#Blue Whisker wc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

capuccinodoll · 3 months ago

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The boyfriend act, part 4: "The one with bruises and blue excuses" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: After a difficult night, your emotions rise to the surface when Frankie unknowingly reminds you of the reality between you. WC: 9.8k

A/N: Ok. Already february 14th in my country. Happy Valentine's day and Frankie Friday to all of you. I love you all <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

You drifted into consciousness slowly, the weight on your chest shifting, inching closer to your face. Something warm and insistent, a presence demanding attention. When you finally pried your eyes open, Mr. Darcy was there, looming over you, his whiskered face pressed unceremoniously against yours, his nose grazing your chin. He let out a soft meow before inching forward again, catching a strand of your hair between his teeth and tugging with quiet determination. A statement. A demand.

“Darcy,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Are you starving?”

With a lazy sweep of your arm, you nudged him aside, rolling onto your back, propping yourself up just enough to rub at your eyes. And that’s when the pain bloomed—sharp and immediate—right in the center of your face. Your fingers found your mouth first, the skin swollen and tender, then your nose, sore beneath the tentative press of your touch.

You exhaled slowly, eyes slipping closed again as the memory of last night resurfaced in fragments. The dull thud of impact. The mortifying rush of heat to your face. The sharp sting of embarrassment that lingered even now.

Christ. What a disaster.

Darcy meowed again, insistent, his round eyes fixed on you like he could sense your spiraling thoughts.

With a quiet groan, you pushed the blankets back, your bare feet meeting the cold floor, a sharp contrast to the warmth of sleep still clinging to your skin. The movement felt sluggish, like wading through water. You crossed the room and stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light.

The mirror was merciless. Puffy eyes, a shadow of exhaustion beneath them, and the telltale evidence of last night’s fall marking your lips and nose. You looked wrecked. And you felt it, too—something heavy settling in your chest, thick with the weight of regret or frustration or something close to both.

From the doorway, Darcy sat watching, patient but unrelenting. You met his gaze, something fond tugging at the corner of your mouth despite everything.

A second later, your clothes pooled at your feet, and you stepped into the shower, turning the knob until the water cascaded over your body, washing away the lingering traces of last night, soothing the dull ache beneath your skin. Your stomach twisted in protest—empty, impatient. You let yourself imagine breakfast: coffee, something warm, something heavy and sweet. The thought propelled you to rinse the last of the suds from your skin, dragging bubbles over your arms, your neck, your aching knees, where the water stung. A birthday souvenir, you thought.

Stepping out, you wrapped yourself in a towel, the fabric clinging to your damp skin as you moved toward your room. Your gaze swept over the space, searching for your phone. Not on the nightstand. Not under the pillow. You crouched to peer beneath the bed, but it wasn’t there either. A sharp pulse in your skull pulled you upright, and you winced. Tequila. Too much of it, too late in the night.

Then it came to you—your purse. And your phone, most likely still inside it. You traced the memory back: the party, the dim glow of the living room, the moment you had tossed your bag aside, distracted by something—no, by someone. Mr. Darcy. Right.

With your towel knotted at your chest, your hair damp and dripping onto your bare shoulders, you stepped into the hallway. The kitchen was empty, nothing but the faint scent of stale coffee lingering in the air. But then, near the door, a familiar shape caught your eye.

You moved quickly, lowering yourself into a crouch, a quiet groan escaping your lips as you reached for the bag. The leather was cool against your fingers as you dug inside, searching until—there. You pulled out your phone, touching it out of habit, only to be met with a blank screen. Dead. You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes at yourself. Of course.

You turned on your heel, still staring at the dead screen of your phone, when a sound shattered the quiet, sent a shockwave through your chest.

A voice. Too close.

“Hey—”

“Oh my God!” The words ripped out of you as you spun, pure instinct taking over. Before you could think, your arm swung back and then forward, launching your phone straight at the intruder.

“Wait—fuck!” The voice turned sharp, followed by a dull thwack as the device smacked into flesh.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Your hands flew to your mouth. It wasn’t a masked intruder, not some stranger lurking in the dark. It was Frankie.

Bent over, both hands gripping his face, he let out a low string of curses. His hair stuck out at odd angles, his shirt was wrinkled and speckled with blood, and he looked—well, rough. Like he’d been through something.

“You almost killed me,” you gasped, stepping closer, trying to get a look at his face. “You can’t just stand there in total silence like some kind of serial killer like—are you okay?”

You reached out instinctively, but he jerked back. And then it hit you—you were naked.

Well, wrapped in a towel, but still.

You clutched the fabric tighter against your chest, fingers curling into the edge. Frankie exhaled sharply and finally dropped his hands, revealing the damage.

“Oh—ugh,” you grimaced. “Shit. Sorry. Sorry, sorry—”

Ignoring his glare, you leaned in, fingers brushing his chin as you tilted his face toward the light. A red mark bloomed across the bridge of his nose, right where your phone had struck. A thin cut had opened just enough to show the first hint of blood. Not awful, but bad enough to look painful. His eyes were glassy, the kind of involuntary reaction pain pulls out of you before you can stop it.

Your fingertips ghosted over the swollen skin.

“Careful,” he muttered, voice low, edged with irritation.

You pulled your hand back and scowled at him.

“I’m trying to be careful. But you can’t just—just appear out of nowhere like that. And I thought you left? Weren’t you getting an Uber last night?”

He straightened up slightly, still wincing.

“I didn’t just appear. I’ve been on the couch the whole time.”

You blinked. “So you slept here?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah. I was about to leave, but then I—” He waved vaguely. “—passed out.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding slowly, like that somehow made sense.

You turned before you could dwell on it, heading toward the hallway, your back to him.

“I’m getting dressed. I’ll be right back.”

Behind you, Frankie exhaled. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

Dressed now, you stepped out of your room, tugging at the hem of an oversized T-shirt—clean, cool, soft against your skin. Your pajama shorts barely peeked out from underneath. You had no intention of leaving the house today.

In the kitchen, Mr. Darcy twined around your legs, his fur warm against your bare skin. You bent down to refill his dish, scratching lightly behind his ears as he purred in gratitude. The coffee maker gurgled, filling the air with the sharp, familiar scent of morning. You grabbed a piece of bread, biting off a corner as you moved, walking quickly toward the bathroom, barefoot steps light against the floor.

You knocked three times, but no one answered.

You knocked again.

“Francis—”

The door swung open before you could finish.

Frankie leaned against the frame, head tipped slightly, eyes still swollen with sleep. His face was damp, beads of water clinging to the edges of his jaw. He looked softer like this, in the quiet. Less like the man you spent most of your time arguing with.

Your gaze dropped to his nose, and—oh. Shit. The bruise was darker now, spreading along the bridge, a shadow forming just beneath his right eye. You winced before you could stop yourself, then quickly smoothed out your expression.

“I—” You cleared your throat. “Do you want coffee?”

He blinked at you, like the question required effort to process.

“Yes?”

“That’s not an answer. Yes or no?”

He exhaled. “Sure, I guess.”

“Toast? Or cereal? I have fruit, too.”

“Um, toast is fine.”

“Okay.” You nodded, already turning back toward the kitchen, moving quickly, before you had to look at him any longer.

A few minutes later, when the toast was resting on the breakfast bar, Frankie emerged from the hallway. He moved slowly, like he was still waking up, stopping just short of the counter. His eyes landed on you, dark and steady, watching as you poured the coffee, arranged the mugs, set everything into place. You pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the small, repetitive motions of your hands.

After a beat, you tilted your chin toward the stool across from you. He got the message and sat down, his hands braced against the edge of the counter.

Reaching into the fridge, you pulled out every spread you had—jams, peanut butter, Nutella. Some smooth, some crunchy. Options. You set them down between you before sliding into your seat, only to find him still looking at you, gaze sharp and assessing. Like he was waiting for something.

You chewed on a bite of toast, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?”

“What about you now?” he asked.

Your brows knit together. “Mmm?”

“You’re acting weird.”

You swallowed, then scoffed.

“You always say that, Francisco.” Your voice was light, almost careless, as you wrapped a hand around your coffee mug. With the other, you reached for a blister pack from the counter and placed it beside his cup. “Take one. For the pain and the hangover.”

He glanced down at it. “Did last night’s blow affect you?”

You snorted. “Did it affect me? Yeah, I’m the one who got hit in the face. I look like an extra from Fight Club.” He gave you a dry look. You exhaled. “Take one. The same ones I took last night. Don’t you remember?”

Frankie sighed, rubbing his jaw before picking up the pack, flipping it over in his hand, reading the label like he didn’t quite trust you. Then, without further argument, he popped one out and into his mouth, chasing it with a sip of coffee.

“Well,” he said, setting the mug back down, “you are acting different.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

You rolled your eyes, an exaggerated movement, then returned your focus to your toast, giving him nothing.

Silence settled over the kitchen. The occasional scrape of a knife against bread. The distant hum of the refrigerator. Frankie ate quietly, but his attention flicked toward you every so often, and at one point, he caught you staring—not at him exactly, but at his face. Or, more specifically, at the swelling along the bridge of his nose. Your expression had tightened, your lips pressed together like you were feeling the pain yourself.

