement.

“i’ll be good to you. the best son, best chief, best warrior, best husband.” he nods at you and you don’t mean to step closer to him but you do, holding his promise tightly in your chest.

“do you promise?” you look up at him, eyes wide with hope and bakugou never wants to let you down. he hopes he never does.

“swear on my village.”

you freeze. you don’t know what means more to bakugou than his village, his people. you’re breathing heavy and the prickles of warm heat from the sun is making you sweat. actually the promise which feels worth so much more than a marriage certificate is making you sweat.

you lay your palm flat on bakugou’s chest, sinking down to the tuft of dark hair just above the cloth. it’s doing such a bad job at covering him.

“can i help you?”

your voice is sweet, nervous for rejection and bakugou wants nothing more than to just give himself to you. to thrust himself in your smaller palms exactly how he wants.

“i didn’t… i didn’t say that to get somethin’ out of it?” he starts but you only smile at him. how would you react if he kissed you?

“you didn’t do anything. i was the one out here. you only stayed to protect me, right?” your voice is taunting, like a magnet dragging him to you. your palm doesn’t move any lower, waiting on his command.

“but… fuck.”

“you can tell me what you like. i’ve been with a few guys back home so—,”

a large palm covers your mouth with swiftness, “don’t talk about other men around me if you don’t want to get a letter from back home that there’s been a raid.” katsuki’s voice drops octaves deeper and you cross one leg over the other. you guess this is the bakugou people warned you about. you lightly pull his hand off your face with no resistance.

“yes chief,” bakugou rolls his eyes and clenches his jaw. he’s willing to ignore that now. he’ll come back to it later, “so what about me touching your co—,”

bakugou grips your hips before walking backwards with you. your hands fly to his chest, glancing backwards. “why are we going—,”

“i don’t want anyone to see what i’m about to do to you.”

“i’ve told you nobody can see us here. i bathe out here all the time.” you’re now knee deep, now thigh deep in the lake. tall grass and weeds surround you and your fiancé protectively.

“i’m gonna be with you every time you bathe now to look out.”

“that’s not possible. you’re out early in the mornings and back late in the evenings.”

“i’ll change my routine.”

“you’re planning on changing a lot for me, aren’t you?”

“you’re my wife.”

he says it with finality and for the first time, you don’t have a comeback. perhaps that you’re only his fiancé but it feels pointless. you gaze down at his cloth, half submerged in the lake.

“it’s all soaked!”

bakugou wastes no time untying it from his hips, rolling it in a ball and throwing it onto the grass.

“guess we’re both gonna have to air dry.”

finally, your eyes drop to his cock and what a pretty cock bakugou has. maybe that’s the wrong word, since it looks like it could cause damage to your insides. the tip is a round, bulbous, deep pink that you’re wondering how it feels against the inside of your cheek. he’s got three thick veins around his length that curves slightly to the left. the base is so much darker than the rest of him and he looks so smooth. so hard and almost painful.

you give his balls a soft squeeze and bakugou bucks in your hand. his hand clenching around your hips for some type of stability. his crimson eyes are hidden from view, shut and he’s clenching down hard on his teeth, the scar on his cheekbone creasing.

“princess… oh fuck,”

you’re going to be able to see bakugou katsuki, chief of the village and head of the army, fall apart and you’re going to do it to him.

“it’s okay katsuki, talk me through it, tell me how you feel,” you whisper, your voice no louder than the grasshoppers and crickets around you.

“j-just stroke me. tight and hard,” he grunts, head dropping to your shoulder to see what you’re doing to him.

you do what you’re told, fingers circling his length and pumping. he never mentioned speed so you go steady, delighted to hear your name fall from his lips, dripping in pleasure.

“y’know i went out to get that m-massive fuckin’ fish for dinner yesterday all to impress you,” katsuki’s got no clue why he’s admitting this now, not when you’re so close that you’re sharing body heat and he can lick to water off your neck. “you never ate it.”

you never knew that he went and got it, especially not to impress you. there’s barely any space to react not with him holding you so tight. he begins to thrust his hips in your hand.

