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floral-force · 2 years ago

Text

Lay Me Down to Sleep

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!Reader

summary: Insomnia plagues you during your first night on-base with Task Force 141. A little midnight stroll leads you to the imposing masked lieutenant you'd been warned about. Maybe a common struggle can lead to comfort...

words: 1.8k+

warnings/tags: just really soft stuff here (but my work/blog is always 18+ only), this one goes out to my fellow insomniacs, insomniac!simon "ghost" riley, pride and prejudice mention, all fluff, simon uses “love” to refer to reader, technically pre-slash, soap is a lil shit

a/n: hi, hello, I am back (sort of). I took a long hiatus bc of work/life stress but I cranked this out a while ago and finally feel confident enough to post it. thank you for reading and sticking with me <3

masterlist | read on ao3 | taglist

You stared up at the ceiling of your room, rubbing the heels of your palms into your tired eyes. Hours had passed since you’d gotten into bed to rest up before a briefing in the morning. Sleep still hadn’t found you yet. Maybe it was the time difference—you had flown into England from the States not even 12 hours ago—or maybe it was the stiff mattress. Or maybe it was the way you still thought of the masked lieutenant at Price’s side when you’d gotten off the heli.

Whatever it was, you needed to get over it. You’d read online that sometimes leaving bed to do something other than try to sleep helps, so maybe it was the perfect time for you to check out that tiny little excuse for a kitchen the Scottish private—nicknamed Soap, he’d told you with a wink—had shown you earlier. With a sigh, you got up and wiggled into more modest sweatpants, anxiously pulling at the hem of your shirt as you stepped into your crocs and walked out of the door.

Your eyes finally adjusted to the bright fluorescent hallway light as you reached the kitchen, surprised to see a light on when you opened the heavy door with bated breath. You peeked inside and saw a broad man sitting at a table, absolutely dwarfing it with his size.

“Can’t sleep, eh?”

You jumped at the deep voice and nearly let the door slam, catching it right before impact and slowly closing it. “Uh, no.” You chuckled, walking behind him to the right side of the table.

You reached the chair, then stopped in your tracks when you lifted your gaze off the floor.

It was him—the masked lieutenant.

You could barely make out a quirked-up eyebrow under the shadow of his sweatshirt’s hood as he took a sip from the mug his large hand dwarfed, his fabric mask scrunched up over his nose. Your heart raced and you looked down at the seat of the crummy plastic chair in front of you. The kitchen was now the last place you wanted to be, but you were too tired to make up some shitty excuse to flee.

So, you stood awkwardly in front of the chair, hands in your pockets, biting your lips.

“I’m—” you cleared your throat, “I’m guessing you can’t either, Lieutenant?”

“Never can these days,” he replied gruffly.

There was the sound of another sip from his mug, a thump when it was lowered to the table, and then silence. It was heavy and awkward, and you were certain you’d never felt more embarrassed in front of a commanding officer before, even though you’d fainted in front of one during a basic training run.

There was a heavy sigh. “Christ, ‘m not gonna fuckin’ bite ya.”

“Soap told me you would,” you quipped back.

Soap had warned you about the masked man—Ghost, he’d called him—and told you not to bother him much. “That’s my job,” he’d laughed.

Right now, you felt like you were definitely bothering him.

“Figures,” he grumbled.

You finally looked back up at Ghost, meeting his brown-eyed gaze for the first time since you’d entered the room. He looked at you with curiosity, not malice; somehow, that made you feel a little better, even if it still made your heart race and your palms sweat.

“I just—I can’t stop thinking,” you blurted out, finally responding to the question he’d asked when you’d opened the door with a solid answer beyond your meek “no.”

“I get nightmares.”

It felt like a confession, and you pulled out the chair, cringing when it squeaked across the linoleum floor. You sat down to hear more, crossing your arms on the table and resting your chin on them. Ghost’s eyes tracked your movements, even as he took another leisurely sip from his mug. Now that you were closer, you could smell that its contents weren’t coffee, but tea, the herbal notes reaching your nose.

Before you thought better of it, words rushed out of your mouth. “It’s stupid, but when my insomnia is really bad—like it is now—I call my best friend and ask them to read to me. I’d do it now, but they’re at work.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Gotta love the time difference.”

Ghost shook his head. “Tha’s not stupid at all.” He took a long drink from his mug and set it down. “Whatever works. I jus’ make myself a cuppa, then see what happens.”

“And what’s happening next?” you probed.

He nudged his thumb against the mug and tilted his head. “I think ‘m gonna try reading.”

“Y’all keep books in the kitchen?” you teased.

“Hell no,” Ghost scoffed. “Did’ya bring any wi’you?” he asked.

You pursed your lips and squinted as you thought. “I think I brought Pride and Prejudice with me. I told myself I’d start rereading it since the plane ride over here was the perfect opportunity…but I fell asleep.” You sat up and smiled at him. “Why do you ask?”

He shifted in his seat and his hood fell, revealing short hair and red-tinged ears. “Could I read a bit of it?”

You blinked, a bit stunned at his shy question. Ghost, a man with a taste for Jane Austen? Something about a man like him wanting to read a period romance novel lit a tiny fire in your chest.

“Um, sure.” You stood and took a few steps, pointing at the door. “I can go grab it—”

“No, no, I’ll go wi’you, save you the trip back, yeah?” He rushed to his feet, and you stopped in your tracks at his side, gulping at the way he towered over you.

“If you say so, Lieutenant.”

“Ghost,” he nodded.

“Ghost,” you repeated with a soft smile, leading him to the door.

The walk to your room was silent except for your footsteps tapping on the floor; his boots and your crocs mixing into a twilight harmony. Ghost kept up behind you. Your cheeks burned at the thought of him seeing you in your ratty sweats and shirt and crocs—fucking crocs—as you finally reached your door. You fumbled with your keys, swearing under your breath.

You unlocked the door and hurried across the room to flick on the lamp at your bedside. Ghost closed the door, then loomed over you as you crouched down and rummaged through your backpack. You hummed in triumph when you finally pulled out the beat-up and well-loved book, turning and reaching up to hand it to him. You stood and sat on the edge of your bed, expecting him to leave. Instead, he pulled the chair from the desk across the bed over to your bedside, settling in as he read the back cover. You were suddenly aware of his musky, amber scent because of the short distance, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t feel inviting, much unlike the person it clung to.

“Making sure you like it?” you asked with a nervous chuckle.

“Do you like it, love?” Ghost’s eyes flitted up to meet yours.

The pet name and Ghost’s suddenly soft voice caught you off guard. You reminded yourself it wasn’t personal, that it was a common British thing, that he didn’t mean anything by it, that it was colloquial. It didn’t feel bad or gross—it felt like a warm hug, a gentle kiss on the forehead, a thumb softly stroking across your cheek.

You swallowed and dug your nails into the mattress. “Yeah, yeah! I’ve—I’ve read it, like, twice now.” You silently cursed yourself for stumbling over your words.

He nodded. “Have you ever listened to someone read it?”

“No,” you answered hesitantly.

“Would you like to?”

You nearly choked on your breath. You couldn’t stop your eyes from widening and your lips from parting. Having Ghost read to you would be absolutely unreal—his voice was strangely soothing, washing over you with a gentleness you didn’t think he’d be capable of. And yet, here he sat, staring you down as his thumb stroked the front cover of one of your favorite books, his offer dangling in the air.

“You said being read to helps you fall asleep,” he continued. “You’re gonna need the sleep to handle Price’s brief, I promise you that, love.”

“I mean, yeah,” you replied. “But I don’t want you to think you have to or need to. I’m a big kid, I can force myself to fall asleep if you say Price is really that bad.”

Ghost shook his head. “Nah, I want to.” He reached for the lamp and jerked his head at you. “Get settled, love. You can still get a decent amount’a sleep in.”

“What will you do?” you asked as he dimmed the light.

“Me?” he shrugged as you lay down. “I’ll live.”

“Then I should stay up too.”

“No, sleep. That’s an order,” he said, the command stern yet playful and stoking the fire in your chest. You swore he winked at you, but it could’ve been a trick of the light.

“Fine,” you huffed. You closed your eyes so you could focus on the silky tones of his voice.

“Now then,” he cleared his throat. “Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.”

You smirked. “Off to a great start already, Ghost.”

There was a low chuckle. You smiled, hoping he was looking at the page, but also secretly hoping he was looking at you. Maybe he was, but you could already feel your mind relaxing even though he’d only read the title. There was something in your gut telling you that Ghost was softer than he seemed. The imposing, threatening lieutenant was just a man that enjoyed tea and struggled with insomnia—and apparently, he was a bit of a softie underneath his vest and mask.

As he read, you began to let your mind drift off into dreamland, lulled by Ghost’s dulcet tones and the way he tried to engage with the text, varying his intonation and even chuckling at some of the dialogue and sentences. If he truly didn’t care, you couldn’t tell; he seemed to get more wrapped up in the book the more he read.

“..but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, and noble mien, and—”

“Hm, like you,” you mumbled to your pillow, thinking of Ghost.

There was a pause, then he continued, sounding amused. He probably hadn’t heard you. He was probably just smirking at the next sentence about Darcy’s money, not your sleepy comment. You yawned, your eyes heavy and brain finally quiet enough for sleep to overtake you right as Darcy commented on Elizabeth’s appearance, Austen establishing their complicated and dramatic love-hate relationship.

Ghost wouldn’t tell you he’d blushed at your comment. That would be his sleepy secret.

masterlist | taglist

taglist: @tizylish @dheet @sinfulsalutations @oliviagreenaway @johfaam0 @sofasoap @nickangel13

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost call of duty #call of duty fic #cod fic #soft simon riley #soft ghost #cod mwii fanfic #fluff #did I mention this is fluffy?#absurdly fluffy #my fic #gn reader

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ineylesian · 2 years ago

Note

Hey!! If it’s not a bother, could I request sleeping hcs with the TSF boys (+ könig and graves??) You can do fluff or NSFW (or both.) If you do thank you so much and have a wonderful day!!

SLEEPING HCS

— TSF, KÖNIG & GRAVES X GN! READER

MASTERLIST | AO3

— FT. / simon “ghost” riley, kyle “gaz” garrick, john “soap” mactavish, john price, könig, & graves.

— WARNINGS / partial nsfw, mentions of insomnia, mentions of nightmares & terrors, mentions of separation anxiety.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE / found this in my requests and thought i’d do it to try and clear my writer’s block. even though i’m technically not accepting requests, i’ll most likely do small things like hcs!

CERTAIN PARTS OF THIS WORK ARE MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

SFW

⤫ in all honesty, simon doesn’t sleep much, especially after or during deployments. he has a particular habit of pacing around during the night, and will often sit by you on his side, but he won’t sleep. part of this stems from deep rooted anxieties concerning war; he’s seen what happens to people who let their guard down, and he’s not willing to even think about taking such a risk.

⤫ if you’re also the type of insomniac he finds himself to be, your nights will often be spent staring out of your nearest window or balcony, indulging in mindless chatter until it’s time to hit the road again. in these moments, you’ll find simon more vulnerable than usual, and he’ll take it upon himself to talk about things he wouldn’t dare speak of other times. there’s always an underlying look of distance in his eyes when he speaks of his past, and you know as much as him that he wishes it was different.

⤫ when he does sleep, it starts off distant. he’ll quietly shuffle himself onto his side of the bed, give you more than enough room, and bid a whisper of a good night call before he’s silent. if you choose to face him, you’ll see that he often sleeps straight on his back, half-lidded gaze dragging shapes into the ceiling, and, when he does finally succumb, that’s when he tends to get handsy. part of you assumes it’s because of his dreams, and he’s subconsciously latching out, but you don’t stop him.

⤫ you tend to find yourself being greeted by an ever so slightly contorted face of shock and rapid shuffles every morning. simon knows his sleeping habits, he ends up clinging to you every time he falls asleep, yet he can’t help but utter an apology every morning and scramble to get off you. it takes time to get him to let go of this habit, and eventually he does, waking up only a little less shocked and reluctant to pull away.

⤫ is amazing at making tea for any occasion. if you’re restless, don’t fret, simon has something that’ll put you to sleep halfway through the mug.

⤫ following that, if you don’t like tea, simon is always willing to talk you to sleep. he’s nothing if not a great listener, so he’ll have you ramble until your words are drifting off to meaningless drawls.

⤫ contrary to what others may believe, i don’t think simon would sleep with the mask on. he would only be open to sleeping in the first place if he knew he it was impossible to be compromised, and he knows you, so he’s okay with it. however, when he first started sleeping with you, he did wear it, and it took nearly a year for him to take it off.

NSFW

⤫ simon doesn’t see sleeping sleeping as a terribly different thing than the regular, but the question of whether he’d succumb to such a thing depends on his mood.

⤫ on deployments, chances of sleeping with simon are slim, as the threat of being somewhere he doesn’t know makes him cautious. adding onto that, if you did end up sleeping together, you wouldn’t hear much, as his mind is typically elsewhere.

⤫ cautiousness is a major turn off for him. the chance of you being compromised in such a vulnerable act is something he just won’t risk, so you’d only get to be with him in secure areas.