A slow, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You feel guilty, don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“For hitting me.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.” You sat up straighter, expression shifting from guilt to indignation. “You can’t just sneak up on a woman like that, standing there in total silence like—like some kind of criminal. You scared me half to death! And I was only wearing a towel!”

“I know,” he said, dragging out the word. “But still... you feel guilty.”

You huffed, tilting your head, considering him. Then you sighed dramatically, relenting just a little. “Your face.”

He gestured to his face. “What do you think?”

You leaned in slightly, gaze sweeping over the bruising, the cut, the darkening skin beneath his eye.

Pursing your lips, you nodded solemnly. “Terrible.”

Frankie exhaled, shaking his head.

“But don’t worry,” you added, taking another sip of coffee. “You don’t look that much different than you do every day.”

Frankie’s gaze dragged over your face, unhurried and searching, before finally settling on your eyes. He took a bite of his toast, chewing with an air of quiet amusement, then tilted his head, considering you like you were some kind of abstract painting he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“At least I don’t look like I failed a botox trial,” he said finally, his mouth curling into a smirk—like he hadn’t meant to let it show, like it had slipped out against his will.

You lifted an eyebrow, giving him a slow once-over as you raised your mug to your lips.

“I’m letting that slide only because, technically, I’m the reason you got hurt.”

Frankie huffed out a laugh, low and quiet.

“Well,” he said, shrugging, “you’ve got decent aim. I’ll give you that.”

You frowned immediately, shaking your head. “Did you just compliment me? That’s pathetic.”

Unbothered, Frankie took another bite of his toast, chewing like he had all the time in the world.

“Well, it makes sense. I’m not exactly at my peak right now—bruised, hungover, and stuck here, fake-dating you. Calling it pathetic is honestly being generous.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, setting your mug down.

“Please, you should be thanking the universe you get to fake-date me. How many fake girlfriends would go through the trouble of rescuing you from your idiotic cousin Ian?”

Frankie gave you a flat look as you stood and stretched, but you could feel his eyes on you as you crossed the kitchen.

“I can handle him. If anything, me showing up with you just made him more insufferable. I think he was trying to make you uncomfortable and awkward.”

You pulled open the freezer, grabbing a cold gel pack, then turned on your heel and made your way back to the table, dropping into your seat with a slight bounce.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you said, tossing the pack onto the table in front of him. “I had to kiss you, remember? Awkwardness and I have been intimately acquainted ever since.”

Frankie picked up the gel pack without question, rolling it between his fingers for a beat before pressing it against the bridge of his nose with a small, appreciative sigh. His shoulders slumped slightly, the relief immediate.

“Well,” he murmured, eyes still shut, “I have to admit—you were a pretty decent girlfriend last night.”

You recoiled like he’d insulted you.

“Ugh, don’t say things like that, Francisco,” you groaned, rolling your shoulders like the words had physically unsettled you. “That actually makes me uncomfortable.”

He cracked one eye open, unimpressed.

“Why? You’re always so weird.”

Something about the word made you pause, your fingers curling slightly around the rim of your mug. Weird. He had a habit of calling you that, didn’t he? It was one of the first things he’d ever said about you, actually—years ago, on Santiago’s birthday.

That day, Santi was in rare form, practically vibrating with energy, grinning at everyone like he couldn’t quite believe his own good fortune. He had a new house, a fresh start. And for the first time in years, he was going to celebrate his birthday properly, surrounded by people he loved. The gathering was small—just close friends and family—but carefully planned, down to the last detail.

You already knew some of Santi’s friends, like Will and Ben. They’d picked you up from the airport once when you flew in to visit your mom in New York, and you remembered them being easy company. Warm, funny, the kind of men who made you feel instantly comfortable. You assumed the rest of Santi’s friends would be the same.

That night, you stood near the grill with your cousin Irene, laughing with Will about his latest doomed date—a girl who had spent the entire evening talking about her ex, pausing only to sip her overpriced cocktail.

“I swear, she brought him up before the drinks even hit the table,” Will said, shaking his head. “And then she goes, ‘I just think it’s crazy how much he messed me up, like, I should be over it by now, right?’”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, wincing.

“Yeah. And then she says, ‘Anyway, what were you saying about your deployment?’ Like I was supposed to just—pick up where I left off.”

You were still laughing when Santi approached, his face bright with a joy you didn’t usually see in him. He had two people in tow.

“Alright,” he said, clapping Will on the shoulder and looking at you. “Let me introduce you to these idiots.”

The first was Tom—a tall guy with a laid-back smile, the kind of smile that suggested he could talk his way out of anything. He barely waited for Santi to finish before grinning at you.

“So, which one of you got the good genes?” he asked, squinting between you and Santi, like he was weighing his options. “Because I feel like it’s not Santi.”

Santi elbowed him in the ribs, and Tom let out a dramatic, exaggerated oof, still grinning.

And then—

“This is Frankie.”

Unlike Tom, Frankie didn’t make a joke. He didn’t even smile.

Instead, he looked at you like you were something unexpected, something he wasn’t sure how to categorize. His expression flickered—confusion, then something closer to distaste. His eyes moved over you too quickly, as if assessing damage. It left you with the unsettling impression that there was something to assess. Like you had something on your face. Like your shirt was crooked, your makeup smudged. Like he had already decided something about you and found you lacking.

“Nice to meet you,” Frankie said eventually, nodding once. His voice was even, but there was something distant about it, like he had already lost interest in the exchange before it had even begun.

You nodded back, a tight, controlled smile stretching across your lips. You refused to give him more than that.

During dinner, it was impossible not to notice that his indifference to you wasn’t incidental. It was intentional.

With the others, he was engaged, animated. He laughed loudly, cracked jokes, leaned in close to whisper something to Irene that made her throw her head back and giggle. At one point, he even rested his elbow on the back of her chair, casual and self-assured in a way that made you glance away.

But when you spoke? It was like someone hit the mute button.

No glance in your direction. No acknowledgment that you had even spoken. His disinterest was so palpable, so deliberate, that it left a strange hollow feeling in your chest, like standing in the middle of a room and realizing for the first time that the walls had been closing in all along.

Even the mosquitoes buzzing near your ankles made more of an effort to engage with you than he did.

But you tried not to let it bother you. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you.

It was probably nothing.

After dinner, everyone moved instinctively, stacking plates, gathering silverware, brushing crumbs onto cupped palms. You volunteered to handle the dishes, and Ben, with a theatrical sigh, declared it a “four-handed job, no less.” He rolled up his sleeves like you were about to perform surgery instead of scrubbing plates. You laughed, grateful for the company.

Outside, the bonfire flickered to life, its glow stretching long and golden across the yard, catching on the edges of laughter, the glint of a beer bottle, the flash of someone’s teeth mid-smile. Santi had been proud of this latest home improvement project, leveling out the ground himself, arranging the stone ring just so. You imagined him standing there earlier in the afternoon, hands on his hips, admiring his own handiwork.

The dishes didn’t take long. By the time the last one was dried and put away, Ben clapped you on the back with a satisfied nod, as if you’d conquered something together. You thanked him, excused yourself to the bathroom, and slipped away down the hall.

Inside, you turned on the tap, watching the water swirl over your hands. When you glanced up at the mirror, your reflection met you with something unreadable. Nothing was wrong—no smudged mascara, no stray hairs, nothing out of place. Still, you adjusted your ponytail, smoothed your fingers over your eyebrows, checked your teeth like something about you needed fixing.

After a beat, you reached for the mirrored cabinet and nudged it open. Not to snoop—just curiosity, just something to do with your hands. Inside, everything was expected: shaving cream, toothpaste, eyedrops. No surprises. No answers.

And then—voices. Drifting in through the small open window above the bathtub, just distinct enough to pull your attention outside. You stilled, heartbeat pressing in your throat.

The courtyard stretched below, shadowed in places where the firelight didn’t reach. A tree blocked part of your view, its leaves shifting in the night breeze, but through the gaps, you saw them. Frankie and Will, standing just outside the warm halo of the fire, slightly apart from the others.

Frankie had a cigarette in one hand, the smoke curling around him lazily, wrapping itself through the air like it belonged to him. Will held a beer, his fingers tapping idly against the glass.

“... I mean I don’t know,” Frankie was saying. His voice was low, but clear enough to carry. He shook his head, lifting the cigarette to his lips, the ember flaring in the dark. “I can’t explain it to you. There’s just something weird about her.”

Your stomach dropped.

Will sighed, his patience tangible, like he was speaking to a stubborn child. “That doesn’t mean anything. You’ll have to give me more than that.”

Frankie exhaled. “Yeah, no. I don’t think so.”

Will let out a frustrated noise, shifting his weight. “Talk to her. She’s nice. Kind. Cool. Unlike you right now.” He lifted his beer to his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. “I get it, whatever, you have your weird feelings about people. But she’s Santi’s sister. Just make the effort.”