“i didn’t know you got it for me. i don’t like fish.”

bakugou laughs, deep and gravelly you feel it between your legs and right in your ear. “i know that now, honey. next time i’ll kill a—,” his breath shakes and you’re mesmerised by him, his body. so muscled and strong and he’s yours. “i’ll kill the next village’s golden fuckin’ cow for you. would that impress you?”

you can barely think straight. the next village is barbaric, though that’s nothing for bakugou. you’re nodding before you realise you’re doing so, “yes, yes it will.”

“gonna cover you in silvers and golds,” he grunts and the ring on his finger imprints into your hips, “the next r-raid, gonna take everythin’ you’d like.”

katsuki moans loudly, a whiny, “fuck” accompanied with a dribble of precome over your fingers. his breath is hot and his fingertips are pressing into your hips. you make a move to thumb his head but he stops thrusting immediately. “if you touch there i’ll come and i’m damned if we start this relationship with me comin’ first.”

you loosen your grip on his cock as he lifts his forehead from your shoulder. “can i touch you? want you to come on my fingers.”

your breath halts in your throat. oh you’ve imagined this, not in this situation with your legs in the lake, outdoors and surrounded by lush greenery, but in your private bedroom in bakugou’s quarters. your legs spread on your bed while your thoughts wander to the blonde man and how he’s easily able to wield a weapon.

katsuki doesn’t kiss your mouth, you think he purposely avoids it, instead littering wet nibbles and kisses down your neck and shoulder.

you gasp at a particularly hard nibble, “yes, touch me.”

in your fantasies, katsuki is rough. he pushes you onto the bed, he doesn’t ask whether you’re ready and he always always makes you come. you think he could be like that though right now he’s anything but.

one hand stays at your hip to keep you from twitching as beneath the water bakugou kicks your legs further apart. you hold onto him in surprise but there’s no time to complain as his thick middle finger skims through your centre.

“ha, knew you’d be wet. it’s all in your eyes, honey,”

you just mewl, cheek leaning on his chest. you feel his cock bob against your stomach.

with his single finger he begins to circle your clit and you’ve wanted a release so bad these past few days that that touch alone feels like fireworks lighting up inside your body. your eyes are sliding shut, mouth dropping open as bakugou literally coos in your ear.

“d’you like that? got a pretty fuckin’ wife, don’t i?”

“fiancé,” you whine and you don’t know why you bother to correct him. he feels so safe, his skin cosy and the air fresh. you’re nodding against him, “so good.”

“technicalities. you’re mine either way,” he pecks your temple, rolling your clit on his finger until he hears your breathing become ragged. bakugou looks down at you and he’s not sure what swells within his chest.

he’s been with a few ladies in the neighbouring villages though he’s never felt anything for them minus fleeting attraction. looking down at you with your plush lips parted and your eyebrows furrowed like the pleasure is too much... your smooth skin compared to his scarred chest. your hands are scrambling for purchase, resting between your breasts and his chest and he’s begging to be chest to chest. you’re angelic, unlike anything he’s ever seen before yet so similar to the beauty of nature.

he’s seen it all, he’s done it all. committed the most gruesome of murders, stolen out of greed and lied for his own fulfilment. he knows that in those religious books they keep in the churches with all those sins under his belt, he doesn’t deserve somebody as heavenly as you. with your glares, always opinionated and your strange habits. your shiny hair, your galaxy filled pupils and your curious hands always touching something. he wants to know everything about you, have you by his side, he wants you to like him and soon, maybe love him.

you whine against his chest, a soft, “katsuki.” and he feels like he’s been set alight, a realisation of who he has in front of him ringing through his head.

he wraps his forearm against your lower back and growls in your ear. “gonna make you come all over my fingers. bet you taste heavenly, princess. wanna hear it all, don’t keep anything to yourself. you hear me?”

he wastes no time dipping two fingers into your centre and the friction from your wetness makes him go in like a dream. your arms go around his neck and you’re sure you’re dribbling against his chest. the sensation of him inside, prodding deliciously against your walls has you throwing your head back, “yes,” you moan, “yes, yes, yes.”

bakugou’s amazed at how you begin to bounce on his fingers, fucking yourself back onto him with no thoughts but hedonistic desires. a loud sloshing fills the air, it’s dirty and lewd but neither of you make a move to stop it.

this is the first time you’ve done anything together. the first time sexually but also just your first time completely alone together. you sleep in separate rooms, there’s always servants or soldiers or someone around but now it’s just you and him. you fucking yourself on his fingers.