⤫ his energy fluctuates depending on the type of missions you’d led that day. if something went wrong, (especially concerning you) expect simon to be on the more brash side. scolding flows in and out of as many rounds as you can manage, and when you tap out, he’ll be soon to follow.

⤫ the softer side of simon only really comes out in the safety of your home. not having one himself, being welcomed in the comfort of your place is akin to a haven for him. he’ll treat you as if you were the finest piece of glass he’d ever seen, and would stay in bed with you no matter how restless he feels.

— KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

SFW

⤫ i’m just gonna say, either a totally chaotic sleeper, or so quiet you can’t even tell there’s someone next to you.

⤫ gaz usually tends to lean on the more hectic type of sleeping on deployments, as the adrenaline doesn’t quite leave until he’s completely knocked out. this could be really bad, or really good, depending on if you like to be smothered when you sleep.

⤫ no matter what position you’re in, your limbs are bound to get tangled with gaz’s. on particularly “bad” mornings, you’ll have to wait until he wakes up to escape.

⤫ however, gaz does have a calm side when it comes to sleeping. he’ll knock out with a hand wrapped around your waist, subconsciously pulling you up against his side.

⤫ gaz is a snorer. a quiet one at that, but if you lean in close enough, you can hear it. if you tell him, he’ll insist that he doesn’t and you’re just teasing him.

⤫ i cant stress this enough, but night chats with gaz are a regular. he could talk for hours on end, and it only gets worse when he’s tired. if you’re chatty as well, expect a multi topic conversation with your lover before bed.

NSFW

⤫ accidentally (?) loud. every place you touch seems to be a sensitive spot for gaz, and knowing that, it’s rather simple to get him going. keeping him quiet is always fun, especially when you’re in close proximity to others.

⤫ always has enough energy to please you before bed. though, he does prefer taking it easy so you can both relax properly.

⤫ aftercare is a little tough with gaz, as once he’s tapped out, he’s nearly spent. despite this, he has an iron grip and will refuse to let go despite how sweaty you both are.

⤫ pretty big pillow talker. gaz loves to ramble about the things he wants to experience with you one day, and the intimacy of laying beside you makes him feel like a love struck boy.

— JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

SFW

⤫ hugger, plain and simple. soap’s grasp is so tight that you can’t even begin to pry yourself from his grasp.

⤫ soap is big on swooning over you when he’s tired, no matter how disheveled you may look. he typically puts you to sleep by mumbling sweet nothings in your ear while drawing soft kisses over your hair.

⤫ can also be a chaotic sleeper like gaz, however, he’s usually more on the calm side. he has trouble sleeping if your skin isn’t touching, though.

⤫ would never admit it, but soap loves to be the big spoon. something about feeling you flush against him develops a sense of security in his mind, and makes sleeping much easier.

⤫ sleeps with an eye mask on, and is not ashamed of it one bit. his favorite is the one with cat eyes and ears that you bought him for his birthday.

NSFW

⤫ unlike some of his comrades, soap is down to sleep with you almost anywhere. he’s willingly to play a game of risk if it means he can satisfy you.

⤫ missions tend to get him riled up, and with that, he’s more aggressive in bed. if you can handle it, he’ll take you for a few rounds in a row before abruptly tapping out.

⤫ is super into cockwarming you during the night, especially if you’re too tired to do anything else. the feeling of being inside you puts soap to sleep faster than anything else.

— JOHN PRICE

SFW

⤫ heavy, heavy sleeper. once he’s out, he’s not waking up until the morning.

⤫ prefers to have a cigar before getting into bed. will gladly share a light with you if you’re interested.

⤫ only sleeps on his back, but loves to hold a grip on you. his favorite way to sleep is with your arms wrapped around his neck.

⤫ if you have a hard time falling asleep, price has a few tactics in the back of his head to help. depending on the night, he usually ends up raking a hand through your hair, or softly droning on about something you certainly don’t care about. tea also works if you’re particularly restless.

⤫ on deployments, price doesn’t tend to sleep nearly as much as usual. on some nights, all you can do is stay up and talk until you fall asleep. during the later hours is usually when price lets his words slip, and in those moments do you truly hear how much he values you and the task force.

⤫ doesn’t sleep until the later hours of the night due to his duties as the task force’s captain. however, when he can, price will sit beside you in bed while you drift off, and humor any of your requests until you’re asleep.

NSFW

⤫ despite the pent up stress that follows him through the day, price isn’t a big fan of drawn out sex at night. adrenaline will only allow him to manage a quickie before he’s knocked out.

⤫ however, price is super into giving you oral before bed if you’re willing. and, knowing him, he’ll have you shaking out an orgasm (and exhausted) before the five minute mark.

⤫ off deployment, price is one of the best service partners you could ask for. if you’re restless before bed, he’ll make sure to take his time and deliver whatever pleasures you desire.

⤫ on the other side, if he’s in some type of mood, price will have you singing until your vocal chords run dry. when this happens, you’re both passed out just barely after your last round.

— KÖNIG

SFW

⤫ absolutely massive. in most cases, way larger than you and will absolutely smother you (accidentally.) if you happen to be around the same size as him, expect to be wrestling over blankets every night.

⤫ on the topic of blankets, könig simply takes up so much of the bed that he ended up getting his own blanket. it’s weighted, too, and he is very possessive over it.

⤫ huge fan of soft touches. könig typically isn’t in the mood to talk much when he’s tired, and would rather fall asleep holding your hand.

⤫ always bids you a quiet “schlaf gut” with a kiss on the cheek before bed. it’s one of his odd necessities, but sweet nonetheless.

⤫ pretty clumsy sleeper. könig tries his best to be cautious, especially if you’re a margin smaller than him, but it’s pretty much impossible to keep him from flopping around once he’s asleep. you’ve just learned to deal with sleeping below a giant mass.

⤫ has a similar case as ghost when it comes to wearing his mask to sleep. will only take it off if he’s sure the both of you are safe.

NSFW

⤫ like soap, könig is a huge fan of you cockwarming him to sleep. the feeling puts him at ease, and usually has him asleep pretty fast.

⤫ if he’s more needy, könig will silently plead for you to give him some sort of relief. his favorite way to relax is with your hand wrapped around his cock, and silencing his whimpers with your lips.

⤫ most of your more heated make out sessions are in bed, when you’re too tired to do anything else. könig will be on your lips for hours, and he really gets going when you trail kisses down his jawline.

— GRAVES

SFW

⤫ stomach. sleeper. always has one of his hands on his stomach, and the other is usually wrapped around your back.

⤫ if you’re not allergic to animals, expect to share a bed with one. graves has a small tuxedo cat at home that adores him to no end, and will always manage to shove in between you.

⤫ (reluctantly) graves allows you to pamper him before bed. he’ll be too tired to even complain about the extensive routine you put him through sometimes, and will fall asleep with cucumbers over his eyelids.

⤫ in the summer, graves sleeps like a 50 year old dad. won’t sleep without the window open or ac on, and snores at a moderate volume. however, he’s completely silent in the winter.

⤫ instead of one or two pillows, graves has a singular massive one that he sleeps with. you argue that he should buy something softer, but he wouldn’t trade that pillow for anything.

⤫ if it’s possible, graves needs to sleep with white noise. whether it’s the soft buzz of a random channel on TV, or rain patterning on the window sill, any noise will help him sleep.

— NSFW

⤫ graves sleeps with you, a lot. having sex in the later hours is just his thing.

⤫ if you have the night off, graves will make sure he takes his time with you. he’ll go numerous rounds over a couple hours, and it’ll end with the both of you completely knocked out before it’s really that late.

⤫ on deployments, graves has the drive of a rabbit. he’ll take you almost anywhere, as long as it’s sheltered and safe.

⤫ relating to the last points, if the two of you were on a particularly dangerous mission and couldn’t sleep together, he will be all over you the moment you arrive home. most times, he’ll take you right on the couch in your living room, and you won’t even make it to bed.

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #könig x reader #phillip graves x reader #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #könig smut #könig call of duty #john price #simon ghost riley smut

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earlgreydream · 4 years ago

Text

storms.

| draco x reader | fluff |

short draco drabble

for @acosmis-t who inspires me 🤍

Draco was restless. He wanted to sleep, wanted to relax into the warmth of his duvet and piles of pillows, but his body refused to allow it.

Draco loved drifting off to the low booms of thunder that rolled over the castle, and the sound of the rain coming down on the roof in a steady rhythm. Storms brought him comfort, surrounding him in their unyielding power, pouring out their emotions to the world, washing all the frightening nights away.

His eyes moved along the vines painted on the wallpaper, dancing over names and illustrations. He rose out of bed, finding a cashmere sweater and slipping it over his head. He couldn’t resist the urge to check on you in his restless, insomniac state.

“Lumos,” the word was soft on his lips, and a gentle glow spread from his wand.

His footsteps through the common room were quiet, as if he would disturb the night by announcing his presence in the dark halls. He made his way to your bedroom, slipping through the familiar door.

You were sat on top of your bed, clutching your blanket to your chest and trembling, trying everything to block out the noise of the storms.

“Draco,” your voice broke as you called out to your lover.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here,” he went to your side, wrapping you in the safety of his arms.

“I’m scared,” you breathed, and he got you up off of the bed, leading you to the couch before he started a fire in the hearth.

“There’s no need to be frightened. You’re safe,” Draco promised, kissing your hands. The cold, damp dark was pushed out by the fire, casting golden warmth over your bedroom.

He gently kissed your forehead, urging you back to bed, murmuring softly about you needing to sleep. He protectively tucked you in before joining you, settling down in the warm bed.

“I hate the storms,” you whispered, letting Draco cradle you against his chest.

“I’m not going to let them get to you,” he promised, earning a tiny hint of a smile.

“You’ll stay tonight?” You asked hopefully, pulling the duvet higher over your shoulder.

“I’ll stay whenever you need me.”

You listened to his deep breaths, steadying your racing mind and heart. You melted into the safety of his arms, your eyes growing heavy as his delicate fingers carded through your hair. His sweater was soft against your cheek, smelling like vanilla soap and sauvage cologne.

“Get some rest, my love,” Draco’s gentle encouragement was stern, soothing the leftover simmering anxieties from the storm.

You allowed yourself to relax, trusting his promise to keep you safe. He felt your breathing slow and deepen as you drifted off, settling into sleep. He allowed himself to sleep once he was certain you felt safe and comfortable, his insomnia eased by knowing you were okay.

#earl grey draco #draco #draco imagine #draco blurb #draco fluff #soft draco #draco x reader #draco x reader fluff #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x reader fluff #golden era #hogwarts

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stilemawillow · 3 years ago

Text

MTIJ | Ch.17 You Got Me a Six-Pack Yet I’m Not Allowed to Touch Yours?

|mtij masterlist|

pairing: levi ackerman x reader (eren jaeger x reader)

word count: 10.1k

summary: a girl with a variety of hidden complexes has to live with a french asshole for nine months. easy? on the surface. problematic? definitely. romantic? not too much, or at least they’d make it a point to say so everytime when asked. the end? please, their dynamic isn’t as simple as that.

“What do you mean you won’t make it?”

The kitchen had been lively a second ago but my sharp tone made everybody quiet down and look at me. We’d all been discussing capitalism when my phone had rung and though my father had given me the stink eye for picking up during dinner, now both he and my mother seemed just a bit disturbed by my tone. Levi was the only one who didn’t adhere to the script of this being an excerpt from a dramatic soap opera and I was too outraged because of Eren’s excuse to appreciate that – the kicker was I should’ve predicted it because my boyfriend had stopped fulfilling his relationship duties a while ago. If somebody asked me why I thought that was, I wouldn’t be able to name a realistic enough reason.

Everything had been fine or at least, I hadn’t noticed on time it wasn’t. The renewal of my truce with the intern did a good job of distracting me at first – it still did most days. But the small things I’d overlooked at the beginning of April as coincidences, busy schedules clashing and bouts of miscommunication or forgetfulness had gradually begun piling up – Eren wasn’t texting or calling as often, he had a different excuse every time I tried to arrange a date for us and sometimes, he came up with it after I’d spent hours waiting for him. Now, it was simply a matter of me pretending to be blind and waiting for the problem at hand to fix itself when I knew very well it wouldn’t unless I did something about it. But I couldn’t do anything about it because my boyfriend was actively avoiding me even after his excuses had begun to run out and sound incredibly vague and ridiculous.

I’d thought it was a problem he had to deal with on his own that would pass if I were patient enough – something about the SAT or prom or his parents, but it obviously wasn’t, because he would’ve told me about it by now. It was something else and I didn’t, at any point, become delusional enough to consider it was the fact I spent half my time with my father’s intern. Because we’d handled that, too. Eren stayed close to Mikasa and Armin, and everybody else he had in his friend circle – all the while keeping me at a distance one would call that at which you kept a persistent stranger. People slowly came to notice it as well, which meant it wasn’t just my imagination. But, as in all tales of toxicity told by sad drunk girls at bars late in the night, the less attention my boyfriend gave me, the clingier I tried to be. Naturally, that was something most people would call an effective men repellent and they would be right because it was at that moment I came to realise shit had started clogging my life like it would clog a toilet.