The words hung in the air, hovering on the edge of something sharp.

And then—Frankie laughed.

Not a real laugh, not the kind you wanted to hear. It was short, rasping, curling at the edges with something like derision. It caught at something inside of you, clawing at the softest part of your chest.

“I don’t want to be dramatic,” he said, taking another drag of his cigarette, “but I’d rather sacrifice myself in another way.”

Will huffed. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

You stepped back from the window like it had burned you.

Your stomach was twisting, something heavy settling in your ribs, pressing. The tightness was sudden, overwhelming, like a hand had closed around your throat without warning.

You turned on the faucet again, letting the cold water rush over your fingers. It grounded you just enough to blink back the sting in your eyes. You cupped your hands under the stream, splashed your face, watched the droplets cling to your skin.

Why was he being cruel to you?

The question circled your mind, over and over, a loop tightening like a noose. Each repetition sharpened the sting of his words, made them cut a little deeper. He didn’t know you. He hadn’t spoken to you beyond a handful of obligatory niceties, hadn’t given himself the opportunity to form any kind of real opinion. And yet, there he was, speaking about you with such offhanded disdain, like it was a fact so self-evident it didn’t even require justification.

You couldn’t reconcile him with the Frankie your brother had talked about so fondly. The Frankie who had stood by him through rough times, who Santi counted on with unwavering trust. Santi, your kind and loyal brother, who always seemed to have an unerring sense for good people. How could he be close to someone like that? Someone so quick to dismiss, so unwilling to extend even the barest courtesy of politeness?

When you emerged from the bathroom, your face betrayed you. The uncomfortable churn of emotions, the lingering humiliation—it was all there, just beneath the surface. You took a breath, then another, but the crack in your composure remained, fragile and obvious. You told yourself it didn’t matter. What Francisco Morales thought of you was irrelevant. A stranger’s opinion had no weight, no real consequence. That was the logic you reached for. But somewhere deeper—somewhere softer—his words had landed, uninvited, unwanted.

You ignored him for the rest of the night. Not subtly, not gracefully. It wasn’t a careful indifference, the kind that might go unnoticed. It was pointed. Unmistakable. If it made you seem childish or petty, so be it. Ignoring him was the only form of control you had left.

Later, after Santi blew out the candles on his cake, surrounded by the clumsy, off-key chorus of friends and family, you volunteered to serve dessert. A small act of normalcy. Something methodical, something steadying. You moved around the table with quiet efficiency, cutting generous slices, placing them onto plates, handing them out one by one.

When you reached Frankie, you skipped him.

Not by accident. Not in a way that could be misread as forgetfulness.

He was sitting back in his chair, arms loose at his sides, expression unreadable. Your gaze barely flickered in his direction. Without hesitation, you handed the slice that should have been his to Tom, who accepted it without a second thought, flashing a cheerful smile and an easy thanks. You moved on without pausing, your hands steady, your focus trained on the next plate, the next person.

But you felt him watching you.

The weight of his stare settled over you, a quiet pressure, like he was trying to work out whether you’d done it on purpose or if it had been some kind of oversight. You could picture the crease forming between his brows, the way his mouth might press into something contemplative. But he didn’t say a word. No protest, no offhand joke to break the tension, nothing.

When you returned to your seat, Ben frowned, looking between Frankie and the empty space in front of him.

“Hey, man, you want a slice?” he asked, his tone laced with mild confusion and amusement.

Frankie didn’t answer.

Ben, either oblivious or choosing not to acknowledge the shift in the air, reached across the table, grabbed a plate, and handed it to him. “Here.”

You watched from the corner of your eye but said nothing.

When Frankie left that night, he gave the group a brief, efficient goodbye. Hugs for his friends, warm claps on the back, the kind of easy affection that suggested long years of knowing each other.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t acknowledge him.

Didn’t give him the polite, meaningless smile you would have spared for any other guest.

Instead, you turned toward Irene, the brightness in your voice deliberate, animated, like whatever he had said, whatever had settled under your skin, had never happened at all.

You didn’t see much of him after that night. Not often enough for it to be a real problem, but just enough for the feeling to settle, for the vague discomfort to harden into something sharper. Animosity. Mutual, unspoken, and impossible to ignore.

Santi and the others took notice. They laughed about it, poked fun at the tension that seemed to press in whenever you and Frankie were in the same room.

And it wasn’t just that Frankie was withdrawn when you were around. No, that would have been easier. This was different. More pointed. You caught him watching you sometimes, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looked away, like the mere sight of you put him in a bad mood. Like your presence—your existence—bothered him in some deep, inexplicable way.

And then it hit you.

It wasn’t indifference. It was repulsion.

He didn’t just tolerate you in the way people tolerate someone they don’t particularly like. No, his discomfort was palpable, obvious. And the worst part? It wasn’t like that with anyone else. With other people, Frankie could be easygoing, relaxed, warm, even. You saw him with Santi, with Will, with Ben—laughing, teasing, cracking dry jokes that made the others shake their heads in amusement. With you, though? It was like a switch flipped. Like something about you specifically made him shut down.

It was a strange, hostile little orbit the two of you existed in, all silence and avoidance and charged, awkward glances. And then, one day three years ago, it all crystallized into something worse.

It had been an unbearably hot day, the kind that made the air shimmer above the pavement, thick and unmoving. The kind where just stepping outside felt like a mistake.

You pulled into Santi’s driveway and spotted him immediately, leaning over the open hood of his car. His forearms were streaked with grease, the fabric of his t-shirt clinging to his back. But you weren’t expecting the other figure crouched beside him, partially obscured by the car. Frankie.

His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms smudged with oil. His hands worked deftly, twisting a wrench, adjusting something out of sight. A streak of grease cut across his cheek, his brow furrowed in concentration, dark hair curling slightly at the edges from sweat. He didn’t look up when you stepped out of the car.

Didn’t acknowledge you at all.

Something about it—about him—set you on edge immediately. It wasn’t just the fact that he ignored you. It was how completely he did it. As if you were actually invisible, as if he could refuse to register your presence by sheer force of will.

Santi, oblivious to it all, greeted you warmly.

“Hey, look who it is,” he grinned, throwing his arms open before pulling you into a hug, despite the grime on his hands and forearms. You made a face, but he only laughed.

He asked about work, about your social life, about Mr. Darcy. Then, inevitably, the conversation veered toward Yovanna—the woman he’d been seeing for the past few months, the one he couldn’t seem to stop bringing up. His voice softened when he talked about her, his words tinged with something rare for him—something unguarded, almost boyish.

And still, Frankie didn’t look at you. Didn’t say a word.

He stayed crouched beside the engine, focused on his work, jaw tight. You could hear the small metallic shifts as he adjusted something, the scrape of metal against metal, the occasional sigh of effort. It was almost impressive, the level of concentration he seemed to have, the sheer determination to keep his back to you.

The heat pressed in, thick and unrelenting.

You stood there, arms crossed, unsure of what to do with yourself. You felt out of place, like an intruder in a space you weren’t meant to occupy. There was no point in trying to interact with him, no use in attempting some forced politeness. You weren’t even sure he’d respond if you did.

So you went inside, feet moving on autopilot, hands searching through the cupboards without any real purpose. You weren’t hungry. You weren’t even sure what you were looking for.

But the quiet of the house, the soft rustle of boxes and packaging as you rummaged through them, felt like a better option than standing outside, pretending not to care.

Latee, you stared down at the jar of jam in your hands, its lid refusing to budge no matter how hard you twisted. The effort sent a dull ache through your palms, the friction of your fingers against the glass doing nothing but adding to your frustration. You tightened your grip, exhaling sharply through your nose, determined to win this ridiculous battle.

You were bracing yourself for another attempt when the kitchen door creaked open. Footsteps, steady and unhurried, echoed before Frankie appeared, moving with that same effortless confidence he always had, like he never doubted where he was going or why. But then, just as he was about to leave the room, something made him hesitate.

His gaze landed on you.

It was brief, but then it sharpened, his expression shifting in a way that made your stomach tighten. He studied you, his head tilting slightly, as if he was trying to decipher something.

“Hey, hand it to me,” he said, holding out a palm, his voice level, neutral.

You blinked at him, still clutching the jar, your fingers locked around it more out of instinct than anything else. He extended his hand further, expectant.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, forcing your attention back to the lid. You tightened your grip, twisting again. Nothing.

Frankie clicked his tongue, the sound light but pointed, edged with impatience. Then, without another word, he stepped forward, his hand reaching for the jar as if it was already his to take.

“No,” you snapped, pulling back, a hot, inexplicable irritation flaring in your chest. “I can do it. And your hands are dirty.”

His lips twitched at that, an almost-smile, but there was something off about it—something unreadable in his eyes that unsettled you.

“Okay,” he said, his voice casual, almost amused. “So open it.”

There was something infuriating in the way he said it. A challenge disguised as nonchalance.

He turned away before you could respond, grabbing the sugar jar instead. With no visible effort, he popped off the lid and tipped a small handful into his palm, letting the granules spill between his fingers before rinsing them away under the faucet. The stream of water turned soapy as he lathered his hands, scrubbing with slow, deliberate movements, all while keeping his gaze on you.