“i knew, i knew this would feel good,” you squeal, a layer of sweat coating your forehead. bakugou’s hand slides up your stomach then your breasts to cup your jaw.

you look fucked, drowsy eyes, parted lips. though you don’t stop riding his fingers and he watches how your features shift as he thumbs your clit again.

“oh shit,” you breathe and bakugou grins cockily.

“you knew this would feel good? with me?”

your hum of agreement accidentally becomes a high pitched whine, “yeah. your fingers are so…” you arch your hips, chasing his thumb, “so big.”

he chuckles hearty and confident and he swears he’s forgotten the painful heavy limb at his hips until your fist circles it again.

“come with me, katsuki,”

he jolts in your hand. he’ll do anything you say, he didn’t realise it until this moment. but he says it anyway.

“say please, princess,”

you’re pouting, cheeks hot and eyes ready to plead. bakugou knows he’s lucky, he’s lucky you chose him.

“come with me please, i want to feel you come because of me,” you trail off, transfixed by his pupils on you.

“i can do that for you,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your cheek.

you’re both rabid animals in the wild, a pile of heaving chests and moans and grunts in the water. sweat coats you both as your bodies move in sync, chasing the same feeling but together. bakugou thrusts into your palm, not hiding the deep grunt when you thumb his wet cock head. swears fall from his lips whilst you pair a few swears of your own with mewls.

together, you’re messy. lubricated by your own need. you don’t stop moving and neither does he.

“gonna be the best husband. you won’t need anyone else.”

“i don’t want anyone else.”

it’s a switch that goes off inside you. your eyes falling shut, your hips moving faster and your insides clench around his fingers as if you’re trying to keep him inside. your hand slows down on his cock while you come but that’s okay since he splutters over your stomach and under your breasts. loads and loads leak out of him and you keep trembling on his fingers. he finds that despite all the noise you made before, you orgasm in silence. just an open mouth and body slowly going limp.

bakugou keeps thrusting until he’s done and even he’s shocked at how much he’s able to produce. you can’t blame him, he’s been so tense with you around not knowing how to just talk to you and somehow this feels like it’s broken down a few walls between you both.

you come down from your highs clasping onto each other like a lifeline. sweaty palms and clammy skin though you both don’t mind. in fact, it’s something you could get used to really quickly.

“how about we wash off again and do that air dry thing you said?” his voice murmurs in your ear and you lift your cheek off his chest to pay attention to him.

katsuki looks lighter now. his cheeks a natural lovely pink, his carmine eyes glistening and he doesn’t have his typical frown. you actually find his resting face quite pretty and up close you can see how his eyelashes are long and uncurled batting against his skin. his nose is slightly wonky with a bump which you can assume is from fighting and you have an urge to kiss the scar going through his lips.

then you remember him calling you perfect and all the promises he made you before you were even having sex. your fiancé really isn’t who you thought he was. it’s all making you feel… shy, a silly little girl with a crush blossoming inside your heart. he just made you come with his fingers and you did the same to him, there’s no time for this. why he didn’t kiss you when you were so intimate? is that too personal for him? did he not want to?

you meet his eyes then look away to the clear lake below, you scramble out of his touch, weirdly awkward without his heat around you.