My routine during the second half of April had been to call Eren daily – sometimes twice, text him excessively and check my phone every few seconds because that was how long it took him to reply under normal circumstances and, of course, go to giant lengths to arrange dates for us every three or four days, which, surprisingly back then and expectedly now, all ended before they’d even begun, with me desperately waiting till I got tired and went back home only to be greeted by my father’s insomniac intern, who, each and every time, forced me to sit at the counter so he could lecture me on philosophy and relationships in such a stiff way it always made me laugh. We’d established communication would be the key to solving this issue but talking something out with somebody who went out of his way to avoid the mere sight of me was a pretty complex situation.

I took a break from both it and my obsessively hopeless routine during the first week of May in order to cram for my SAT and when the results came in, I purposefully went to show them to my father, who didn’t, as per usual, treat them as anything special. Thankfully, his colleagues were better at congratulating me than he was and, well, maybe the fact the stoic intern had told me I’d done a good job was enough for the time being. Nonetheless, my success there had been further punctuated by a boost of energy due to the fact a celebration was in order – not just the cake I abused Levi into helping me bake the same night, no, an actual celebration.

And when Eren agreed to come with me to the last of Hitch’s annual parties – because they were so mainstream they got everybody’s attention, including college guys who showed up to pick up high school chicks – I might as well have been on cloud nine. After he gave me the green light, I spent the following week coaxing my parents into letting me go and begging Annie to join because it was our last chance of seeing the inside of Hitch Richards’s mansion and watching drunk people make a mess out of it. My hormones, paired with the typical mood swings of a female stuck in a month full of important dates, paired with the euphoria that Eren would be accompanying me to the party after a month and a half of ignoring me, paired with the delusions in my optimistic head were maybe the reason I didn’t want to make a big deal out of my strained relationship, boosting my patience and timidness to the point even Annie felt weird about it.

It was those same things too that almost made me blow up now when my boyfriend was telling me over the phone, a mere hour prior to the party, that he wouldn’t be able to show up. Because I’d been tolerant and naïve and I’d waited and I’d hoped and I’d gulped down my pride and planned on showing up at my arch-enemy’s doorstep with a six-pack of beer but, obviously, Eren Jaeger – the guy I’d always flaunted as the best boyfriend in the whole wide world – couldn’t do as much as put on a simple jacket and go on a date with his girlfriend after promising he would. That, even in my book, even in the book of somebody who was way more forgiving, was a dick move – not to mention a move Eren would never pull. Not on me and not on anybody. Because he always kept his promises and he was the perfect boyfriend and he was kind and---

It occurred to me that shit hadn’t only clogged my life, it was overflowing and spilling over my composure like it would over the tiles on a polished bathroom floor.

“Eren, do you know how much I had to beg to get permission for this? How long I had to convince Annie to come along?” Not that long once I’d pointed out there might be at least one handsome blond guy she could flirt with but that was beside the point. The point was the effort I’d put into this and the consideration he purposefully didn’t. “You know we both hate Hitch, you know I saved up money to buy beer to coax her into letting us in and you know I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks now and you’re telling me you won’t make it?” Maybe I sounded scary or maybe my senses were so on-edge I perceived the tense silence around the counter as me sounding scary. I would’ve thought the only unaffected person would be my father’s intern – that he’d be paying no attention to the drama unfolding and eating, but I couldn’t hear him doing it; maybe because I was so angry there was a constant buzzing in my ears.

“(Y/N), try to understand. I have something I need to do.” He sounded genuine and desperate but he also sounded deceitful and tired. It would be ironic if he actually got tired of his own excuses. This conversation had played time and time again this month – he no longer spared the effort to be creative, that he had to do shopping or repairs or he was exhausted or he was not in the mood or somebody had asked a favour of him or his father had punished him or his mother was sick or he’d asked Armin to cram together and forgotten. Now it was just this something he needed or had to do – it was where the itinerary began and ended. And I was tired of hearing it because whatever this something was – which might as well be imaginary – I’d come second to last to it for the past month and a half.

“I’m guessing it’s the same thing you had to do yesterday for our date at the cinema when I hung around for an hour before going home.” My father had watched me collapse at the counter after that one. “Or the one from last week when our food at the restaurant got cold.” I’d brought the leftovers home and shared them with my mother. “Maybe it’s the one from when you had to pick me up from Annie’s place and I ended up waiting for three hours and walking a mile to the bus stop in the downpour.” Levi was watching me – he’d made chicken soup and stuffed me with vitamins back then. “Oh, wait, I got it, it’s the one you had to do back at the beginning of the month when you told me to buy everything and wait for a call that never came.” I needed no defence – all examples, and a lot more, had happened ever since he’d decided to be aloof and mysterious. Keeping my pride above all, however, meant I didn’t allow myself to raise my voice – the nonchalant sarcasm would hurt more and it was pathetic to even think I was trying to hurt him.

“It’s not like that. I’m sorry about those times. I was busy.” His apology made me chuckle bitterly. This right here was a perfect example of what a rough patch in our relationship looked like – scarce communication and sides that either partook in hostility or unreasonable behaviour when communication at all occurred. During the past five years, there had only been two other such occasions – one directly caused by Hitch and another one that had resulted in a three-week break – as Annie liked referring to it – that was, of course, aided by my arch-enemy as well. This was the third rough patch in our time together so far and, judging by my tone and his lack of decent explanation, only the beginning of it.

“Never busy enough to tell me what exactly with.” My retort slipped out spitefully, slapping him across the face nice and slow, and making him huff. I could almost picture his guilty expression on the other end of the line, except my frustration blinded me to the point I could only see red. The timing of our relationship problems was truly spectacular this time around – I’d probably deal with them better if this wasn’t one of the most important months in my life. Graduation was a big milestone all in itself, not to mention the one occasion of educational success my parents would attend, but there was also prom to think of – not in the way that showing up without Eren would ruin my reputation, but rather in the way I didn’t want to put a damper on the party for myself because I hadn’t shown up with Eren. I needed him with me in case all that peer pressure for the prom queen and king contest paid off and I got nominated. I needed him with me to just drink punch and have fun, and cheer when Hitch didn’t win a crown.

“I know you’re upset, babe. Next time for sure.”

Beep, beep, beep.

I snapped back to reality when the end of the call was echoing beep after beep in my ear. He didn’t even spare the effort of promising to talk to me on Monday or texting me at any point. Well, I could see why he avoided saying it – because he wouldn’t need to, what with the graduation ceremony being next Wednesday and prom on Friday – we’d see each other on those so there was no need to, let’s say, spend time together inbetween. I swore to God when I was putting my phone down and gritting my teeth, I hated my life for a split second. He’d never once acted like such a jerk – the fact he hung up on me upset me way less than his attitude toward my concerns. He was treating everything like it was small and insignificant. Was I small and insignificant to him?

Sure you are. The mean voice in my head had tried not to intervene too much when it came to Eren because I could do all the work of making myself feel bad on my own. Today, for some reason, she was a straight-up asshole whilst summing up the situation. So, we’ve got a distant boyfriend, a party in less than an hour and prom-stress incoming. Won’t your period be coming along relatively soon, too? Oh, and you’ve got to apply for university when you get your diploma. Sounds like I’ll be keeping you lots of company. I could almost hear her laugh and then the stupidest thing in the world occurred to me. From now on, I name you asshole-me. Now shut up. The mental note was accompanied by my phone thumping against the counter as I put it down and glared at my food for a brief moment. Look, look, somebody’s pitying you.

My gaze snapped upwards, to where my parents were awkwardly clearing their throats while the intern sat across from me, holding his fork with his eyes glued to mine. My lips pursed and, if I were any more conceited, I might’ve thought now would be the perfect time for him to implement whatever evil plan he had of ruining my life had that been the whole point of his internship. I could fancy it was because he’d taken a break since the beginning of April – no harm whatsoever had befallen my social life, maybe because he could see the universe was doing a good job of handling it on her own. And like the only one who didn’t get queasy in the face of discomfort – mostly due to a lack of ability to understand social cues – Levi was alone in his quest of maintaining eye contact with me and clashing with the tense atmosphere I’d created head-on. He clashed with it long enough to see something was wrong. It was when his brow twitched that I might’ve realised I was biting back tears.

We’d established I was too proud to cry. I found no point in it. I’d been on the verge that one time at Eren’s place and he’d seen. Maybe that was why he knew how it looked. And for the sake of taking the humour out of this and exaggerating more than was normal for a regular story, I’d speculate the raven might as well have sprayed himself with onion essence back then. I knew he hadn’t and he knew he hadn’t. I hadn’t cried and that was good, but I wanted to cry sometimes and I felt he’d endorse it if I ever told him that. Even when he was a statue and an asshole, even when he wouldn’t care at all and he would fail at comforting me, I could picture him telling me to go ahead because he’d treat me all the same the next day. If somebody asked, I’d say that was the most tempting part but I was too proud for that, so I only shook my head like it would chase away the sadness and put on my best face whilst turning to my parents.

“Come on, people. The vegetables soaked up the tension. We can go back to eating. And what was that argument about taxpayers you last named?” My mother’s shoulders slouched at my light tone, then my father let out a sigh and went back to the capitalism lecture I’d interrupted. The intern kept watch of my gestures but there was nothing for him to see – I’d be having a deranged monologue about the situation after dinner was done and for now, I’d pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The clock struck ten when I finished washing the dishes, my parents retired to their bedroom to get their sleep and the intern had mysteriously disappeared without a trace right after the end of our meal – probably to brush his teeth because during the past two months I’d figured he couldn’t go a day without it. It was a good hygiene habit but also disturbing the lengths he’d go to in order to be in the bathroom at nine-thirty sharp to maintain his obsession.

The original plan for tonight had been for me to finish eating with the speed of light in order to be dressed and ready for Eren to pick me up from the house at nine. Then we’d catch the last bus for the night that would drop us off at Hitch’s mansion, find ourselves a stray college guy to go buy us a six-pack and we’d wait for Annie, who’d made a point of declaring she’d show up at ten-thirty sharp and not a second earlier. The moment I closed my bedroom door behind my back and plopped down on my bed, I unlocked my phone with the intention to text her not to get dressed, except Eren’s name at the top of my list of recent calls made my thoughts stray. All my previous pondering had led to the conclusion his behaviour was prompted by a secret he wished to keep from me. The goal of the current session of let’s-overanalyse-and-overthink was to classify and dissect the possible identities of the secret. Thankfully for the process and unfortunately for my poor heart, asshole-me (yes, I was implementing it as soon as humanly possible) was the main instigator of the thoughts.

Maybe he lost feelings, you know? She piped, making me snort. He couldn’t have lost feelings when he proposed to me two months ago. Boys can lose feelings and lie about it. Like losing a boner – in a blink. My nose scrunched up and I tried to shake the thought off, then she laughed. On the topic of boner, what if it’s because he can’t bone you? I gaped in offence and slammed my phone down on the mattress in outrage. There were just two months till my eighteenth birthday came along. And what if it’s just two months? You think a man's monkey brain registers that as a short period of time? Be realistic, sex and video games would’ve been your boyfriend’s whole pastime, if you had sex to begin with. Maybe so. But he wasn’t that superficial. Maybe he did have sex. Doesn’t it sound just a bit plausible – he cheats and stops talking to you out of guilt? Not at all – the mere thought of that, stated in such a sly voice made my stomach flip unpleasantly.

Oh, man, that means you two can’t be virgins together anymore. She was weaving a monologue of her own and I was arguing with a glare at the ceiling, persistent and loyal to my beliefs that my boyfriend wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t cheat on me. Ever. Period. And then asshole-me chimed in again, innocently and ever so condescendingly. Why wouldn’t he? Curiosity. Attraction. Got tired of waiting. Yes, fine, there were sound reasons but they wouldn’t be enough to make Eren do it. He’d reassured me one too many times he didn’t need it if we could be together and he’d promised over and over again that he was perfectly fine with waiting. Promises don’t mean shit – you think somebody’s that loyal? If you never learn it’s like it hasn’t happened anyway. All the signs are there – distant, vague, ignorant, secretive. She was blowing chinks in my defences and my head hurt. It was either that or he wanted me to hate his guts, which was entirely impossible and unreasonable either way. Asshole-me had a point. It was shit to admit it. I know, right? Doesn’t that make you feel bad?

“No!” I exclaimed in the empty room, grabbing the sides of my pillow and pressing them against my ears in a useless attempt to block out her nasty voice. She was chuckling and I was groaning. Overthinking was never a good idea and it never would be. Kind of unfortunate that I just had to be one of my default settings. I was kicking my feet into the air and staring at the ceiling, thinking of what I could to do distract myself from the thoughts when it occurred to me I still hadn’t texted Annie. And just as I propped myself up to grab my phone and shine a bright light on my pitiful expression, I caught a silhouette in my balcony door. “Holy crap!” The silhouette knocked on the glass and I jumped to my feet, about to run to my parents and raise the whole house to its feet when the trespassing creep called my nickname. “What the…” I opened the door and a gust of chilly wind hit me in the face as I stared at the intern’s statue-like frown.