You could feel him watching, tracking every failed attempt as you wrestled with the jam jar, your frustration growing with each slip of your fingers. The more you struggled, the more ridiculous you felt, like you were shrinking under the weight of his attention.

And then, predictably, humiliatingly, your grip faltered.

The jar slipped from your hands, falling in a sharp, unstoppable motion. The crash was deafening, the glass shattering against the tile floor, thick splatters of jam seeping into the cracks. The mess was immediate, sticky and sprawling, shards glinting under the overhead light.

For a second, you just stood there, stunned, your heart pounding.

“Shit,” you muttered, heat rising to your face as the disaster at your feet seemed to mock you.

Frankie, however, didn’t react. He dried his hands with methodical precision, tossing the towel onto the counter before moving to grab a roll of paper towels and a garbage bag. There was no smugness, no remarks, just a quiet efficiency that somehow made it worse.

“I'm just helping you—”

“I don’t need your help. With anything. Ever.”

Your fingers closed around the garbage bag in his hand, but before you could pull it away, he held firm. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension tightening like a drawn wire. His palm was warm against yours, the contact fleeting but enough to make your skin prickle with irritation.

“And what kind of help are you even offering?” you bit out, your voice sharp. “It’s not really help if you spend the whole time acting like I’m an idiot.”

Frankie let out a short breath, something between disbelief and amusement. Then his expression darkened, his voice quiet but cutting.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked, as if he’d been waiting for the chance to say it. “Why do you always have to be so—” He stopped, shook his head slightly, then exhaled. “So fucking weird.”

The word landed like a slap, cold and unexpected. You stood frozen, gripping the bag too tightly, feeling your pulse hammer in your throat. The word echoed in your head, overlapping with every other version of it you’d ever heard, every moment someone had looked at you just a little too long, just enough to make you wonder what, exactly, was so strange about you.

You took a steadying breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you shot back, but the words didn’t land the same way. Frankie’s jaw tensed, the corners of his mouth pulling tight.

“I don’t have a problem. You do. Always acting like a child, getting pissed over nothing.”

“Oh, no, you definitely have problems,” you snapped, shifting your grip on the bag. “Attitude problems. Ego problems. Basic reasoning problems.”

His face shifted, something closing off. His brows pulled together, his eyes sharpening, his entire body tensing like he was holding back some invisible reaction.

“You don’t know me. Not at all.”

“I know you well enough to know I want nothing to do with you. I don’t like you, and I have no fucking clue how my brother puts up with you.”

For a second, he just stared at you, unreadable. The air felt charged, like something waiting to snap. Then, with an infuriating half-smile, he reached forward and placed the garbage bag in your hands, his fingers brushing yours deliberately, like a taunt. His gaze flickered with something smug, something entertained.

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself,” he murmured.

“You don’t deserve anything good from me.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow, his stance lazy, like he was enjoying watching you unravel.

“Relax,” he said, in that same infuriatingly casual voice. “I was just pointing out the obvious. You make everything harder than it has to be.”

“Oh, and things are easier when you’re around?” you shot back, laughing without humor. “Every single thing I do becomes a problem for you. It’s like you can’t help yourself, like you have to disapprove of everything I say, everything I do, like I’ve ever once asked for your opinion.”

“I didn’t say that. But maybe if you didn’t take everything so personally—”

“Personally?” you interrupted, stepping forward. Your pulse was racing, your voice rising. “You make it personal every time you act like a condescending asshole, like you know something I don’t, like I’m somehow not good enough for you. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Frankie’s expression twisted, his breathing uneven now.

“Don’t blame me for your insecurities,” he said, his voice lower, more dangerous now. “You’re the one always pissed off at me. Maybe you’re the one with the fucking problem.”

“Oh, right. So now it’s my fault that you’re an unbearable asshole every time I’m in the same room as you?”

“You’re taking this the wrong way,” he said, shaking his head, his frustration bleeding through. “I’m not trying to be a dick. But you make it impossible to be nice to you. And look around—everyone else seems fine with me. You’re the only one who picks a fight every damn time.”

You stared at him, breath shallow.

“Are you kidding me, Francisco? Are you seriously that much of an asshole?”

His mouth twitched like he was about to argue, but before he could, the sound of the door creaking open cut through the tension like a knife.

You turned just as Santi stepped into the kitchen, his gaze sweeping over the shattered glass and sticky mess on the floor. His expression flickered from confusion to mild exasperation, his brows lifting slightly as he took in the scene.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence settle before glancing between you and Frankie. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“You two are ridiculous,” he muttered. “Keep me out of it.”

The tension lingered long after Santi left the room. And in the weeks that followed, you found yourself making a conscious effort to avoid Frankie, dodging him in hallways, staying silent when he entered the room. But it didn’t matter—whenever he was near, the air thickened with unspoken words, with all the things you hadn’t said, all the things you couldn’t.

And now, years later, here he was, sitting across from you, eating like nothing had ever happened. Then, casually, carelessly, he said it again.

Weird.

For some reason, the night before had softened something in you, made you forget—just a little—the bitter taste Frankie usually left behind. The way you had laughed, the way he had steadied you after your clumsy little accident, the way his hands had been careful but sure. For a moment, it had felt easy. It had almost made you forget the way he really saw you.

Almost.

Because now, sitting across from him, that familiar weight settled back into your chest. It wasn’t anger exactly, just the dull press of remembering. That no, you didn’t care what he thought of you, except for the small, inconvenient part of you that did.

You went quiet, the shift in your mood unmistakable. You weren’t the kind of person who could hide things well—your face always gave you away, your eyes especially. And right now, you could feel the way they changed, heavier somehow, distant in a way that wasn’t intentional but still impossible to ignore.

Frankie watched you, his expression shifting, something flickering behind his eyes. Then, after a pause, he asked, “Are you okay?” His voice was softer than you expected, careful in a way that made your skin prickle. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” you said quickly. Then, realizing how clipped it sounded, you exhaled and tried again. “I’m fine, I just…” You trailed off, your gaze drifting over his shoulder, scanning the living room as if the right words might be lying around somewhere. When you looked back, it was brief. “I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

Frankie studied you for a moment, his brows pulling together slightly. He knew something was off, you could see it in the way he hesitated. And maybe in a different situation, with someone else, he might have pushed. But this was you, and he knew better.

“Sure,” he said finally. “I’ll call for a car and go, okay?”

You nodded, already looking past him, already somewhere else. Then, without really thinking, you muttered, “You still have to pick up your car, don’t you?”

“That’s right.” He tipped his cup to his lips, draining the last sip of coffee before setting it down with a quiet clink. His eyes flicked back to you. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

You sighed, exasperated, tilting your head back just slightly. When you met his gaze again, any lightness from before had disappeared.

“I’m fine, Francisco. Leave me alone.”

You slid off your seat and turned away before you could see his reaction, before you had to sit with whatever look he might be giving you.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you said over your shoulder, already walking down the hall, already pulling away. “I’ll be right back.”

Once inside the bathroom, you closed the door quietly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile balance of the moment. You didn’t really need to be here. You weren’t fixing your makeup or brushing your hair. You just needed distance—from Frankie, from his gaze that always seemed to catch too much, from the unspoken weight pressing down on you.

But the mirror didn’t offer any escape. It just stood there, reflecting back everything you were trying to ignore, everything you didn’t want to acknowledge.

What the fuck are you doing?

The thought came quickly, sharply, twisting through your ribs. You turned on the faucet, the rush of water filling the small space, and leaned over the sink, cupping your hands beneath the stream. The cold hit your skin like a shock, a reset, but it didn’t quite reach deep enough. You pressed damp fingers to your cheeks, ran them over the bridge of your nose, across your lips. Testing. Grounding. Stalling.

And when you looked up again, you felt—pathetic.

Maybe that’s why Harry hadn’t chosen you. Maybe that was the answer. Or maybe the truth was worse: no one had ever chosen you. Not Harry, not the boy before him, or the one before that. Every single time, it had ended the same way, with someone walking away toward something—someone—better.

And if you really thought about it, hadn’t that always been the pattern? Hadn’t you spent your whole life watching people choose something else?

Not your father. Even though you knew he had loved you, even though you understood, in some distant, logical part of yourself, that it wasn’t about love. But still—he had always chosen Santi. Always drawn to the open air, the wilderness, the kind of life you had never quite fit into. They had shared something you could never access, something stitched into their bones. They understood each other in a way that had left you on the outside; you were the outlier, too quiet, too lost in your own head, always curled up in the same four walls with books about people who actually lived. People like your father, like your brother. They met life head-on, without hesitation, without fear. And you… you had always been afraid. Of what, exactly? You weren’t sure. You only knew that it was there, a part of you as much as anything else.

Not your mother, either. She had loved you too. But she had left anyway. And you understood that too—understood how grief could hollow a person out, how it could make staying unbearable. You knew she wasn’t strong enough to live inside the absence of your father. And maybe you weren’t supposed to blame her for that. But you had needed her. You had needed her so badly, and she hadn’t been there.