“oh yeah, we could. yeah,” you blurt, turning away from him and washing yourself again in the lake.

bakugou watches you, slow to begin cleaning himself again. he washes his chest, his fingers, his face and hair in silence before he says, “do you regret what we just did?”

you spin around to face your fiancé and you gulp. with the sunsetting behind him, the shadow his body creates only makes him look larger, beautiful. just the size of him makes you feel protected and you’re suddenly imagining him giving you a speech about how he’d protect you with his life. well, he did say he’d be a good husband before. his pert brown nipples, his stupidly toned chest and you’ve seen him help the villagers with farming and carrying goods back and forth. all jobs he doesn’t need to do, way below his level but he does anyway. why didn’t he kiss you?

the frown he gives you now though you recognise as a worried one. weakly furrowed brows and wide shiny eyes. he’s cautious and shies away from touching you.

you shake your head, “no, i don't regret it.”

katsuki’s frown doesn’t let up. he brushes all his wet hair off his forehead. “was it shit? did you not like it?”

oh you loved it. coming on his fingers, palms against his chest. next you wanna hold onto his bicep, bite down on it. again, you shake your head and bite down on your lip, “no i really enjoyed it but…” you trail off.

katsuki wastes no time, wading through the water over to you. he slides a palm to your cheek and you’re close to him again. your whole body feels electric. “but what? i can’t be a good husband if you don’t talk to me.”

his thumb traces your bottom lip, his hot breath covering your face. “i just…,” you huff, this isn’t you, “you didn’t kiss me! we did all of that and you didn’t kiss me once!”

he doesn’t mean to but the left side of his lips quirk up in amusement, his other hand sliding to your waist to hold you against him, “i did kiss you. there’s these bruises here to prove it.” he rubs his finger against your neck and you shiver.

“you bruised me?,” you blink and his smile is full blown. you feel like dropping to your knees before him because who knew bakugou katsuki could smile like that? “wait, no i meant on my mouth, you never gave me a proper kiss!”

he agrees with you, nodding slowly like he’s soothing you. his finger even draws shapes on your bare back. “i didn’t. that’s somethin’ you want?”

you have all his attention, and the shyness after your outburst is creeping back in. “yes,” you whisper.

“why?” he arches a brow.

“what?”

“why do you want me to kiss you, princess?”

you remember what he said before, he can’t be a good husband if you don’t talk to him. “it’s something i require. often. you’re the only person i can ask them from.”

katsuki looks satisfied by that answer, with an impressed roll of his lips, he murmurs, “that’s right. only i can kiss you.”

he leans into your lips, firstly brushing his chapped ones against your softer ones and you feel your whole body yearning. “okay.”

bakugou captures his lips with yours as if he’s breathing air into you, though it doesnt cool you, just sets you alight. you inhale him, wrapping your arms around his neck to drag him into you closer than humanely possible and his arms instinctively wrap around your waist. the kiss is controlled on his side, giving, like he knows you’re impatient and you could beg for more.

he pecks and lightly bites down on your bottom lip, only causing you to gasp out for another.

“katsuki,” you sound stern, though he only laughs at you.

“yeah, yeah, i’ll give it to you,”

katsuki slips his tongue into your mouth, your lips parting eagerly. a hand comes to cradle your cheek as excitement sparks down your spine and youre unsure how you lasted so long not doing this. how you have the rest of your life to continue doing this with him. he unsurprisingly tastes like the lake water, fresh air and smells like the fresh greenery around you. he’s easily dominating, controlling the kiss and sucking around your tongue. you moan instantly, completely ravenous and he only grins against your mouth in understanding. 

you want more and more but he pulls away with a smug grin.

“was that good enough for you?”

you look like you’ve been through it. cushion lips, out of breath with sleepy eyes. you’re not about to beg for another when he’s already so cocky.

you do decide to tell the truth though, “yes. could have been longer though.”

he huffs a laugh and your arms tighten around his neck. you want him again, you want to feel him again.

“we have forever, princess. and were gettin’ frog footed being in here.”

you can’t help but laugh at his phrasing, ignoring the soft warmth that spreads at the thought of forever. you guess you do have forever with him. you don't see your desire burning out anytime soon.

you untangle from him, wading through the water and out of the lake.

“there’s the ass i’ve been wantin’ to see,”

you glare at him following behind you, ruby eyes shining in amusement. you swat away a hand coming to squeeze you.

“has anyone told you you’re annoying?”