“Get dressed.” He was leaning against the railing like he would’ve been leaning against the doorframe had he simply come in through the thing literally everybody else used. I was squinting at him in disbelief and confusion, echoing his command and making him click his tongue. “Yes, princess, get dressed. For the party you begged your father to go to.” He explained annoyedly, making me blink at him like he’d told me to get undressed instead. On the topic of that, this was probably the first time I’d seen him wear red – he’d rolled up the sleeves and the first three buttons were undone. To die for but I was not exactly in the mood to compliment his choice of outfit.

“First of all, what the fuck?” I reprimanded with a scowl, making him snort. “Second, why didn’t you just knock on my door like a normal person?” I was counting on my fingers and he was rolling his eyes like he’d expected it to happen. “Third, you’re out of your mind if you think I’m going after Eren blew me off. Fourth, my father allowed it only if I left by bus by nine-thirty.” I put my hands to my hips and was about to shoo him back to his room – this time through the door seven feet behind us – when he pushed past me and took a seat on my bed. My brows furrowed at his audacity when he spoke.

“First, it’s almost ten-thirty which is why I had to sneak around.” Duh, but I didn’t see how that explicitly meant jumping from his balcony to mine when he could tip-toe to my room. “Second, you shouldn’t miss the party just because your boyfriend isn’t going.” He had a point but my hormonal mind refused to agree too quickly, which was why I only waited for him to lay the entirety of his case out for me to consider. “Third, we can catch a cab. Fourth, stop wasting time and let’s go.” I glared but he was right to an extent – going to the party would be the perfect way to take my mind off the problems I’d probably be overthinking half the night. There was, of course, the problem of leaving the house and returning without alerting my parents. Also the hour and the fact Hitch could turn us away because she hated me enough to not let me in even though I’d shown up with a hot guy and a bribe.

“And how exactly do we leave the house without waking up my mother? You know at this point she’s a light sleeper.” I argued stubbornly, making him snort before urging me to just get dressed. Supposedly, he had it all figured out. Not to mention, I hadn’t texted Annie to call it off – it was too late for that now anyway. She’d just have to wait for us. If I made excuses to myself in order to agree, I actually wanted to go. “Fine, but if we get into trouble, you’re responsible.” He kept silent and stoic as I squinted at him with the last of my obstinacy and headed to my wardrobe with a sigh right after. “Would this make you want to bang me?” I fished a tight (f/c) corset-like top from the pile of almost forgotten summer clothes and held it up for him to observe. I hadn’t expected much of a reaction – thankfully, because he gave less than the bare minimum.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’ll make a college scumbag want to bang you.” His gaze averted and I huffed, muttering it was better than nothing at all before crouching in search of the skinny jeans I had in mind to pair with the top. And since he was still sitting on my bed looking like a snack, I suggested he hopped along while I got dressed. “Do I look like I can jump from balcony to balcony all night long?” I whipped back to face him – he countered my frown with a stubborn glare, then, seeing as neither of us would buckle, I took a random shirt from the pile in my disorganised wardrobe and tossed it at his perfectly styled hair with an order for him to cover his eyes and turn around if he’d be staying. He, in the driest of humour, tied it like a blindfold around his head and stayed quiet while I changed – just his presence made the process times quicker.

Usually, I’d be skipping around the house in just my underwear or my jeans, looking for my mascara or wanting to steal my mother’s blowdryer – this time around it took me less than a minute to put everything on. Oh, the efficiency of an embarrassed hormonal female with a mean voice chanting in her head. I wouldn’t live it down if he saw my bra for the fourth time in two months – asshole-me wanted to pin in on my latent wish to actually show it to him, which was not at all true. I armed my earlobes with silver hoops and my feet – that Levi just had to poke fun at for supposedly being stinky when he knew very well they weren’t after I stuck them near his face just to see him flinch in disgust – with a pair of black high heels. It was a suitable choice because we would be taking a taxi, not a bus. And then, of course, I could swear the intern had lost his mind because he expected us to jump to his balcony and Rapunzel our way down to the ground but with a handmade rope instead of hair.

“You’re kidding me.” I was barefoot, standing on the thick railing of my balcony and watching him next to me. “We can crack our heads like melons.” He didn’t even spare a second to sarcastically compliment the comparison. This was some weird role reversal – because it would’ve usually been me unintentionally dragging him into paranoid espionage bullshit like this. Of course, a little jump never hurt nobody – except we could probably make sneaking out through the door work. Then he jumped and my eyes widened in fright even after he’d landed. He beckoned me over and the first thing I did was toss my heels at him. “If I break my head, the hospital fee will dig you six feet under, asshole.” I glared and he was putting my shoes down whilst reassuring boredly he’d be there to catch me. Catch me, my ass. I wouldn’t need him to catch me. I could make the jump on my own. Maybe he knew his condescending consideration would make me spiteful enough to go along with it.

“Not so scary.” I’d lunged forward and my feet had left the railing before coming to rest on his. My balance wasn’t lost but, a second later, I figured it was because his fingers had wrapped steadily around my forearms. They were tingling and his palm was on my waist as I hopped down from the railing and watched him securely tie the rope he’d made out of cloths to it. And to my comment on how he was sure it wouldn’t come undone or rip as we were going down, he gave a snort. “Because I’ve done this before. A lot.” I watched him work in stupefied silence for the next few seconds and my mind couldn’t for the life of it believe he’d done dumb shit like this before. When I exited my shock, I made sure to ask how many of those times had landed him in the hospital. “None. Because I didn’t want to go. Come on, princess, you can’t tell me you don’t enjoy this.” His retort made me glare half-heartedly as he tugged on the rope to make sure it was secure.

Next thing I knew, he was on the outer side of the railing, holding the rope and making my eyes widen as I reached to grab him when he faked falling. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards when he mocked my hissed “I hate you”. And when he was going down the rope and I was leaning over the railing, watching him wave me down, I dropped my heels with a scoff and pouted when he caught them effortlessly. Yeah, well, we were only on the second floor. Did I enjoy this needless thrill of sneaking out like a maiden from Victorian times instead of just tiptoeing through the front door? Sure, I did. I doubted I’d ever done something this uselessly extra – and since he was well acquainted with my penchant for drama, he was smug about it when my bare feet thumped in the grass next to him. I was putting on the heels and he was calling a cab, then we snuck out the backyard and over the hedge we shared with our neighbours. He bought the beer with my money and the taxi was waiting for us.

“We leave at three.” I spared him a passing stink eye whilst texting Annie. Leaving at three left us just enough time to get tipsy. Maybe I’d figure a way to make him stay longer if we happened to actually begin having fun. But I’d leave that plan for later, I concluded as our knees bumped together. The taxi driver often glimpsed us in the rearview mirror, most likely looking for an excuse to elongate our trip and increase his pay, but the streets were relatively deserted at this hour and he couldn’t will a traffic jam into existence when we were headed to the outskirts. “Leonheardt?” The Neanderthal-like question made me huff before I explained she’d just gotten there and I’d told her to wait up before getting in. He looked out the window and didn’t speak for the remainder of our five-minute ride safe for questioning the mansion’s location and having me lecture him on the layout of the town.

Because we had the “rich” neighbourhood I lived in, the “middle-class” neighbourhood Annie lived in, the “poor” neighbourhood Armin and Mikasa lived in and the centre of the city with its few main streets extending into different directions – towards the community college, the shopping district, the park and the mall. Then we had the “rich” outskirts, where we were currently headed and the “poor” outskirts where the airport was. It was the simplest way I could describe it, which almost got me thinking about my higher education but I pushed the thought down when the cab pulled up on the smooth alley leading to the Richards mansion. Annie was waiting for us, crossed arms inside her leather jacket with her blonde hair in a bun and her phone in her hand. She instantly shook her head upon seeing Levi.

“Jaeger couldn’t come, could he?” I popped an expressive “nope” and she shot back an eloquent: “Dick.” It made me chuckle and we were walking down the alley, watching the mansion in the distance. I knew it would sound ironic but fuck rich people and their long alleys. In the past, the misconception that I also lived in a mansion like Hitch had been quite regular because she constantly went out of her way to point it out. In “normal” people’s minds, rich kids were all the same but, newsflash, I came from a household of let’s-bust-our-asses-for-our-money and she came from old money. Different circumstances, different parents, different incomes, different trauma. She had two cars and no driver’s license. I considered myself superior in that aspect – even if she often teased my dear little Audi. “I ring, you shove the beer at her, Ackerman charm the fuck out of her.” My best friend stated once we were at the doorstep, making Levi and I exchange looks as I clutched the six-pack tighter in anticipation.

The only advantage of being this rich and isolated was the lack of neighbours – which was exactly why the music inside was blasting loud enough for me to think just one ring of the doorbell wouldn’t do the job. Except, less than ten seconds later, the thick door opened and light poured out into our poor unaccustomed eyes. Annie squinted, Levi was a statue and I cringed away, then Hitch’s face showed in the doorstep and I thought we were doomed for a second. Then I realised, by the swaying and the oblivious smile on her lips, that she was so drunk she could barely register who she was letting in. Levi snatched the beer from my grasp and our host’s clueless smile turned into a grin – why, yes, a hot guy providing you with alcohol would make anybody grin. Ignoring all and every courtesy possible, Hitch stepped aside and slurred a lame pick-up line at the raven, who let us pass first and was, as a result, cornered at the door by the fair-haired drunk menace.

Annie and I were giggling at his stoic attempts to brush her off but whereas my blond best friend enjoyed the sight of his misery, I was busy snickering at my arch-enemy’s intoxicated state. It didn’t take me long to realise everybody else matched it perfectly –with no exception whatsoever. Hitch was clinging to the intern’s upper arm for support when he closed the thick door of the mansion behind himself, then I waved him over to where Annie was pushing her way through the dancing crowd into where we speculated might’ve been the kitchen. The raven joined us and I could hear Hitch whining when the music and a passing college guy caught her attention instead. The insides of the mansion were spacious but the crowd was still overwhelming. The lobby by the second-floor giant staircase was full of smokers – the living room we visited next was the dancing floor, the pool table in the corner was where the stoners gathered, the couches in the far end were where the childish spin the bottle and truth or dare games occurred and the giant kitchen was almost deserted.

We thoroughly inspected the different areas before settling on the desolate one. Annie and I were busy discussing the pros and cons of each space in hushes voices right into each other’s ears and my father’s intern was at all times two feet behind us – a lag caused directly by the fact each step he took was accompanied by a drunk girl who ambushed him with her affections. It was astounding watching him swat them away like annoying flies, then we reached our destination. And now, with lots of pride and the noblest of envy, I wished to declare I would kill for such a kitchen. Not a drop of alcohol but I was running circles around the place, caressing the counters and inspecting the automatic cupboards and the first-class technology, not to mention the ornaments in the bar’s design. I knew I was fangirling over a kitchen, Annie knew I was fangirling over a kitchen and even the trio of girls gossiping and handing around a half-empty bottle of whiskey by the fridge knew I was fangirling over a kitchen.

“I’m thinking this would feel like fun if I get drunk.” Annie’s comment made me snort as I spotted a pizza box on the counter. I went to get it and had just lifted it off the polished surface when the sudden presence of a couple making out made me jump back in startlement. The boy had just lifted the girl onto the counter and I almost got a heart attack at the prospect of having been late to remove the pizza from under her. Annie was huddled next to the bar with the pretty design when I hopped on top of it and watched her open the box in my hands. Our eyes turned into little sizzling flames at the sight of the barely touched pepperoni pizza inside. “Is this a good idea without Jaeger?” The music was just a bit muffled in this corner of the mansion – my best friend and I were stuffing our faces and Levi was watching us with a scrunched-up nose when I waved a dismissive hand in the air.

“It’s perfectly fine. True, I haven’t been to a party without him until now but, hey, it’s as you said, Ann – this will feel like fun if we get drunk.” I shrugged with a smile, receiving one and the same suspicious side-eye from both her and the intern. Maybe in some telepathic way, they established this was a bad idea. For the next hour, we shared the six-pack we’d brought along and the whiskey the gossiping trio gave us before leaving for the dance floor. I felt, around the time we were finishing the second six-pack of beer Annie had found in the fridge, that maybe I needed to move around a little in order not to become entirely lethargic. It was thirty minutes past midnight when Annie was stolen away by a blond guy she was tipsy enough to not vocally compare to our Psychology teacher. It was right about then I bolted upright and stated as the ebony-haired intern next to me was staring at his beer, that I’d go dance. And then I was off.

It was ironic how walking proved to be harder than it should’ve been as I wobbled amongst the sweaty bodies in the crowd and narrowed my eyes at the table ahead – I was set on exploring and efficiently drunk and swaying when a handsome guy caught my eye; obviously, I caught his too because he helped me onto the table and handed me a glass of vodka as a gift. Gone were the times of chivalry and flowers – but this was enough for now. The music was loud and I couldn’t dance – I knew how but my body was incapable of being graceful. The guy grinding into me and trying to flirt over the pulsating bass didn’t seem to mind that because he was beyond wasted. I was here to have fun and I was having fun. I was sure I could walk and think properly, although most likely not simultaneously. I didn’t know how much time had passed when a guy in the dancing crowd (Eren?) caught my attention and made my shoulders tense. The alcohol was giving my energy a boost (kind of a contradiction with how the chemicals inside ruled it should’ve been) but it would also wear off if I didn’t drink more. This might’ve been my limit. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t have Eren or Annie warning me to stop. So I gestured for the girls next to me, who’d brought a bottle of vodka along for a dance partner, to give me some of it. The glass was in my hold, the handsome guy’s fingers were on my waist and I chugged some of the transparent contents of the bottle before giving it back. The crowd was blurry and my vision was like a cradle, rocking from side to side. I couldn’t see Annie or Levi anywhere. I got the urge to learn the time. Then the urge to do a flip when I knew very well I couldn’t. Then the urge to smooch somebody. Preferably my boyfriend. But he might hate me now. Then I got the urge to cry.