And sure, Santi had always chosen you. He had always been the one constant, the one person who made you feel like you weren’t completely alone in the world. But you couldn’t cling to your brother forever. He had Yovanna now, and the life they were building together, the plans they whispered about when they thought no one was listening. A family, maybe.

And then what?

Where did that leave you?

You swallowed hard, gripping the edges of the sink, feeling the quiet ache settle into your chest. It wasn’t the kind of loneliness that came from being physically alone. It was something deeper, something harder to name. The kind that had lived inside you for so long, it almost felt like a part of you.

You couldn’t let yourself spiral. Not now. Now, you had to leave the bathroom, find Frankie, and get him to leave. Then, maybe, you could curl up in bed with Mr. Darcy and pretend this day had never happened. That was the plan. That was the responsible, rational, totally-not-falling-apart plan.

You pressed your palms to your cheeks once, as if physically pushing the emotion away, and stepped out.

By the time you reached the kitchen, your hands drying against the hem of your shirt, Frankie wasn’t there anymore. Your breath caught, a strange mix of relief and suspicion pooling in your stomach. And then you saw him.

He was standing by the couch, his head tilted slightly, eyes locked on something in his hands. A book, blue... with delicate gold lettering on the cover... No.

No.

“What are you doing?” The words left your mouth before you could soften them. You surged forward, your pulse spiking as recognition set in.

Frankie didn’t look up. Instead, he turned just enough to keep the little book out of your reach, flipping it open with an infuriating lack of urgency.

“What’s this?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Francisco.” Your voice shook, your fingers stretching toward the journal. “Give me that.”

He lifted a single brow but didn’t obey.

“Going to a bar and making out with a stranger…” he began reading aloud. You felt the heat rush to your face, creeping up your neck like fire. “Skinny-dipping. Learning how to kick someone's —”

“Francisco!” You shoved at his chest, your hands colliding with solid muscle. He barely moved. His expression was infuriatingly amused.

“Go camping in the woods—”

Without thinking, you reached up and pressed your fingers hard against the bridge of his nose. His sharp inhale was instant, followed by a curse.

“Shit, shit—okay, okay!” He jerked back, wincing as he hunched slightly. “Jesus, you fight dirty.”

You snatched the journal from his loosened grip and held it close, stepping around the coffee table, putting space between you. Your heart was pounding, your humiliation expanding by the second.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you not understand the concept of privacy?”

Frankie touched his nose, wincing again, but his eyes were still full of laughter.

“What’s that, shortcake?”

You blinked. “What the hell did you just call me?”

He shrugged. “Never mind. What was that list?”

As if the embarrassment wasn’t already at an all-time high.

You sighed, dropping onto the couch, your fingers gripping the journal like it might disappear.

“It’s… a list I made.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Why?”

You lifted your gaze, dark and sharp. “Why the hell should I explain to you what I write in my diary?”

“To be clear, I wasn’t snooping,” he said, raising his hands in defense. “It was right there.” He gestured toward the coffee table. “Open. Can you really blame me?”

Your mouth opened, ready to argue, but then you remembered. He was right. You had left it there. Right before heading out to meet him last night.

You exhaled, your eyes flickering away, suddenly heavier than they had been moments ago.

Frankie shifted, coming closer, his voice softer now.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“I’m almost thirty, Francisco.” Your voice was quieter than before. “And I haven’t done any of the things on that list. I’ve never had a ‘wild night.’ Never kissed a stranger at a club. Never camped out. I’m afraid of… a lot of things.” You swallowed. “That’s why I made that list. Because I hate that people think I’m just this.”

“This what?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “This. The woman who runs a bookstore and spends her nights with her cat and an imaginary boyfriend.”

Frankie’s face changed. You saw it—the flicker of recognition, the memory of his own words from the night before.

“But I thought you and Santi used to go camping all the time?” he asked, as if that might somehow soften the weight of what you had just said.

You scoffed. “No. My dad and Santi did all sorts of things. I stayed home.” You inhaled, slow and steady. “And then when I wanted to do them, my dad died. Just my luck, right?”

You stood abruptly, walking toward the kitchen.

Behind you, Frankie followed. “Wait. You wanted to go make out with strangers at a club with your dad?” He joked.

You almost laughed. Almost. But you weren’t going to let him off that easy.

“Yes, Francisco.” You turned, leaning against the counter, arms crossing. “That was exactly my plan.”

He huffed a small laugh, but his expression softened as he took a step closer.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “But you can still do those things. The club is still there. The woods are still there. There’s water everywhere.”

“I know.” You exhaled through your nose. “That’s why I made the damn list you read without permission.”

He tilted his head. “Okay, but was it really worth attacking my face like that?” He pointed to his nose, which was still slightly more pink.

You smirked. “You asked for it.”

“Right, totally unjustifiable.”

“What, weren’t you leaving?” You frowned, crossing your arms, your patience wearing thin.

Frankie exhaled, lifting his brows like you were being unreasonable.

“Yeah, in a minute.”

“Okay.”

“Go on then.”

“You’re kicking me out? What a terrible hostess.”

“You’re rifling through my things? What a terrible guest.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Well, my car’s a few minutes away. Can you tolerate my presence until then? It’s boiling outside.”

“Like I care. Go work on your tan.” You smirked. “But, because I’m an inherently good person, I’ll allow you to stay. Out of the kindness of my heart.”

He gave you a pointed look. “Yeah. You should add that to your little list.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“You know.” He shrugged. “Not being such a pain in the ass all the time.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Morales, or I’ll toss you out there like a lizard.”

Frankie rolled his eyes but leaned against the counter like he wasn’t actually in a hurry to leave.

“Anyway,” he said after a beat. “Santi texted me.”

That caught your attention. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, while you were in the bathroom. He wants us to have dinner with him tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Us? As in, the two of us?”

“Him and Yovanna, too. But yeah. He wants to see us, though I’m pretty sure he just wants to make sure we suffered. I always wondered where your mean streak came from, and now I get it. Santi’s got it too.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head.

“He wants to laugh at us, I’m sure of it.” But then, a thought struck you. “Oh, my god, what am I going to do with my face? I look like crap. You do too.”

Frankie snorted. “I don’t look that bad.”

“You look terrible.”

“Yeah, well, now I’ll look worse thanks to you.”

“We could always lie and say we got into a fight or something,” you suggested, tilting your head.

Frankie’s mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile. “Santi would kill me if he thought I let his little sister get into a fight.”

You sighed, your mood visibly changing, pushing off the counter and reaching for your phone, still plugged in, the screen lighting up with unread messages.

“You’re careful about some things,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “And then with others, you don’t care at all. I don’t get it.”

“What do you mean?” His tone shifted, like he was genuinely curious.

Without looking at him, you scrolled through your notifications.

“Why do you even bother looking out for me? If it’s because of Santi, don’t bother. It doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t make sense?”

You turned then, hair shifting against your cheek as you met his eyes.

“You’ve never cared about how I feel,” you said simply. “You’ve never held back from saying things that could hurt me, not even last night. Not even in front of my brother. So why pretend now? Why act like this matters to you?”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “Did I say something just now that pissed you off?”

“No, Francisco, but listen to yourself.” You gestured vaguely, exasperated. “Why do you care? You never have. You don’t have to start now just because we’re playing nice for one night. It’s weird. It’s fake.”

His arms crossed over his chest. “Okay but... I wasn’t going to leave you alone last night, though. You were hurt.” He shifted his weight, watching you carefully. “Did you actually think I would just leave?”

“That’s not the point,” you muttered, pressing your fingertips to your temple. “Just—don’t act differently with me because I did you a favor. It feels forced. And don’t use Santi as an excuse. I’m not a child.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” he shot back. His eyes flicked over your profile as you typed something on your phone, the soft tap of the keys the only sound between you. “I know we have our differences, but that doesn’t mean—”

“I don’t care—”

“That doesn’t mean I should ignore if something bad or uncomfortable happens to you.” His voice was lower now, more insistent. “Like you did last night with me and Ian. Right?” He tilted his head slightly, stepping just close enough that you could feel the space between you shrink. “The rest is on the back burner if—”

"Yeah, well. Never mind," you muttered, cutting him off. "I need a nap."

You turned on your heel before he could say anything else, your movement sharp, decisive. As if ending the conversation physically would erase the weight of it. You crossed the room without looking back, collapsing onto the couch like the day had physically drained you, like you needed to be swallowed whole by the cushions just to breathe properly again.

Frankie watched you, his gaze trailing the exact path you took. His arms remained crossed, fingers pressing absently against his bicep as he stood there, unmoving. There was something wrong. He could feel it, see it in the way you carried yourself, in the way you had avoided his eyes at the last second. But you weren’t going to tell him. And he knew better than to ask.

Still, something gnawed at him.