“no. they don’t wanna get their head knocked off.”

“figures.”

together, you lay out on the grass naked. it doesn’t take too long to dry but since you found out you don’t mind, okay, enjoy being in your fiancés company, you’re relaxed beside him.

“i’m surprised nobody has called you for village business or army business or family business. you’re in a lot of peoples business.”

you turn to face him, grass tickling your neck and cheek but he keeps his eyes upwards to the darkening evening sky, stars yet to appear.

“i tell them not to bother me when i’m bathing. hate getting interrupted during the only time i get to myself.”

you blink awkwardly, “oh, i guess i did that?”

he slowly turns to you, focusing on your lips then your eyes. fuck, he’s been to multiple villages, travelled far and wide and nobody has been as beautiful as you. he almost doesn’t feel worthy to be so close, intimate with you.

“you’re not included in that. you can bother me.”

“really? even before we… made up?”

your foot brushes his shin and he makes no move to shift away.

“i never really disliked you. just didn’t understand you.” he flicks his eyes down your body beside him and you feel your heart thunder against your rib cage, “you can join me in the lake anytime, princess.”

you roll your eyes despite the smile spreading across your cheeks. “now, has anyone told you how flirtatious you are?” you lean on your side to properly face him, a finger tracing shapes across his chest, “if i knew i was missing out on all this, i would have said i hated your food much sooner.”

katsuki grunts unamused though his eyes shine, “i wish you did too. i’ll fix shit around here, it’s your home too.”

“i appreciate that.”

it’s a comfortable silence, you being touchy while bakugou just lets you. the tips of your fingers trace the ridges of his abs, his scars, his marks. you’re careful to avoid his nipples though you keep getting intrusive thoughts to kiss them. his body is undeniably strong, wielding so much strength that there’s so much to touch that you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“you’re very affectionate.” he states.

bakugou doesn’t stay around women long enough to get to this part of cuddly aftercare. being this way around women only comes when he visits other villages with the air of danger and debauchery. he used to think the fact he knew he could get killed for sleeping with women from the other villages made the sex more thrilling though lying outside naked with you is the most comfortable he’s ever felt. like he’s supposed to be here with you and everywhere else he’s ever been was wrong.

you shrug loosely, “everyone would want to touch you.”

your hand brushes against the thick hair on his lower stomach and bakugou frowns over at you.

“that’s not what i wanted to hear. i said you are. not everybody else.”

your voice drops a few decibels, you don’t mean for it to, “do you want me to tell you i think you’re attractive? i’ve been wanting to touch you for a while. watching all these people look at you like you’re their god, people willing to die for you. now you’re out here with no weapons, just pure muscle alone with me. it does something to a girl, you know?” a single eyebrow raises along with the corner of your lips.

surprise has your hands scrambling as two of his large palms find your waist and plops you right on his chest, straddling his body. he grabs his cloth to prop behind his head and he keeps his hands on your thighs, squeezing and massaging. this position is a lot, you hope he doesn’t feel how wet you are on his chest. imagining the wet patch when you shuffle off him makes you flush.

bakugou knows it’s stupid but he doesn’t want you to see how he’s half hard yet, just how easy you get him aroused by touching his chest and talking to him. 

“when do you think you’ll start seeing me as your god? it would make my life a lot easier,” he smirks.

you shake your head, “hopefully never, i want to see you as my husband and friend.”

“friend?”

bakugou feels taken aback at how easy conversation is with you, how he can’t stop talking just so he can hear you talk in return. you’re brushing his blonde locks off his forehead, “yeah, i’d love to be your friend. we did rush into this fiancé stuff rather quickly,” you giggle.

he hums, “friends with benefits.”

“men,” you shake your head mumbling even though you’d say the exact same. “my friends with benefits fiancé.”

“sounds good to me.”

bakugou realises all at once, he’s not as strong as he thought he was. also he can smell your pussy and it’s leaving smears on his chest. “would it be crazy to ask you to sit on my face? i can smell you, princess.”

your jaw drops at his bluntness and you want to roll off and close your legs though he pins you down by your thighs. the heat of your lower half increases intensely. you’d love to just grind on his chest but he’s offering his mouth? yes, you’ve daydreamed about this too.