“Princess, get down. Your legs are so wobbly it hurts to watch.” I knew the voice and the voice knew me. It was almost like I was seeing him for the first time – except this time I was the one looking down at him. He was frowning in the same manner. Glaring the same, too. The blue specks were trying to scold me but the room was too gloomy for that. Pretty. I found myself almost smiling in my daze, then snapping once having processed his words, much like the first time around.

“I’m perfectly fine, asshole. Don’t tell me what to---“ It would’ve been a proud comeback if my heel hadn’t slipped on a puddle of what I thought was beer. I shut my eyes when sharp pain pierced my ankle and braced myself for the fall but the landing was way softer than anticipated. When my lids fluttered open, I was staring at Levi’s face. Handsome features. His hair was messy and I caught the sight of a silver chain around his neck when my stomach performed a somersault. “�� I’m going to puke.” He was making his way through the crowd and I almost thought we were teleporting because we were suddenly in the lobby and he was scolding me for insulting him even when I was drunk. I only shook my head frantically when the cigarette smoke fogging up the place made my stomach do another flip. “No, I’m---“ I took a deep breath and felt it crawling up my throat. “I’m seriously going to vomit.”

The smoke made things worse, along with the smell of sweat, along with the loud music. I put a hand to my mouth when Levi asked the closest guy for directions to a bathroom. He was carrying me up the stairs to the second floor and I would’ve told him to put me down because I could walk… if I could open my mouth at all that was. And I couldn’t, because the pizza and the non-processed alcohol would take it as a green light to go out and party on their own. Being held bridal style by Levi would’ve been nice if it wasn’t for the circumstances requiring it. I could barely process the happening – all I knew was, at some point that was a bit too late for comfort, his arms were laying me on the floor right next to a toilet. I was almost too proud to puke in front of him but that happened, too, the exact second I opened my mouth to order him to wait outside. My throat stung, I was sweating and my stomach was lurching its contents into the toilet bowl.

The taste was terrible and the stench was terrible and the fact my eyes were watery was terrible but it was done at some point and I was too tired to move away from the toilet, leaning on it with both hands and my head on top of them. Levi had been holding my hair away from my face the whole time – now his fingers were just gently combing through it, maybe in an attempt to calm me down. I couldn’t know for sure. I just knew I felt humiliated enough to not be able to look him in the eye, even when he got up to give me toilet paper to wipe my mouth, even when he flushed the repulsive contents of the toilet, even when he gave me some mouthwash he’d found by the sink. I was letting out incoherent whines and he was (“Come on, princess, just a bit. Just to get the taste out.”) taking care of me, and he’d probably done this before, too. He helped me stand – I could bet I wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. My head was dizzy and my vision was blurry and I brushed my teeth four consecutive times with a brush we made sure was brand new. After that, with considerable protests from me, the raven made me sit on the bathroom floor next to him so I could rest. My fingers were shaking when I tied my hair and he lent me his shoulder for support but I settled for thumping my head against the wall instead. We talked for a bit (“How are you feeling?” “Terrible and embarrassed.” “I’ve seen worse. And you had too much to drink.”) before it turned into tired bickering (“… I want more.” “It won’t fix your relationship.” “It will mask my breath so I can make out with somebody.” “You shouldn’t.” “That’s what I came here.” “Not a single douchebag will limit himself to making out.”) which then escalated into me standing up with a scoff and stumbling. He caught me and gave me a knowing glare, then I huffed. Maybe I couldn’t walk or think properly. Not at the same time, no. If so, I had to do them one at a time.

“Good. I can finally get that stupid virginity out of the way.” He instantly shot back we should be heading back to the house and when I paused my thinking to walk out and join the party downstairs, his fingers seized my wrist and tugged. “This has nothing to do with you, asshole. I can have sex with whoever I want.” I raised the index finger of my free hand in the air and slurred the whole sentence so badly even the seriousness of my tone couldn’t possibly compensate. He was still and silent, and he almost looked disturbed. I had two outtakes I wouldn’t share with him during the pregnant pause he made: first, I was too drunk to be funny, coherent or possess a working conscience and second, from the ten he was daily, he’d currently turned to a full-on two hundred.

“It has a lot to do with me because I promised I’d take responsibility for this. I can’t bring you back home hungover and not a fucking virgin anymore.” He raised his voice a bit and my ears felt like they were cringing – maybe I was cringing, too. I yanked my wrist from his hold and stepped back, exclaiming I’d just tell my father it wasn’t his fault. This argument was useless. Levi was right. I was wasted enough to trample all over my morals and that wasn’t like me at all. He was just trying to keep me from making a mistake. “Can you hear yourself? You're not making any sense! Why the fuck would you want to have sex---"

“Because I want to! Because Eren is probably like this because of that! Because I’m a stupid fucking virgin! Because I wanna with you! And--- I don’t know what I’m doing.” Maybe the common sense won in the end. Maybe it did. My speech was incoherent and I wanted to cry again. I was proud and spoiled and my boyfriend was ignoring me and my father’s intern was hot and our truce was going well, so why would I want to ruin it like this right now? He was looking at me so calmly one might have thought I hadn’t just told him in a rather roundabout way I’d wanted to perform coitus with him. And when he stepped toward me with a sigh, my instinct was to step back. My weak ankle gave out and I tumbled back, gritting my teeth at the pain – it was worse than that time I’d broken my leg on Christmas Eve because of George.

My ass hit the floor and my head was about to hit the side of the bed outside the door, except the landing there was softer than expected – again. He’d saved my ass from a cracked skull, again. I hated him for that. My knees were curled against my chest and pressed into his. His forearm was supporting the back of my head and his other hand was on my other side – he’d used it to stop himself from falling into me. My eyes were wide and I could feel his breath on my face. Handsome. So fucking handsome I hated him for that, too. I was spitefully staring into his eyes when the blue specks told me to count. And I was too drunk to refuse. So we began from one and messed up at nineteen, and my head hurt. So fucking handsome. Naturally, it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t jeopardise everything by blurting out something dumb. And I hated him – a lot, so why the fuck…

“… kiss me.” We didn’t have to pretend to be engaged. I hated him. He probably hated me, too, with how much we pestered each other on the daily. I was spiteful when we didn’t bicker. I couldn’t ignore him. I was a hypocrite. I was dumb. I’d promised this wouldn’t happen ever again. I was ruining the sliver of friendship that had been born during the past two months. Asshole-me was laughing, the thoughts were rushing around in my head, then I blinked and suddenly, he was sitting up, shaking his head and telling me to go home. “No.” I sat up across from him and he took a defensive stance, looking as though he could bolt out the door any second now. “I don’t want to go home. I want you to kiss me.” Because I hated him, because he was handsome, because I couldn’t care less, because I didn’t want to think about Eren, because I was crazy and drunk and I made no sense and this made no sense and he’d refuse and I’d wake up and forget and be thankful.

“You sound like a spoiled princess.” His gaze was averted and I would notice in it embarrassment if I were sober. But I was drunk, which made me stubborn instead. There would be no seduction here – there would be persistence. My retort (“It’s the nickname you gave me. Let me live up to it.”) made his lips purse. He wasn’t looking at me. My ankle hurt. My common sense was gone. I hated him. I couldn’t care either way. “You have a boyfriend.” Funny how he was the one using it on me. Usually, I’d be the one saying it if anybody tried coming onto me. But I could barely hear him and I could barely hear myself arguing once more that I didn’t have a boyfriend, I had a boy who didn’t care about me. “He cares.” Levi countered stubbornly, making me sneer at him.

“Is that why he makes me want to cry? Why he ignores me, avoids me, lies to me?” A derisive smile stood on my lips and the raven clicked his tongue, stubbornly avoiding eye contact whilst reminding me the point was this would be wrong. “We’re young and I want to try new stuff. You stopped me downstairs. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re being overprotective, asshole.” His jaw flexed when he gritted his teeth and quickly stated I was drunk and couldn’t think straight. I could correct him I was thinking quite straight, otherwise, I’d be asking a girl to kiss me. I hated him for being this obstinate. I hated him for tolerating me. I hated him for trying to be argumentative. I hated him for being reasonable and logical. I hated him. “Please. Just a kiss.” I was dizzy and he was handsome and he caught my wrist when I reached for him, meeting my gaze when I tried to lean in. “Please.” Maybe this was wrong. Maybe I wouldn’t remember it. Maybe I was cheating just with my stupid intentions. God, I hated him.

And then, against the laws of Physics and the universe, a miracle occurred. He buckled. My mind was wiped blank. His lips were soft. Fuck, they were so soft. There was a hand on my waist, a hand at the back of my neck. So soft. Again, again, again, not just one, more. Feverish pecks turned into longer, slower kisses. My fingers were shaking when they touched his jaw and blindly found their way into his hair. Everything about him was so soft, so pretty, so… nice. Everything was so nice. I almost moaned when his tongue was included in the mix. I didn’t know exactly when he’d lifted me up but when my back rested against the mattress and he was muttering that this was wrong, I couldn’t talk. My chest was heaving and everything was blurry and nice, then he was kissing down my neck and I could feel my eyes rolling to the back of my head at the sensation.

Our shirts were off at some point. He was like a fucking furnace despite the fact he acted cold all the time. The lines of definition along his torso make me gawk, he was telling me he didn’t want to have sex because that would be taking advantage of me or something of the sort, and I was nodding along, nodding along and looking and touching and I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t the most fascinated I’d ever been with somebody’s body. The room was dark but his eyes were glistening and his hands were on my side, fingers touching along its length and making me shiver. Everything was foggy and blurry but he was soft and his lips were soft when I pulled him down for another kiss. It might’ve been the fog or it might’ve been that I’d been spacing out too much but I didn’t know how long we spent in that room – some moments were punctuated by me asking him (“Am I pretty? At least a little?” “You’re fucking beautiful.” “Is that why you’re not rejecting me?” “No, I… believe it or not, I care about you, princess.”) dumb questions and him giving answers from the crook of my neck, where he’d been kissing. He might’ve put effort into saying the right thing. He might’ve spoken his mind. He might’ve lied. I’d like to think he hadn’t been lying but I wouldn’t remember either way. At some point, I pushed at his chest and wobbled over to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet and staring at the tiles across from me was a surreal experience – it was also when I realised the adrenaline of making out had been all that kept me awake. So when I returned to the room and watched Levi lie on the bed, half-naked and bored, it occurred to me the moment was done for. He suggested we left, I countered with a “no” prior to sitting down next to him and complaining I was too tired right now.

“If I let you rest, do you promise you won’t fall asleep?” I swore it on my mother’s debut art piece and he was glaring. We both knew I was lying. Still, he made space for me to lie down. Before that, I took off my jeans and snatched his shirt from the ground, weakly muttering the justification it felt more like a pyjama. My head hit the pillow, I was thinking of checking up on Annie, then the raven spoke. “Don’t freak about this tomorrow.” The warning made me snort and I could hear myself argue, in a mumble, that I would forget it because I’d drunk too much. Maybe it was asshole-me taking the reigns or maybe I just wanted to avoid the emotional complexity of this situation for the time being, but then I told him to try and forget about it, too. It had been nothing. And if we both forgot about it, we’d proceed as per usual with our truce. I could feel he wanted to say something. He didn’t.

I was snuggling the pillow and he was next to me – a living furnace with a perfect body I’d just made out with. I could try and freak out about it right now. But I was too tired for that, too close to the haze, too self-conscious in the back of my mind, too relieved by the fact asshole-me was probably drunk, too and tucked into a cage in some corner of my mind. She’d kept silent. I’d keep silent. I couldn’t allow myself to process this now. Not just because I wouldn’t be able to do it properly (which was part of the reason, of course, because drunk people never made any sense) but because it might ruin the few weeks to come – and I already had one boy indirectly putting me down with his behaviour. I didn’t need a second one to freak out about.

Even if I was at fault for everything. I hated him because he humoured me, because he was kind sometimes, because he’d become something like a friend to me, because I could confide in him, because he lectured me on philosophical topics, because he was always in the bathroom when I needed it, because he’d needed three weeks to make my parents love him, because he was diligent, because he had no manners, because he knocked on my door to wake me up every day, because he didn’t care at all but he could be kind. But he was warm and soft, and I didn’t mind his presence, and we might’ve been friends, and I trusted him. My eyes almost shot open in the gloom. I trusted him. My shoulders tensed in realisation, then, to distract myself from the uncomfortable truth, I reached over and put a hand to his abs – if only to let the hormones take the lead for a little while. And when he slapped my hand away with a curt “don’t”, I only pouted.