He’d never really understood you. He’d told himself, over the years, that it was just incompatibility—that you were wired differently, that you had nothing in common and that was it. But maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe it was just that you had never let him. That every time he thought he might be getting close to figuring you out, you pulled back, slammed a door in his face, left him with nothing but vague impressions and unfinished sentences. That was the thing about you—he’d never understood you, not really. And that irritated him, the way you always felt slightly out of reach.

It shouldn’t bother him. He didn’t even like you, not really. And you certainly didn’t like him. The two of you had spent years existing like opposing forces, never quite able to be in the same space without the edges fraying, without the air between you tensing like a rope being pulled too tight.

But today had felt different.

Because for a split second, just a fraction of a moment, he had seen something real. Something unguarded. Something like fear, or exhaustion, or sadness, but buried so deeply beneath irritation and indifference that he almost missed it—it had caught him off guard because he recognized it, and that realization unsettled him.

Still, he had seen it, plain as day—the flicker in your eyes, the way something in them had tightened, then shut away. A flash of vulnerability. A quiet kind of grief. And against all logic, some part of him wanted to reach out and catch it before it disappeared completely.

But he wasn’t going to ask. He wouldn’t dare. And you had made it perfectly clear that he shouldn’t, hadn’t you?

For a full minute, he had to talk himself out of doing something reckless—like sitting next to you, like pressing just a little, just enough to get an answer. He forced the curiosity away, willed it into silence.

So when he finally slid into the car three minutes later, the words he’d thrown at you the night before came rushing back, one after another, uninvited. Or at least, the ones he could remember.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog

#frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales smut #francisco morales fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal x reader #capuccinodoll #the boyfriend act

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littlemissferret · 1 year ago

Text

CHRONICLES OF HOUSECATS [ part 1 , part 2 ]

sypnosis: you finally manage an uninterrupted date with isagi

no prns used (reader). established relationship with (loser bf) isagi. 2.2k wc. cw: nothing(?). made them a lot tamer for this (less chaos). kaiser & ness still cats ofc.

Do you remember the feeling of awkward cringe, when you watch third-rate actors on screen put on an act so atrociously bad? The kind of feeling that forces your skin to crawl- a chill sent down your spine while simultaneously warm blood rushes to your face from second hand embarrassment?

“MEOWWWW MRREOWWWWWWWWW”

Yeah, you’re feeling a whole hell of that right now. God, he’s so embarrassing…

You pinch the bridge of your nose, breathing in much needed fresh air to cool down the horrendous headache your darling housecats are causing you right now.

“Enough, Mihya. I told you to save your little theatrics for the talent shows.” You lift up the blue cat carrier to chastise him.

Michael bats his eyes, staring up at you with the eyes of a pitiful, heartbroken widow.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that,” You deadpan at his attempt to win you over. “C’mon, it’s just a spa. You love getting pampered, don’t you? Well, they’re gonna give you lotsss of love and attention there.”

He furthers his meowing and whining at you, pretending he didn’t hear allat. Determined to not drop his act anytime soon.

Isagi walks next to you, this sweet boy has been trying to hold your hands when you were busy arguing with your rebellious cat.

He finally manages to grab onto your hand, a smile blossoming onto his face as he internally celebrates his success.

“Um, will it really be okay for us to just leave them at the spa?” He eyes the magenta cat carrier in his other hand. “I mean, we can do this another time.. It’s not that much of a hassle, really.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, and start swinging your held hands. “It’s fine. Really!” You turn to him with a smile, “I bring them to the spa every two to three months anyway. Mihya usually loves it! He’s just being whiny for attention right now.”

Ignoring the blond cat’s yowls of protests, you continue, “Besides, I’m looking forward to this date with you-” You glance down at the blue carrier, “-without them interrupting this time.”

On your previous romantic dates with Isagi, the two cats had stalked and caught up with you both. Causing a scene every single time, thanks to Michael’s dramatics and Alexis’ surprising animosity towards your sweet boyfriend.

You swear Alexis is usually a good, well-mannered kitty. He never had any problems with strangers. Maybe he just doesn’t like Yoichi’s smell? You oughta talk to him about showing up right after practice in his stinky sweat drenched jersey.

You hum, stepping into the doors of ‘Magic Whiskers Pet Spa & Hotel’. The bell chimes, alerting the workers and other pets in the building of your arrival.

It doesn’t take long until the old manager walks up to greet you. “Hello there, dearie! Michael and Alexis back for their appointment?”

“Hi, gramps. And yeah, the usual, thank you.” Placing the cat carriers onto the counter, you open the locks for them.

Michael huffs, strutting out and stretching his legs, then immediately basks in the old man’s praises at his big boy stretch.

Little bastard giving you the silent treatment.

Alexis walks up to you the moment he’s let out of the cage. Purring as he rubs his head at your waist. Finally, he thinks. Normally he’s comfortable with his carrier but god when Isagi is the one handling him does it make the experience a hundred times less enjoyable.

Oh well, at least he’s in his second favourite place now. Being in the magic themed store slash spa makes him the happiest feline alive.

Great memories were created here in this magical place, after all.

“Good boy, ‘Lexis. You watch over Michael for me, yeah? He’s being a petty prick.” You whisper to the cat. “I’ll stock up on your favourite kibbles when I come back later.”

You scratch at the spot behind his little flicky ears, sinking in his purrs as you stare at Michael’s overgrown blond fur.

“Hmm. You know what, old man? I think you can try something new with them this time.”

The cats stare up at you curiously and the manager only gives you a warm smile.

“I thought you’d never ask. Leave them to me!”

—

“Ahh, some peace and quiet..” You sigh in bliss as you hook your arm with Isagi. You’re both now walking leisurely on the sidewalk. “Soo, what’s the plan, Yoichi?”

Isagi blushes when you turn to look at him, “Ah, right.” He fumbles with his jacket, “Well, I didn’t plan an itinerary or anything. But..”

He lists off the places you both can visit together, rambling off. Occasionally stuttering and tripping over his own feet.

You admire his side profile as he continues his meandering. He’s such a cutie, still so awkward and shy this far into the relationship.

You wonder if you’d get to more sides of him as you both continue to spend more time together.

“-so i think it’s really worth a visit too. You wanna go?”

His dorky smile paired with a soft blush on the apple of his cheeks. How could anyone say no to that?

You’d go anywhere this man brings you to.

“Sure. Anything for you, pretty boy.”

—

The faint smell of clay envelopes the both of you as you step foot into the pottery studio.

“Hello, we booked a session under the name Isagi Yoichi.” You glance around the cozy studio, admiring the array of works displayed. The muted colours of each piece of art blend well in the modernly designed room, adding a spark of personality to the mundane aesthetic.

“Yes, of course. Over here, please.” The receptionist brings you two to your designated workshop.

You place a thumb to your chin as you stare at the unpainted pottery in front of you. You never really had any plans to paint on some clay. Now that you think about it, you jumped at any idea Isagi had suggested- and pottery painting just happened to sound the most romantic to your dear Yoichi right now.

Oh, well. Now that you’re here with him, might as well show-off whatever amount of talent you have for painting.

Yoichi’s hand finds yours, before he quickly releases it to wipe off the sweat that has collected onto his palm.

“Sorry! I- It’s too hot in here, aha..”

Help this poor guy. So many dates into the relationship and he can hardly tell if you’re as excited as he is. Is your heart beating as quick as his right now? Do you feel the immense urge to hold him the same way he wants to hold you?

You choose to reach out for him, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Are you nervous about pottery painting? I’m sure you’ll do great, ‘Ichi.”

Ah, that’s not.. Yoichi sweatdrops. You have trouble reading him too, it seems. At least now he feels better about being unable to read you.

A talent to be reckoned with, really. How you both have been with each other for years and still stuck in the awkward guessing stage whenever you go out together.

But weakass communication skills aside...

Uh oh. What if you think of him as a loser, one that is jittery at the notion of.. painting?

No way! He’ll save this, he thinks. Right, he was good at arts and crafts back when he was in school. He can woo you with his crazy painting skills!

With newfound confidence, Isagi picks up an unpainted mug. A blank canvas- for him to turn into one of his creative works, and sweep you off your feet. He picks up a brush, brainstorming ideas of what he can paint onto the mug.

You browse the options, settling on matching mugs with Yoichi’s. Sitting by his side, you dip your brush into the paint of your choice, and start to draw strokes of what you have in mind onto the delicate surface of the mug.

“Has your season come to an end? You’ve been more free lately,” You ask, just to start a conversation. “As in, you’ve been coming over a lot more.”

Isagi’s mouth forms an ‘o’, “Right. Yeah, it's my off-season right now.” He pauses to think, “I’ll be free until next month, I guess.”

You hum at his answer, “You still practice a lot, even on your holidays.”

“Ah, well. That’s just..” He blushes, feeling a bit shy that you’ve noticed his passionate attitude towards football.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” You laugh at his embarrassment, “You love football. That much I know of.”

Isagi feels his heart flutter at that. God, you remind him of how much he loves you every time without fail. Doing so much to him while you haven’t even started on pampering him with kisses and sweet words.

He swears you’re perfect- just for him. You fit perfectly, providing all kinds of comfort and support that he never knew he needed. All on your own accord.