“oh my god, katsuki.” you splutter and he drags you along his chest.

“cmon, wanna taste you properly. feel you fall apart ‘cause of my mouth,”

you’re not sure how you could even start to say no to him, especially when you only want to say yes. he looks angelic with the new moonlight beginning to dust his golden hair and you know you should be scared with the growing darkness but youre not. the thing that could cause the most damage is ready to beg to eat your pussy.

“you’re unbelievable,” you murmur even though you lift up to crawl up to his face. you’re hovering your heat above him and the man lets out this animalistic moan, his eyes falling shut. you feel a roll of wetness spread through you. bakugou’s hands hold your hips like his life depends on it.

“talk to me, princess. about anythin’ you want,”

“what do you—,”

he practically drops you on his mouth, his lips finding your clit with ease and sucking, hard.

“holy—,” you gasp, your back arching and it doesn’t take long at all for you to start grinding on his face, fingers clenching chunks of his hair like handlebars.

bakugou licks and licks between your legs, you can even feel him swallowing everything he gathers on his tongue before swiping again. your whole body rumbles, feeling as if it’s been set alight. you don’t think you’ve ever been treated with such need, such vigour. you’re a wheezing burst balloon of moans and mewls, rocking on his tongue and flinging your head back every time he nudges your clit.

he pulls you away from him for a single second and you’re already gasping at being away, “talk to me.”

then he dips his tongue in your hole and you’re withering.

“a-about what?” you whine as he stops lapping you up and bites down on your inner thigh, “oh fuck, katsuki!”

you begin to babble, anything that comes to mind, mostly all your thoughts about him. “i-i sometimes watch you carry furniture and hay barrels for the o-old ladies—,” a soft sigh slips through as his thumb presses against your asshole, “i think it’s so a-adorable b-but then you get all sweaty and fuck.” 

bakugou studies you through squinted eyes, every reaction, what you love, what you’re saying to him. he ignores the heaviness of his balls and focuses on pleasuring you. he hums between your legs and your grip tightens in his hair. you’ve been watching him, the same way he’s been watching you all the time.

he doesn’t need to push you to talk more because you’re doing it on your own. swirling your hips on his face, “i see t-the way the women look at you when we’re in town and it m-makes me…” you’re arching your back and bakugou knows your close. he presses down on your ass, sucking your clit between his lips, “it makes me so m-mad, katsuki,” you whine as if you’re close to tears, “thinking about if you’ve ever f-fucked them.”

fuck. oh shit, you’ve been jealous? bakugou knows it’s not healthy for him to get turned on by the prospect but you’ve been so annoyed around him all the time to find out you’ve been jealous? you’ve been staring at him this whole time?

his realisation hits as hard as your orgasm, the sensation rocking through your body, heat springing to the tips of your toes and fingers.

your wail is loud, though you’re both sure nobody is close enough to hear you. again you’re riding his face, taking what’s yours and smartly, he lets you. playing with you till your soft and limp, thighs about to squeeze his head from overstimulation.

he lifts you off him slowly, “okay princess, you’re good,” wrapping you in his chest as you try to regulate your breathing again. 

there’s crickets in the air, hoots of owls and the soft breeze making the trees dance. living in a village as a chief’s daughter, there weren't many opportunities to be outside in the dark and not assume imminent danger. in bakugou’s arms, you’re sure there's nothing you can't face.

bakugou blurts the words before he can even think about them, “i haven’t by the way.”

you glance up at his face, shocked to find how shiny his mouth is from his spit and you. you gasp and when he notices, he just wipes his face with his hand before sucking your juices off his fingers. his pink tongue darts out to taste every bit you left over and you cant help your next words coming out as a mindless flutter.

“you haven’t what?”

“fucked anyone from here,” he shakes his head.

you won’t call him a liar though it feels a little suspicious, “you’re not telling me you’re a virgin, are you?”

bakugou rumbles a laugh you can only find endearing despite the situation. you feel the laugh vibrating in his chest and you even lay your palm against it.