“What – so you got me a six-pack yet I’m not allowed to touch yours?” The snarky retort made him click his tongue. I kept my arms away and turned my back to him in latent spite. I hated him but I almost couldn’t when he put the thin blanket over me. And then, just like that, I broke my promise and fell asleep. I wouldn’t remember this tomorrow but it was fine. It would be for the best if I forgot. Because I was drunk and dumb and because it would make things harder. Something about cheating was swirling round in my brain. My feet were cold. The party downstairs was muffled and the bass from the music accompanied me in my hazy dreams.

Something about a duck. Something about bananas. Something about my boyfriend’s teal eyes. Something about this and that, and Annie playing baseball. Something about Levi falling into a giant beer mug. Something about adventures. Maybe dreams meant something or maybe they meant nothing. All Google would say was that getting chased meant fear – in my dream, I was getting chased by an evil twin of mine, dressed exactly the same as I’d been for this party. Maybe that meant something. Maybe asshole-me would say it meant being haunted for the rest of the year by this one mistake I’d made right here in this room with my father’s intern who I no longer referred to using his title. But I couldn’t remember the dream either, so she didn’t. I couldn’t say whether that was for the best or not. Not anymore.

tag list: @unloved-cadillac

#mtij #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman fanfiction #snk x reader #reader insert #the plot thickens #also the old version was such cringe lol #i was essentially writing fanservice for myself but now... it's quality for u (and me)#levi being fucking dumb and soft - i headcanon this #eren... doesn't seem like best boi no more but he is to me

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ineloqueent · 5 years ago

Text

Starstruck: Part 13

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 13 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 12 / Part 14

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.

Warnings: swearing, angst (no, this is not what i was on about a couple of weeks ago)

Historical Inaccuracies:

Brian paused his Ph.D. in 1974, not 1975

I have no idea under what circumstances Queen met John Reid, or when exactly it was decided for him to manage them :)

Word Count: 4.9k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“For god’s sake, Freddie,” Roger hissed, “don’t wake them!”

“You’re the one who’s going to wake them, if you don’t shut up with that shrilly voice of yours.”

Roger gave an indignant cry, but I pressed a finger to his lips. “Shush, darling.”

He pushed my hand away, walking off, before I pulled him back, forcing him to look at the scene before us.

The dappled morning sunlight flooded through the unclosed curtains of the studio windows, washed over the two people who lay in each other’s arms at the foot of the sofa. Whether they slept there because they hadn’t made it to the sofa, or because they hadn’t meant to sleep at all was not outwardly obvious. Considering they were both still dressed, and considering the fact that Brian— the insomniac!— was asleep, the last was probably true.

“Should we not just leave them..?” But I tugged on his sleeve. He sighed, “What.”

“When was the last time you saw Brian sleeping?” I said.

Roger made a noise of amusement. “I try not to make a habit of watching my bandmates while they sleep, Fred.”

I rolled my eyes. “Roger, really. He sleeps less than three hours every night, and even then, we couldn’t have had a conversation in front of him without him waking up. But look at him now.” I gestured to Brian’s sleeping form.

He lay on the floor with his arms drawn around Y/N, his embrace protective, and his breaths deep and slow, while she was curled into his chest, her legs tangled with his. His chin rested on the top of her head, and as he shifted in his slumber, she nestled closer to him, her fingers clutching the material of his shirt.

Roger shook his head slowly. “He doesn’t sleep, he never sleeps. But he’s sleeping now.”

I smiled. “He is.” I threw an arm around Roger’s shoulders and pulled him from the room, leaving the two lovers to their much needed rest. “Oh, Rog,” I hugged him to my side in excitement. “I knew she’d be good for him!”

Roger laughed. “You always know, Freddie.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You awoke to an assault of sunlight on your eyes, and groaned at the thought of it being morning already.

You had the feeling that you hadn’t slept for many hours, but all the same, you knew you’d dreamt something. You couldn’t remember what it was you’d dreamt, only that it had been strange. And beautiful. Something about walking in starlight, across clouds, holding the hand of somebody tall. Someone as beautiful as the stars.

With a wince, you realised that you must have dreamt of Brian. It was just what you needed, for him to invade your dreams as well as your waking thoughts. If you told him of your dream, though, you thought with a little laugh, he’d probably apologise for trespassing.

You sighed and pressed your face into your bedsheets, breathing in the familiar comforts of soap and fresh air and brewed coffee and books and… and…

What..? Lilies?

You flexed your fingers, only to give a start when the surface beneath them moved.

You opened your eyes. Just as Brian opened his.

You inhaled sharply.

You’d been asleep against Brian’s chest.

Granted, his skin was not bare, and neither was yours, so in the very least it was a forgivable offence. But it was an offence all the same, wasn’t it?

His arms were around you, and you didn’t want him to let go of you, so, selfishly, you did not move.

He reached up to rub his eyes, and you remained motionless against his chest, at once both reluctant to move and yet trying desperately to figure out how it was you were going to talk your way out of this situation.

His hands left his eyes, and without anywhere else to put them, he returned them tentatively to where they had rested on the small of your back.

A shiver ran through you.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice low in his throat, and achingly gentle to your ears. You dared to imagine that this was what he would sound like every early morning, sleepy and unaware of the world around him, direly lovely in all his softened beauty— half-lidded eyes, rosy lips chapped with disuse, his curly hair falling about his face in an unruly, untamed manner.

“Good morning,” you whispered back, unable to take your eyes off of his, hyper-aware of the rise and fall of his chest and the hum of his pulse beneath your fingers.

“I’m sorry,” said Brian, blinking in the brightness of the morning sun. “I can’t imagine you’ve slept well, atop this pile of skin and bones,” he chuckled. “I must have just fallen asleep.”

He still wasn’t quite awake, and nor were you, which was likely why the significance of this event didn’t occur to either of you for a moment.

Then your heart gave a little leap. Brian the insomniac…

“Bri, you fell asleep!”

“Yes? I fell asleep…” He frowned. Then his eyes widened. “I fell asleep?!”

He sat up at once, and you went with him as he laughed happily, hugging you to him.

“I can’t—” he stuttered into your hair, “I can’t believe it— I must have slept for hours!”

“Insomniac my arse,” you said with a scoff. “I woke up before you did!”

You snapped your mouth closed, realising how that must have sounded; you’d realised where you were and had continued to lie in his arms, as though you had a right to. Your cheeks flushed, but Brian didn’t notice.

He shook his head. “I am, I really am. I didn’t lie to you.” He glanced at his watch, and he was still holding you close, but this he didn’t seem to notice either. Or, if he did notice, it didn’t bother him. “And I’m not lying to you when I tell you, that was the most I’ve slept in weeks.” He smiled down at you, and you could do naught but gaze back up in response. “Guess you’ll just never have to leave me, Y/N.”

You snorted. “Is that a challenge? Because I’m not sure it can be done.”

“Oh sod off,” he pouted.

But you grinned. “Never.”

“Never?” he asked, the word made tender by the slope of his lips.

“I’ll never leave you.”

Something changed in his features, some subtle thing, you fancied. Perhaps the light in his eyes grew a little brighter, or his cheeks grew a little rosier, or his face moved a little closer to yours.

“Y/N,” Brian began slowly, “there’s something I have to tell you, and I hope you won’t think any less of me for it, but I… I’m—”

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Deacy.

Brian leapt away from you as though your skin were on fire.

It was, a little. But only where he’d been touching you.

“John!” Brian said in surprise. He hastily pulled his legs to him and stood up, swaying slightly, so that he rather resembled Bambi on ice.

“Shh,” Deacy hummed, and you realised that he was carrying a bundle in his arms. A very small, human-sized bundle. “Can’t afford to wake him, now that Veronica’s finally asleep, you know.”

“Oh, Deacy,” you said. You made your way over to where he and Brian were now standing by the piano, absently folding Brian’s jacket over your arm.

“So this is him… her?” Brian whispered, peering at the tiny face that was snuggled between the blanket.

“Him. Veronica gave birth late last night.” John’s voice had taken on a warm, soft quality, similar to how Brian spoke when he was around animals. You supposed it was a voice of affection, reserved only for moments of awe, of unconditional and overflowing love. It made sense; you used the same voice when you spoke of the stars.

“Which reminds me,” Deacy rocked the child in his arms, “happy birthday, Brian.”

Brian smiled. “Thanks. Shame the little one wasn’t born just a few hours later. We could have shared birthdays.”

Deacy lifted his shoulders in a light shrug. “Oh well. Now you get to keep your special day for being even bossier than usual.”

You laughed while Brian muttered, “You have to be nice to me. It’s my birthday.”

“See what I mean?” Deacy said. “Anyway. You should go to the garden. Freddie and Roger have something for you, from the three of us.”

“Y/N, you didn’t chip in?” Brian teased.

“For the last time, how was I supposed to know?!”

“It’s also from Y/N, now,” John said, “seeing as somebody neglected to tell her that you were turning twenty-seven today.”

“Why does everyone keep repeating that number?” Brian grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “I know I’m getting older, there’s no need to remind me.”

“Shush,” you gave him his jacket and a push toward the door, and Brian gave a little yelp of outrage. “The garden awaits, my liege.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Later,” Deacy responded for you. “Y/N and I are just going to take a walk to the kitchen.”

“We are?” you asked. You’d have liked to stay with Brian, to have his gaze rush across you every now and then, to see a small smile lingering on his lips when he looked at you. It was one of the best feelings in the world, to be looked at by Brian. Despite his tendency to daydream and just generally be far away, when he talked with you, he always surrendered his attention completely to you. He bled sincerity like a lifeblood, and you had never before met anyone like that.

“Yes.”

“Um, okay. See you later, Bri?” you wondered aloud.

There again was that little twinkle betwixt the hazel and green of his eyes, and your heart fluttered. If only he could see just what he did to you.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He disappeared out into the sunlit morning.

His jacket was still in your arms, and took a step to go after him, but Deacy touched your hand.

“Later.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Why are we here, Deacy?”

“To have a civil conversation,” he answered simply. “And for you to get me a cup of tea because I got absolutely no sleep last night.”

You narrowed your eyes before remembering that he’d spent the last many hours at a hospital. “Fair enough.”

Deacy sat down in a kitchen chair with a little sigh. He had purple shadows beneath his eyes that curled like smoke, and his shoulders sagged and his hair deserved the care of a brush, but he still had that look of permanent sunshine about his features, as if his body was tired, but his soul could have danced about the room.

He was cooing softly to the baby, and he was truly the picture of a doting parent; he had never looked more at home than he did with a child held gently in his arms.

“What’s his name?” you said as you set to making a cup of tea for John, and one for yourself.

John smiled down at the bundle, parting the swath of material to brush his fingers against the baby’s cheek. “Robert. Robert Deacon.”

You smiled as well, regarding John and Robert in their little bubble of father-and-son.

You allowed your thoughts to wander as you bustled about the kitchen, feeling unusually awake and generally quite happy.

The kettle had boiled and you’d begun steeping tea infusers in the two cups you’d taken from the kitchen cupboard. Now, you found yourself humming as you stirred Deacy’s tea with one sugar, and your own sugarless brew.

“What’s that you’re singing?” Deacy asked. “‘White Queen’?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Quite a sad song, for the mood you’re in.”

You shrugged, “Good song.” You continued stirring the two cups of tea as the corner of Deacy’s mouth quirked up.

“You’re biased, Y/N, and you’ve been stirring that tea for the past three minutes.”

“What?” you said. “Oh!” He was right. Some of your tea had even sloshed onto the kitchen counter. Hurriedly, you wiped away the offending tea with a cloth, then brought Deacy his cup, taking a seat next to him. You sipped your tea quietly until John interrupted politely,

“Sorry, Y/N, would you mind holding Robert a bit? I don’t want to go put him down and risk waking Ronnie.”

“Oh, of course,” you held out your arms and Deacy showed you how to properly hold a baby, in case you didn’t know.

You peered down at the little being in your hold, and you’d never seen anyone so small. A little life, who knew yet nothing about being alive, and still had everything to learn and everything to discover. The whole world awaited him.

You touched a gentle fingertip to Robert’s little nose, and when the boy’s eyelashes fluttered you could see why John was entirely sappy over his son.

“We need to talk about Brian.”

Your shoulders tensed.

“Why?” you mustered nonchalantly.

“Because, to use your own words, you’re quite starstruck these days.”

“Haven’t I always been,” you murmured.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Luckily for me, I heard you the first time. I just wanted to confirm my suspicions,” John sniffed, drinking his tea.

“Let’s talk about how you can’t seem to write a song for the album,” you countered, perhaps a little harshly. But you were desperate to get off the topic of Brian, before it began. Else it would drive you mad.

It seemed to work.

Deacy leaned his elbows on the dining table and put his head in his hands, successfully distracted. “I don’t know, I just, I have no ideas, and Freddie’s off writing these musical masterpieces, and Brian’s got his… three-and-a-half, and Roger’s got that silly car song of his, and I’ve just… I’ve got nothing.”

“Write what you know,” you said.

“We can’t all be Mark Twain,” Deacy mumbled into his hands. “And how do I know what I know?”

You shifted Robert in your grasp, pleasantly surprised that he had yet to take up crying, despite the stream of conversation around him. “Well, what’s constant in your life?”