You love, care and recognize his dreams. What more could a man ask for?

The world's best lover for the world's best striker. (an overkill but he's delulu like that)

He swallows hard, wanting to let all the bottled up giddy feelings burst out and embrace you. He wants to make sure you know how much he loves and appreciates you.

Maybe he’s not the best with words. The peak of his creativity with verbal finesse is really just spitting flame on the field- something that he secretly hopes you’ll never get to witness.

Most he can do now is to paint what he loves the most- you, and his football of course, onto the mug.

With each delicate stroke of his brush, he carefully fills in the colours with love. Painting a simplified version of your general features, he then adds the football next to you. Ending the piece by tracing a giant frame of heart around both you and the ball.

He checks his work, scanning for any small mistakes then carefully writes ‘World’s #1 Striker’ onto the free space next to his painting.

He smirks proudly at that.

You send him a side-eye then chuckle at his satisfied look, touching up on the details and colours of your own piece of art.

Seems like you both share very similar sentiments in your paintings. You opt to paint what you love the most- your cats, with your lovely boyfriend in between.

Instead of acting up on your ego like him, though, you settled on painting mini hearts to fill out the free space.

Give it a week, and your mugs will be delivered back to you. The previously plain ceramics painted over with a sheen of love, reflecting the experience you both created and the bond you’ve both strengthened over the date.

—

“Meow”

Alexis runs up to you the moment you enter the door. Eagerly pawing up at your legs.

You notice his faded magenta is re-dyed, and his usual pressed down fur is now more fluffed up. The natural caramel brown is now more contrasting with the bright magenta.

“Hi, ‘Lexis. Did you have a good time?” You pick him up and start to kiss him all over his now very soft and fluffy fur. “I missed you too, baby. You look so pretty. Do you feel pretty?”

The now fluffier (re-dyed) magenta cat basks in your attention, lapping his tongue at your chin while purring happily.

The old man walks up to you with Michael strutting along next to him.

“I’ve given this one a whole makeover,” He muses, “Alexis was the one who chose that colour for him.”

Michael glances up at you proudly with his pretty blue eyes- now matching with the new dye he wears on his blond fur: on the top of his ears and the ends of his tail. His fur is noticeably shorter, and a little choppy around his head, framing his usual fluffy face.

It makes him look so silly, to be honest. But he’s so satisfied with it, you decide to not comment on the choppy part.

You do, however, comment on his new dye job.

“What a beautiful shade of blue,” You coo at him, giving into his attempt at flaunting for compliments. “Look at you, my little emperor. So royal.” His fluffy tail stands up high, and wags in approval.

Returning your attention to the old manager, you teasingly ask, “Were they on their best behaviour, old man?”

He chuckles and nods at the two cats now staring at him, “Yup. They’re good alright. I’d say they deserve some new toys and some premium kibbles.”

You smile, satisfied hearing his response. “Well, I did promise to restock Alexis’ favourite kibble.” You pick Michael up along with Alexis, then place them on the seat of a trolley nearby.

Turning to your idle boyfriend (who has been nervously eyeing a certain magenta cat), you ask, “Could you help me get the premium kibbles, ‘Ichi? I’ll bring these two around for them to pick their new toys.”

Isagi smiles crookedly, “Sure, honey.” He tries to shrug off the way the blond cat is narrowing his eyes at him, but mostly at the ominous smile the magenta one is sending him. “Take your time.”

He’ll just have to find a way to counter the two jealous kitties soon.

a barking cat video made me write allat

- im ngl i feel kinda shy writing lovey dovey romance, u can tell its really stiff - probably will resort back to chaos dumping or maybe will try to put myself out there

#- yu : writing ༊*·˚#isagi yoichi #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi yoichi x you #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #alexiss ness #alexis ness x reader #alexis ness x you #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you #ooh i don't like this one

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theragethatisdesire · 2 years ago

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dall'inizio - eren x reader, 18+!!!!

welcome back to the ti penso universe everyone!!!! this is a continuation/prequel of the little series we've followed from my first eren x reader fic. i was really interested to see how they met and ....unsurprisingly, it's a one night stand that doesn't turn out as planned. this one is also super fun because we get to hear from both eren AND reader alternatively, plus reader is a confident, bad bitch and we love that for her. this one goes out to @philliam-writes bc ik you love this eren as much as i do!!!!!! here's ur part 3 bestie >:)

if you'd like to catch up and meet our eren x reader, find them here:

(1) ti penso ogni giorno

(2) nel bene e nel male

pairing: eren x afab reader

wc: 6.7k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut (duh), consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol/drug use (just weed nothing crazy), cussing, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a lovestruck idiot (and so are you if you're being honest)

title (as always) means "from the beginning" in italian i'm obsessed with them <3

“You look like a whore,” Ymir says bluntly, dragging her eyes over your outfit– or, lack thereof.

“It’s not that bad,” you wave her off, turning back to the mirror to tug at the hem of your little black slip. You do look like a whore, but it’s intentional. You haven’t gotten laid in three months– your friends have been calling you dramatic, but that’s a lot, okay? You’re in college, you’re supposed to sleep around, right?

On top of that, your last few situationships just haven’t quite…well, they weren’t bad, but they didn’t scratch the itch. You desperately need a fuck– not just a fuck, a good fuck, and you have a feeling tonight’s going to be the night. It’s Halloween, the international holiday for running around in basically zero clothes, and you’ve taken great care to adhere to that tradition.

“Are you a mouse?” Historia wrinkles her nose at you from her spot at the vanity in the corner. She’s in a dalmatian costume; cute, spotted ears sticking up from her blonde hair, blue collar tinkling when she cocks her head at you.

“I’m a fucking cat,” you mutter, drawing a black triangle of eyeliner on the tip of your nose, “I didn’t have time for a real costume.”

“She just wants to get laid,” Mikasa announces, pushing through the studio apartment door with a huff, arms laden with plastic bags that are making a tell-tale clinking sound, “it’s been like, two whole weeks.”

“Three months!” You correct her, defensive.

“I understand,” Ymir, appropriately dressed as Cruella de Vil, grins, “it’s been…what, Stor? Two hours?”

“Ymir!” Historia, scandalized, flushes a furious red. Both you and Mikasa are unphased; in the last four months they’ve been together, the three feet they’re sitting from one another now is the farthest apart you’ve seen them.

“I’m not a whore,” you turn around, hands on hips, “I just…it’s been awhile since I had good sex. Floch was–”

“The worst?” Mikasa finishes for you. You hate how well she knows you; even after less than two years of knowing each other, she can practically read your mind.

“Yeah, you may have mentioned that once or twice,” Historia turns back to the mirror, immediately disinterested. “Or a thousand times.”

You throw your hands up, turning back to the mirror to finish your whiskers. “So none of you can blame me.”

“While you two,” Mikasa points between Ymir and Historia accusingly, “have been screwing like rabbits, and you,” her black-painted fingernail finds its way to you, “have been trying to figure out how to sleep with half of Manhattan, I took the liberty of actually making plans for us.”

“Jean’s?” You raise a knowing eyebrow at her, grateful to put someone else in the hot seat for the night. Mikasa’s cheeks tinge pink. Busted.

“He’s throwing a party, yeah,” she answers slowly, trying to talk her way around her obvious attraction to him, “but it’s not those douchebags he usually hangs out with. My best friend from home, Eren, just got into town, and,” she looks at you pointedly, “some of his friends are actually cute.”

You’re unconvinced. “Pictures?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Mikasa bites her lip mischievously, “but if you take a few tequila shots with me, I might be persuaded to show you one or two.”

You’re dubious. Mikasa’s definitely shown you a photo of these guys before, and you don’t remember a standout in the lineup. This Eren character, however…Mikasa has a framed picture on her bedside nightstand of them in high school, and you remember him being sort of cute. Dark, short-cropped hair, big green eyes so wide and earnest that he almost reminded you of a movie character. That picture was three or four years old now so…who knows? Maybe he’d grown into his features.

“Eren’s a no-go, though,” Mikasa continues, knowing your exact train of thought of course, pouring out shots of lukewarm, cheap tequila. Your stomach gurgles in protest at the smell as you accept yours. “He’s a nightmare to women, trust me.”

“Who knows,” Ymir pipes up, nodding her head towards you, “she’s a nightmare to men, so.”

“I am not a nightmare,” you narrow your eyes, “I just don’t like to be tied down, that’s all.”

“You’ll have to be at some point,” Historia argues, smiling when Ymir slips a hand into hers. You wrinkle your nose, uninterested.

“It’s 2018, Stor, not very feminist of you,” you tut, throwing back your shot and practically choking it down. Ick.

“I’m a lesbian, how much more feminist can I get?”

“Touché.”

“Just promise me you won’t get wrapped up with him?” Mikasa eyes you, still not trusting the glint of curiosity in your eye.

Ymir crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you positive you like Jean and not this Eren dude?”