“no, princess i’m not.” 

you blink, you’re not sure why you feel so jealous of people you’ve never met, over a man you’ve known for not even a whole month. you definitely weren’t expecting your new fiancé, chief and leader to be a virgin, heck you’re not either but still it must be nice to be chosen by katsuki and not his family.

“okay,” you breathe.

“what? why do you sound all upset?” he rolls you on your back and lays sideways facing you so there’s no way you can escape his gaze. his rough fingers brush hair out your face before cupping your cheek. “talk to me. i can’t be a good husband otherwise.”

that seems to be the new button he can press to get you sharing all your secrets.

“just that it would be nice to be actually wanted by you instead of just being dumped with me.”

bakugou blinks, hand freezing before frowning, “what the fuck?”

“you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life, so it’s okay if you saw other people too. i think lots of marriages do this. i will probably too later on. i know you didn’t exactly want me and your parents chose me for you like mine chose you and—,”

“yn.” you think it’s the first time he’s said your name all night.

“yes?” you whisper.

“other people don’t matter, none of them matter. d’you really fuckin’ think that i didn’t choose you? that i didn’t have a say in having you as my wife? do you think you didn’t either?”

you’re silent for a moment, pondering on the idea, “what do you mean?”

bakugou huffs a laugh, “there’s loads of chiefs' daughters, army leaders' daughters across the villages, even countries, neighbouring countries. even so, i don’t need this deal our parents made, i can fend for my village.”

you sit up abruptly, looking out to the navy sky and his pupils only follow you nonchalantly, “so why am i here?”

“because i want you.” bakugou claims, loud and clear, “and you wanted me to. otherwise you would have told your parents no like you did to every other dickhead suitor that came your way.”

you glance over at him and he only looks back at you. 

“tell me i’m right. ask my village, i’m never fuckin’ wrong.”

your mouth opens though nothing comes out. bakugou, however, just lays back on the grass, closing his eyes. “couldn’t say no to my beat up face and what did you say earlier? sweaty body helping old ladies?”

you shove his side though he doesn’t move, he just yanks you back down into his chest.

“you’re insane.”

“they always say that to the one that knows the truth,” he lays a kiss on your forehead and you feel at home. then his tone turns stern like a lecture, “i’m yours and you’re mine. nobody is seeing anyone else.” then he stops, biting down on his lips, “but if you do ever think about that then you have to tell me—,”

you shake your head, “no, i only said that in case you did.”

“i fuckin’ don’t. you’re all i need.”

“good.” you trace your finger across his collarbone, “i guess i did choose you. i’d get love letters from the most random men and they’d even turn up at my home declaring marriage with me. a whole song and dance. then you came along with a gorgeous ring and you didn’t even have to say too much, everyone’s heard about you. i thought i said yes to get it all over and done with, my parents wanted me to marry so bad. i think i was just waiting for you.”

bakugou reaches for your hand, kissing the ring on your finger. “i was waitin’ for you too.”

“katsuki?”

“wife?” you poke his side, so he corrects himself not before rolling his eyes, “fiance? princess?”

“it’s getting chilly, so let's go indoors. i’ll put my dress back on.”

bakugou stops you from getting your clothes, “they’re dirty, i’ll just bring you inside.”

“i’m not going inside naked?!”

“i’ll cover you,” and he demonstrates how he’d do so by standing up and effortlessly dragging your body from the floor and into his arms. your chest is against his, your arms around his neck with his arm against your ass. 

“your servants are going to drop dead after seeing us like this so soon.”

“they knew this would happen. they could feel the sexual attraction every time you’d bite my head off for asking you a question at dinner.”

“they were always stupid questions!”

“you never gave me much to work with,” he replies and without too much thought, bakugou presses a kiss to your lips. a soft one like lovers would. “how about you come out with my friends and their wives tomorrow?”

you’re biting down on your lip and nodding before he even finishes, “as friends with benefits fiancés?”

bakugou chuckles, loud and brash, starting the walk up to your shared home, “whatever you want as long as i’m yours.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.