Deacy straightened up, shaking his head. He reached out a hand to hold Robert’s tiny fingers in his grasp. “I don’t know. Nothing, right now. It’s never been like this before,” he breathed. “I joined Queen to have a bit of a hobby, really, but then we wrote albums and went touring, and people started to know us, and now we’re writing a fourth album, and Freddie says we’ve already got the audience for it in the bag. And now there’s this— there’s Robert— and I’ve never…” He trailed off, shaking his head again. He sighed. Then, a new energy burst forth in him as he said, “Veronica. For as long as I can remember, for as long as it’s mattered, I’ve had Veronica. She’s my best friend.”

You smiled. “Then write about her, Deacy.”

John seemed almost taken aback that he hadn’t thought about this in detail before. “You know, I’ve just had an idea.”

“Brilliant!” you said.

“Hang on to Robert a second, will you? I’ve just got to fetch something—” Deacy was up and out of the room before you could object.

“I— okay then.”

You frowned, remembering the responsibility in your arms. You hoped he wouldn’t wake up, because then you would have no idea what to do.

You resolved to sit utterly still and silent until John returned, which would hopefully be sooner rather than later.

But the next person to enter the room wasn’t Deacy; it was Brian and Freddie and Roger.

“Oh, good morning, sleepyhead,” said Freddie, to which Roger smirked and Brian looked embarrassed.

“I thought you had to wait nine months for one of those,” Roger inclined his head in the direction of baby Robert.

Your mouth fell open.

“Roger darling, they only fell asleep together, they did not sleep together,” Freddie said. “Do you not know anything about the human body?”

Brian stared at his feet throughout this exchange, red as a strawberry and undoubtedly wishing he was far, far away from this place.

“Uh, how… how do you know about, um, that?” you asked timidly, thinking you were probably about as red in the face as Bri.

Freddie waved a hand. “Oh, Brian didn’t kiss and tell—”

“There’s nothing to tell!” Brian exclaimed.

“Look at them,” said Roger, gesturing to you and then Brian. “They’re like ten years old, there’s no way they’ve kissed.”

“Twenty-seven, now,” Brian muttered, “as you lovely people keep so faithfully reminding me.”

You, on the other hand, were too flustered to speak. Were your harboured affections for Brian so painfully obvious? And was he really so embarrassed at the prospect of kissing you that he was moved to shouting in denial?

That was when you knew for certain that there was nothing here, there. Brian did not want from you what you wanted from him, and though that was perfectly fair, you still felt like you’d been kicked in the abdomen, whilst already wounded by a heavy sword.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, “I’ve just got to go out— could— could somebody take the baby for me, please…”

“Where are the parents of that poor child, anyway?” tutted Freddie, looking like his greatest fear in the world was presently to hold Robert.

“Rog?” you asked despairingly.

“Ah, no, sweetheart,” he winced. “John might kill me.”

“Here, I’ll take him,” said Brian, ever the hero. “It’s okay, you go get some air.”

How he knew you needed air and not to be somewhere in particular was beyond you, but you said nothing as he slipped his arms beneath your own and took Robert from you.

Roger was staring at Brian peculiarly, but Freddie turned to you.

“Everything okay, darling?” he asked you with a frown.

“Peachy,” you replied, and left before anyone could question you further.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You’d been sitting on the steps that led from the patio to the garden for an hour when Brian joined you.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi.” You tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace.

“May I sit down?”

You looked up at him, the willowy young man with the glittering eyes.

His lips were pressed together and it was obvious that he wouldn’t sit down if you made any sign of being bothered by his presence. But how could Brian’s presence ever bother you when he seemed to you the only kindred spirit you’d ever met?

“Be my guest.”

He sat down beside you, perhaps a little closer than you would have braved if the roles had been reversed. Then again, this morning, you’d awoken in his arms, so a little proximity should not matter to him, even if the air, to you, prickled when he was near.

You stared off across the rolling hills that were saturated in the green of summer, wishing you could think about anybody but the person who sat next to you.

“Do you want to see what you got me for my birthday?” he asked.

You smirked. “Go on, then.”

He placed a hefty book, bound in some sort of reddish-brown material, in his lap.

“What’s that?”

“Scrapbook. Of all my polaroids from this year, apparently.”

“Apparently?” you said.

Brian ran a finger along the spine of the book. “Yeah, well, I’ve got some pictures John and Roger and Freddie don’t know about.”

You blushed. “Oh.” Those kinds of pictures.

Brian barked a laugh. “No, no, not like that, no, just, y’know, like the one… The one I took of you? The one you gave me back?” He winced at his stammering, but you nodded in acknowledgement. “Yeah, no, they… They didn’t know about that one. I didn’t, uh, keep it with the others.” His fingertips tapped the side of his nose as he hung his head, his hair falling down to hide his face.

“Oh?” you said, for lack of other words.

Brian shook his head. “Actually, I have it here,” and to your bafflement, he pulled the photograph, the one of you, from his breast pocket. Then he opened the scrapbook across his knees, to a page toward the back that was only half-filled with pictures. It appeared that the last third or so of the book had been left empty. He tucked the photograph of you beside one of Fredddie and Roger and John grinning in the sunshine of the swimming pool. “They said that I should expect a scrapbook for each of my birthdays, from now on,” Brian explained, smoothing a palm across the page of photos. “This is the book for 1975.”

“And it’s not full?” you said. “I mean, I know the year isn’t over yet, but…”

Brian smiled understandingly. “Yeah, I know what you mean, what adventures could we possibly have this year still that will at all compare to Ridge Farm with you, hey?”

You laughed uneasily at your own slip of arrogance, but Brian shook his head again, his curls rustling. “No,” he said softly. “I know. I can’t think of how anything could compare to this.”

His words touched your heart, and you felt oddly as though he were saying goodbye.

Maybe he was.

“What was it you were going to tell me, this morning?” you whispered, fearing the answer you might receive. “You’ve been trying to tell me something for a while now, haven’t you?”

Brian nodded somberly, fiddling with the bookmark that ran down the centre of the scrapbook.

“What is it?” you prompted gently.

“Well, I…” He paused and gave a sigh. Then he closed the cover of the scrapbook in a decisive manner and turned to you as if he could only make himself say whatever it was if he was forced to look you in the eye. “I’ve made a decision that’s going to quite change the course of my life, I think, and I won’t know if it is a good decision or a bad one until I’ve seen it through.”

A sinking sensation stirred in you.

Brian took a deep breath. “I’ve made the decision to pull out of uni.”

And the air was knocked from your lungs. “What?”

“Reid’s booked us a tour following the release of this next album. There’s no way I can keep this up, this— this running back and forth between work and school.”

“But you’re brilliant, Brian. You’re top of our class.”

“Not quite brilliant, thank you, but yes, I know.”

You couldn’t contain your disbelief. Mostly, it was selfish, knowing that Brian— and not only Brian, but Freddie and Roger and Deacy too— would leave you for a very long time as soon as the summer was over. And if Heather’s staying at Ridge Farm with the lot of you was any indication, she’d be leaving with them, with Queen. You’d be alone in London, once more. Everything would go back to being what it had once been, cold and dreary and lonely and uncertain, and you didn’t know if you could handle that.

“But— but— I don’t—” You stopped because the words weren’t coming out the way you wanted them to. Then you tried again. “What about astrophysics? That could be your career too.”

Brian just about flinched, and you knew as soon as you’d said it that it was the worst thing you could have said.

You’d said what his father has said.

“No, I mean, what about the stars?” you said. “You’re in love with them, you wouldn’t— you can’t—” You were avoiding saying what it was you knew deep down you wanted to say. That you wanted him to stay. You needed him to stay.

But Brian took your hands in his grasp, and your breath faltered completely.

He was so close to you, and you were afraid he should hear the raucous beating of your heart.

His gentle exhale fanned across your face, and you wondered how it was that he could breathe so deeply when you could only manage a few strangled gasps, shuddering breaths that rattled your heart and your hands where they rested in his.

Your hands.

Your skin tingled where he touched you, it always did. But what of him? Did he feel anything when you touched him? A burst of emotions that left him gasping for breath and tingling? Or was this to remain one-sided, a fire that burned above the ice but never truly melted it..?

Brian didn’t blink, and you didn’t breathe. The only part of you that had not ceased to function, it seemed, was your heart; your pulse drummed in overtime.

“Look, Y/N, I know I can’t ask this of you, and god knows I don’t want to, because I know you’ll be asking yourself the same questions you’ve just asked me, but,” he squeezed your hands, “I have to ask… Because we’re not the same without you. Not me, not Freddie, not Roger— hell, just this morning, you’ve inspired even Deacy to come out of his shell and write us a song.”

You closed your eyes. “Brian…”

“No, shush,” he said gently. “Let me be the one to talk, for once. For once, don’t give me the perfect excuse to shut up and listen to you talk instead, because I’d do that forever if I could.”

His eyes searched yours with a gaze so sharp your heart skittered.

“I want you to come with us,” he said, and the sinking feeling in your stomach hurtled to a stop, having reached the bottom of a terrible pit. “I want you to come with us on tour.”

You couldn’t.

You couldn’t go with them, however much you wanted to.

And oh, how you wanted to.

You pulled your hands from his, knowing that the touch of his skin might very well be enough to change your resolute mind.

But you couldn’t let it. You owed as much to your own father. Your parents had always wanted better for you than a housewife running a pub, and a middle-aged man still trying to build a business from the ground up in a hopeless market. You couldn’t let them down. Your first loyalty lay to them.

“I’m sorry, Bri,” you breathed. “I can’t. I can’t, I’m sorry.”

Brian’s exhale was unsteady. “I know,” he said. “I knew. I knew before I asked you, but damn it,” he kicked his heel against the step in a spark of that legendary temper, “I had to ask.”

“Brian, I’m so sorry, I really am…” The promise of tears stung your eyes as your chest tightened.

Brian got up, the book under his arm, and you let out something like a sob as he turned to go. He was tearing you apart.

He clenched his fist at his side. “I just want you to know,” he said, and his jaw tensed, “that if it wasn’t for you, Reid never would have made the decision to manage us.”

“What?” you mustered, though your vision was blurry and you couldn’t keep your hands from shaking.

“No one told you, did they?” At your blank expression, he went on. “About playing at the Union Pub, that night back in February… You were the messenger to Freddie. Roger never left the house until thirty minutes before the gig, and Freddie told Deacy and me about the show. We wouldn’t have played there if it wasn’t for you, and that was the night that Reid happened to be in town, visiting some nephew at Imperial. If we hadn’t played that night, we’d never have got into contact with him. That bastard Norman Sheffield would have bled us dry, and we would’ve had no new manager to take us on. If it wasn’t for you, we’d not have been writing an album right now, let alone have had a place to do so.”

You were speechless. Such a small thing, to drop by Kensington Market and pass on Roger’s message to Freddie— and yet.

“So,” Brian loosed a breath, “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“No, but I do,” he said fiercely. “And so I have even less right to ask you to come with us. But I wanted you to know. And I wanted to ask.” He sighed, and his eyes seemed older than time; he was farther from you than the deepest reaches of the unending universe. He let out a mirthless laugh, and not even the echoes of humour existed in the sound. “That’s the last time I ever do anything for myself.”

He smiled sadly, and you found that you couldn’t breathe.

“Brian—”

“Please don’t,” he said. “Please don’t say anything. I owe you, and the very last thing you owe me is an apology.”

“You and I don’t want the same thing,” you murmured, in place of the apology you so desperately wanted to utter again.

Brian looked as though he was falling apart, and nearly as much as you were.

“No, I suppose not,” he said. “But I thought we did.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: okay but the picture is me imagining what sleepy bri would look like mmm

taglist: @melting-obelisks @sgt-stardust-killerqueen @hgmercury39 @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz @perriwiinkle @iamsuperconfusedallthetime @im-an-adult-ish @ilikebigstucks @doing-albri @killer-queen-87 @n0-self-c0ntro1 @archaicmusings @cloudyyspace @annina-96 @themarchoftherainbowqueen @onlyyoudarling @annajolras

crossed out tags would not take; i’m sorry!

Masterpost / Part 12 / Part 14

#tina's writing #starstruck #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may x y/n #brian may x you #queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #queen fanfiction #1975 #1970s #fic

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squirrelnotsam · 6 years ago

Text

Happy Together

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unrequited love, male masturbation, P in V, please let me know if I missed something.

Word Count: Approximately 2,869

Created for: @spnsongchallengebingo @spnkinkbingo @spndeanbingo

Squares Filled: SPN Song Challenge Bingo: Happy Together by The Turtles SPN Kink Bingo: Free Space SPN Dean Bingo Free Space

Summary: Dean pines for Y/N, but does she return his affections?

A/N: Despite what the title implies, this is not a song about a couple in love. According to Gary Bonner, who wrote the song with Alan Gordon, the song is about unrequited love. Our desperate singer wants the girl to “imagine how the world could be so very fine,” proposing what would happen “if I should call you up.” The line in the fadeout, “How is the weather?” is when he realizes they will never be more than passing acquaintances, as he resorts to small talk to keep from bursting into tears.

Beta’d by: @crispychrissy Thank you for the constructive criticism, that along with practice will improve my writing.

Imagine me and you, I do

I think about you day and night, it’s only right

To think about the girl you love and hold her tight

So happy together

I sat across from Sammy waiting for Y/N to arrive. God, I love her. Sammy drones on about some case. I wasn’t really paying attention to him. I was thinking about how perfect Y/N would feel in my arms. Squeezing her tight and how soft and supple her skin would feel against mine How her plump lips would feel on mine moist with a hint of strawberry.

“Dean?” Sammy hisses. “Dean,” Sammy says a little louder as he kicks me in the shin to get my attention.

“What?” I glare at him.

“Are you even paying attention?”

“Of course, I am,” I smirk.

“What was the last thing I said,” we both say at the same time. Sammy gives me a bitch face.

Then she walks in, beautiful as ever. The wind from the door opening catches her pale lemon skirt so it billows in the breeze. She glances around the diner before her eyes land on me. I couldn’t help the grin that crosses my face as she approaches and slips into the booth next to Sammy.

“Hey,” she squeaks out.

“Y/N,” we both reply at the same time, acknowledging her presence.

“Sorry, we already ordered while waiting for you,” Sammy says.

“Would you like something?” I jump into the conversation as our waitress approaches with her check pad in hand. I don’t know what it is, but the waitress seems a bit off.

“Just a soda. I’m not really hungry.”

The waitress scowls at Y/N before plastering a fake smile on her face and looks at me like I’m a piece of meat before asking if I would like a refill. “Thank you,” I reply my eyes never leaving Y/N. I just can’t get over the color of her eyes and the way they hypnotize me. Boy do I have it bad.

The waitress leans over to pick up my cup up from the table attempting to give me an eyeful of cleavage. Sammy rolls his eyes, slides his cup over and asks for a refill. “Of course,” she huffs.

“So, Sam, tell me where you’re at on the case,” she asks.

Why is she talking to Sammy and not me? “It appears to be a simple salt ‘n burn. I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on it,” I say.

Y/N looks taken aback by the comment. “I kind of have other priorities now,” she says with malice.

“I bet,” I mumble under my breath. She is so infuriating. What is more important than hunting things and saving people?

“Sounds like you got it under control. Sam, call me if you need anything.”

“We’ll be sure to do that, sweetheart,” I reply. Sammy kicks me under the table again and gives me that look. What? I silently say to him. I don’t know what I did to piss him off.

“I’ve got to go. I mean it Sam, call me.” She grabs her purse and keys and I’m watching her perky ass sashay out the door.

“Nice going Dean.”

“What?” I growl at him. “Let’s go salt 'n burn the ghost and get out of here.”

If I should call you up, invest a dime

And you say you belong to me and ease my mind

Imagine how the world could be, so very fine

So happy together

Y/N gave her number to Sammy. Turns out we didn’t need her help, which is fine by me. The simple salt and burn turns out to be Sabrina hexing her way onto the cheer squad. Sammy didn’t want to do it. She was young and he tried to reason with her, but when she hexed him, I didn’t hesitate to put a witch killing bullet in between her eyes.

He’s in the shower now. His phone sits on the tiny motel table in the kitchenette. I scroll through his contacts. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I stop on her name. Am I really jealous of him? His last contact with her was right before we met at the diner the other day. Huh! I was sure he’d call her since then.

I push the call button. The phone rings and goes to voicemail. The sound of her soft-spoken voice sends a shiver through me.

I imagine the way she would agree to be my girl. She’d move into the bunker with us, help Sammy with research… I could cook for her and she’d bake pies for me. It’d be nice to have someone to come home to, to wrap my arms around her in a warm embrace. Snuggle together in the Dean Cave watching movies together.

“Someone call?” Sammy says as he exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

Shit, I didn’t even hear him turn the water off. “No, I thought I heard it ping. Must be hearing things.” Hopefully he doesn’t suspect anything. “If you’re done, I’ll jump in.”

“Yeah, sure go ahead.”

I turn the water to hot, strip my clothes, then check the temperature of the water. Perfect. Stepping into the shower, drops of water run down my face and body, washing away the stress. I know I should tell Y/N how I feel.

The thought of her reminds me of how she looked in the diner. The breeze billowing her dress around. Fantasizing the wind lifting the hem of her dress to reveal yellow satin covering her most intimate parts. My cock is half hard now, and it twitches with interest. I lather my hand in soap and slowly move it up and down my boner.

Each time my hand gets to the tip, I twist it, adding a bit more pressure. A hiss escapes my mouth and I am more than rock hard now.

I imagine sliding the dress over her curvy body, leaving behind yellow lacy panties and bra, hands ghosting over her curves, skin butter soft. I slip her undergarments off and Imagine the heft of her boobs in my hands gently caressing them. Her soft nipples hardening into nubs, the skin puckering as I suckle them. I wish she was in the shower with me now. I pull my dick harder letting out a grunt.

I lower my other arm to my balls. My fingers slowly massage the sack, rubbing and rolling, going from gentle caresses to decent squeezes. Imaging Y/N’s delicate fingers playing my body like an instrument, wound up and needing release but not wanting it to end. Her moist mouth suckling them. Another moan slips from my mouth.

When I finish playing with my balls, I bring my fingers to my nipples, circling one before pinching it harshly, grunting while my cock twitches.

I finish teasing and stop playing with my nipples. I rest one hand on the wall while tightening the hand on my cock into a fist. My cheeks flush as I imagine myself inside her, rocking hard until she comes for me. I growl and pump my fist harder, working myself up. I think of all the things I want to do to her, like fucking her against the hood of Baby, tying her to the bed, and eating her out.

Another growl and moan spill from my lips. I am eagerly bucking into my fist, squeezing my cock nice and tight. Thinking of my cock slipping into her wet sex, grinding down on Y/N as hard as I can to make her scream my name.

My stomach tenses under my ministrations and my hands squeeze tightly while my eyes snap shut. I am letting out loud moans.

Blood pounds through my body, pumping towards my angry red and throbbing dick. Toes curling, arms flexing, I come with a shout, lungs heaving for air.

“Dean?” Sammy knocks on the door. “You alright in there?”

“Yeah give me a minute.” I really ought to tell her how I feel.

“OK, I’m going to grab some grub you want to go with?”

I dry myself off and wrap the towel around my waist. I open the door, letting the steam billow out. “You go ahead and bring me back a double bacon burger and some pie.” I dig through my bag looking for clean clothes.

As soon as Sammy leaves, I grab my phone and dial her number. It goes to voicemail.

I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you

For all my life

When you’re with me, baby the skies’ll be blue

For all my life

I talk Sammy into staying for the night. Insisting I am too worn out for the drive home. He seems skeptical, but agrees. I step out, needing to talk to Y/N. Her phone still going through to voicemail. I fill the ice bucket and head back to our room.

Sammy is already asleep. I slip out of my boots, pull my shirt and jeans off, and flop on the bed, allowing my thoughts to swirl around Y/N. Is she asleep and dreaming of me or is she an insomniac who stays up late reading? I drift off to sleep before I know it.

My dreams are filled with her. I sink into Y/N and my eyes lock with hers. It’s pure bliss, my dick throbbing in her tight wet pussy.

“Sweetheart, you’re hotter than anything I’ve ever felt.” I drop my forehead to hers, panting heavily as she hooks her ankles behind my back. “Fucking perfect.”

“Dean need you to move,” she whines. Fingers dig into my shoulders, urging me closer. My eyes still on hers, my teeth sink into my bottom lip in concentration. “Please…”

“I know, just don’t wanna come yet. You’re so tight and wet for me.”

“Please, Dean, so close.” She isn’t lying. Her insides are wound tightly like a coil. My cock twitches and she moans, her pussy clenching in response.

“Fuck.” I start to move slowly at first, but it doesn’t take long for me to build up speed. Concentration covers my face as I rock into her. My hips collide with Y/N’s on every thrust. Her skin slippery against mine as I hold her close to me. My cock was thick and heavy inside her pussy. I could feel her walls on every inch of my shaft as I pull out and slam back in.

She chants my name. Hers is a moan on my lips as I angle hips a little differently. I slam straight into her g-spot, and I feel the first tremor of her orgasm burst through her core, sending waves of arousal to flood her cunt. I groan, fingers gripping her hips so hard I think I might bruise her. She comes hard, bucking up towards me.

It takes about three seconds for me to follow, spilling into her, not stopping my thrusts until I was done. I didn’t move. My lips meet hers in a passionate kiss, my tongue thrusting into her mouth.

Sammy smacks me with a towel. I startle awake grabbing for the gun under the pillow. “What?” I growl, irritated at having my dreams interrupted.

“Dude you were having a wet dream.”

“Better than nightmares,” I mumble.

“We need to get going anyways if we’re going to make it back before nightfall.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a few.” I stumble towards the bathroom closing the door behind.

“I’ll just go and grab some coffee,” Sammy replies.

I turn on the faucet, and steam from the water swirls around the mirror as I stare at myself. What the hell am I doing? Y/N never did answer her phone. What the hell is going on? If Sammy knew maybe he wouldn’t be so gung-ho to get back to the bunker. I splash water on my face and run my wet hands through my hair, giving it that just woke up look that women seem to love.

I finish changing my clothes and pack my bag. While waiting for Sammy to return, I try and call Y/N again, this time when it goes to voicemail, I decide to leave a message. “Hey sweetheart. It’s me, Dean, give me a call when you get a chance. I’m really worried about you. You haven’t returned any of my calls and there is something important I need to tell you.” I hang up just as Sammy returns.

“You ready to hit the road?” he asks handing me a cup of coffee. I take a sip of the brew.

“Think so.” I double check to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind. “You haven’t talked to Y/N recently have you?” I finally ask.

“I saw her this morning. Why?”

“No reason, just think it’s strange we haven’t seen her since the diner.”

“Dean,” Sammy starts.

“No, it’s okay, I get it. Let’s blow this joint.” I grab my bag and head out the door. I load everything into Baby and slip behind the wheel. I love the rumble of the engine as she cruises down the road. Her grill points toward the bunker, but I look in the rearview mirror and wonder about her.

Me and you and you and me

No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be

The only one for me is you, and you for me

So happy together

I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you for all my life

When you’re with me, baby the skies’ll be blue

For all my life

I pull over into a Gas N Sip. I need to call Y/N again. I send Sammy inside to get me some snacks and to pay for the gas. “Don’t forget pie,” I holler. While he’s inside I dial her number again.

“Hello?” A gruff voice answers the phone. It doesn’t even register with me that it isn’t her voice.

“Y/N don’t hang up. I need to tell you that I need you in my life just as much as you need me. I know it sounds weird, but I feel like we are destined to be together. You’re it for me. I’m happier when I’m with you.”

“Y/N isn’t here right now. Who is this?” Then it dawns on me. It’s not her voice. I just made a complete fool of myself to a stranger.

“This is a friend of hers.” Who is this douchebag?

“Well if you actually were a friend, you would know that she is married. I’d suggest you stop harassing her before I report you to the authorities.” He hung up on me. The nerve of this guy.

I pocket the phone. I place the nozzle back on the pump and close the gas cap. Sammy approaches with a couple of bags in his hands and slides into the passenger seat. I start the car and peel out of the lot, Baby’s tires squealing in the process. I’ll need to check them when we get back to the bunker.

“Dean,” Sammy says, “I think we need to talk about Y/N.”

“There’s nothing to talk about Sammy,” I reply and flip on the radio, and turning the volume up and indicating I don’t want to talk.

Sammy gives me a bitch face. I tap the beat out on the steering wheel and I sing along to Happy Together.

Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba

“Seriously, you’re singing The Turtles?”

“It’s a classic Sammy.”

Me and you and you and me

No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be

The only one for me is you, and you for me

So happy together

How is the weather

So happy together

We’re happy together

So happy together

We make it back to the bunker and I unload Baby and take my bag to my room. I toss the dirty clothes into the hamper to wash later. I grab a beer from the fridge; Sammy looks at me and shakes his head.

I open the bottle take a swig. “I’ll be out in the garage,” I tell him.

I go through Baby thoroughly, making a list of things to be done. Change the spark plugs, fluids, and rotate the tires. I should be able to get a few more months out of them before they need to be replaced.

I feel a vibration come from my pants. I pull out my phone and see it’s Y/N. I wasn’t expecting her to call me, especially since that douchebag answered the phone last time I called.

“Hey, what’s up?” I turn the stereo down so I can hear her better.

“Dean?” she asks. Her voice is timid. Like she’s scared of something.

“Yah, it’s me baby. What’s going on?” I lean against Baby, crossing one leg over the other.

“I heard you called yesterday.”

“About that…”

“I can’t have you calling me anymore Dean,” she interrupts. “I never gave you any indication that I like you, have I?” She continues before I can reply. “I’m not even sure how you got my number. I know I didn’t give it to you. I’m sorry but we can’t be anything more than acquaintances.”

I wipe a tear from my face. “So, how’s the weather?” I say, trying to change the subject.

“It’s rainy today. Listen, I need to go. Tell Sam I said hello.”

“Yah, bye.” I end the call and place the phone back in my pocket.

#spnsongchallengebingo #spnkinkbingo #spndeanbingo #happy together #dean x reader #squirrelnotsam

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