Mikasa makes a fake retching sound. “Eren’s practically my brother. I’ve seen his bare ass more times than I can count. Way past the attraction threshold, trust me. I just…I know him. And I know you,” she glares at you, “it’s a toss-up as to who would do more damage to the other.”

“I’ll behave,” you placate her, throwing your arms around her shoulders, “…maybe.”

Eren might puke. No, wait, he’s going to puke– oh, no, just an unbelievably loud burp. Eren smiles contentedly, feeling much better even as it stinks up the entire taxi. Connie leans over Armin, scrunches his nose and squints his eyes.

“That fucking reeks, dude!”

“Sorry,” Eren shrugs, turning his head back to the window and ignoring Armin and Connie’s complaints. They were all a few beers deep- what did they expect?

Eren’s lived a few hours outside of New York City all his life, but he’s never been, except maybe once or twice for field trips as a kid. He never remembered it looking like this, though: each little apartment twinkled like a star, giving the wall of skyscrapers the appearance of the night sky. Even as the cab screeches and jerks in the Lower West Side traffic, Eren feels like he’s in a spaceship, free and flying amongst the stars.

Maybe he could talk to Zeke, convince him to move their little operation out of their garage and into the city. There was money here, right? And plenty of musicians who weren’t quite good enough to get signed by any major labels…

“Mikasa says she and her friends will be over in five,” Armin squints at his phone screen, holding it far away from him like an old man to type a response. Eren nearly rolls his eyes.

“Would you just get some fucking glasses already?”

“Annie said they made me look nerdy,” Armin shrugs. Connie groans.

“You two broke up like, a year ago–”

“Six months,” Armin corrects him, eyes growing sadder by the second.

“Okay, six months, whatever, we’ve got to get you laid tonight, dude.”

Eren lets the two slip into an argument about the “appropriate amount of time” to wait to sleep with someone after a breakup, much preferring his unusually contemplative mood to Connie and Armin’s bickering after their four-hour train ride together. He smiled to himself; God, it would be good to see Mikasa again. He wouldn’t have admitted it at gunpoint, but she was practically his mom growing up, and she’d been gone for over a year, only visiting for Christmas. Rumor had it that she’d been spending a lot of time with Jean as of late, so he needed to see what that was all about, too.

And who had Eren been spending a lot of time with lately? No one but bar rats and slim pickings from the frat parties at Trost University near his hometown. When was the last time he’d even gotten laid? A month? Two? Her name had been Jenna…no, Jenny? Josephina? Fuck, he should remember that. Eren needs to get laid, regardless, but if he dares to step near any of Mikasa’s friends, she’ll kill him, he knows that from experience. Then again, maybe this weird-ass Jean situation would come in handy. If Mikasa ends up distracted…

“Excuse me!” Armin disturbs his thoughts once again; Eren scowls. “Excuse me, sir? I think we’re here.”

Eren pays for the cab. Armin had bought the train tickets and the chain-gang costumes they were all currently sporting, and Connie was always flat broke, insisting his music career would work out soon. That could be Eren’s fault, though: Connie was one of his and Zeke’s first “clients”. None of them even bothered keeping up with the money exchanged between each other anymore; Connie had been in their kindergarten class, Armin’s mom had changed all of their diapers, Mikasa’s parents were the “cool parents” that let them smoke weed in the backyard, Jean’s mom made the best potato salad. They were a little family, separated by life and college at the moment, but a family all the same. Eren felt a little tingle of appreciation in his stomach as they climbed the stairs to Jean’s walk-up.

“Jaeger!” Jean was dapping him up and smacking a fist against his back before Eren could even properly look around the dark apartment.

“Kirstein,” Eren returns his embrace and has to shout over the music, suddenly smacked with a wave of homesickness at the familiar smell of weed and Jean’s tacky Hugo Boss cologne.

“Make yourself at home, dude,” Jean’s nearly inaudible over the thumping house music. He’s got some stupid mummy costume on that exposes his lean stomach, basically just shirtless and wrapped in toilet paper. Eren stifles a laugh, looking around the apartment for any other familiar faces.

Reiner approaches him next, a goofy, drunken grin splitting his face wide open, tackling Eren in a bear hug. Most of the greetings go like that; I miss you! How are you? How’s the business? Are you still in Shiganshina? It makes Eren’s chest tight, makes him miss the closeness of the people he loves. He was just always fucking working, helping Zeke with paperwork, running around town talking to clients, pulling at his face late at night looking over the finances of everything. He feels wound up, ready to burst, but the blunt and beer Bertholdt just handed him should fix that, at least somewhat. He needs…fuck, he needs to get laid.

His eyes search the room, looking for the one person he’s looking most forward to seeing, but he doesn’t find Mikasa where he expects.

She’s perched on Jean’s lap, giggling over her drink as Jean waves his arms wildly, telling her a story. That bizarre sight only holds Eren’s gaze for a moment, though, because there you are beside her, grinning wickedly with one of those stupid vapes between your teeth.

Eren stops dead in his tracks, speechless. Where do they even make women like that? He goes bottom to top, letting himself be impressed with how well you’re balancing on those high heels, ravishing every naked inch of your exposed legs until he reaches the hem of– fuck, is that just lingerie? Whatever little black thing you’re wearing, it makes his heart race, makes his pants tight. It’s low-cut in the chest enough to tease, a little collar around your neck, and your face…even your face makes him hard, so beautiful in the low lighting, eyes glimmering. You look evil and fun and sexy all at once, and Eren’s sold within the first ten seconds of seeing you.

Before he can make a beeline in your direction, he realizes he’s taken his gaze off of Mikasa and Jean long enough for them to approach him, Mikasa throwing her arms around his neck.

“Eren!” She squeals in his ear, clearly already drunk. Eren chuckles, trying to rein himself in enough to hold a stable conversation. The little black dress flashes behind his eyes as he smiles down at Mikasa.

“Hey Mika,” he ruffles her hair, making Mikasa grumble and reach towards her head to right what he’s ruined. His eyes wander back to you; you’re watching him too, sizing him up. He wonders if you like what you see, pulls at the zipper of his orange jumpsuit to inch it down, reveal some of his stomach. Eren’s not conceited per se, but he spends an unhealthy amount of time in the gym, and he knows it shows. As your gaze travels down to where he holds his zipper, Eren can’t look away, knows it must be obvious that he’s distracted.

“Bro,” Jean snaps his fingers in front of Eren’s eyes, looking over his shoulder to see what Eren’s staring at. He turns back with a smirk. “Yeah?”

Fuck, now Mikasa’s looking off in the same direction, returning her eyes to him with a scowl. Drunk or not, she never fails to scare the shit out of him. “No. No fucking way, Eren.”

“What?” Eren sips his beer innocently, shrugging. He was only staring…for now.

“She’s my best friend, Eren, no,” Mikasa says, firmer this time.

“Thought I was your best friend?”

“Didn’t she just break things off with Floch like…” Jean trails off at the withering glare Mikasa shoots him, turning red.

“She’s off-limits.” Eren nods, her words going in one ear and out the other. Mikasa’s scolded him before, and she won’t stop anytime soon, so what’s one more? She can read his mind, evidently, because she reaches up and pinches his cheek, yanking him down to her level.

“Ow!”

“Off. Fucking. Limits.” Mikasa seethes. “Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah I- fuck, let go! I hear you Mika,” Eren rubs his sore cheek, frowning. He can see you laughing at him, eyes barely visible over the edge of your drink. Great, Eren thinks; getting a talking-to from Mikasa like a child was not the first impression he wanted to give you.

Mikasa’s grabbing Jean’s hand and pulling him back towards the crowd, presumably to play guard dog for you, but before she can get him too far, Jean leans back towards Eren, cups a hand around his mouth.

“She’s single, bro,” Jean manages to get out before Mikasa pulls harder, “go for it!”

Eren grins. If Mikasa wanted to bite his head off for this, now he could blame it on Jean. What the hell was he supposed to say to you, though? You’re leagues above the girls he’s been pursuing. If Eren’s honest with himself, he’s intimidated by you, but his only solution is to throw some more of his beer back for liquid courage. He’s always loved a challenge.

When he pulls the cup away from his face, you’ve appeared in front of him, smiling demurely and nearly making him jump out of his skin.

“Hi.”

The second you saw him, you were hooked. He was gorgeous, dark hair pulled into a little half-bun on the back of his head, pretty eyes, and tall and broad to boot. He was almost stern-looking, dark eyebrows shielding his eyes. Dark and mean, just the way you like them.

Mikasa had given him a massive hug, interrupting the clear eye-fucking you were engaged in across the room; so that was Eren? Her long-lost best friend that was always too busy to visit? The happy kid from the picture? You watched her scold him, giggling to yourself at how childlike he became, crumbling under Mikasa’s pinch and pouting when she let him go.

You had no choice, really. Your promise to Mikasa had flown out of your mind the moment you saw those full lips pursed around the blunt, blowing out a puff of smoke, stretching into a wide, dangerous smile. You’re an only child and admittedly, a bit spoiled, so when you want something, you get it.

“Hi,” you can’t manage anything more clever, not face to face with his bare chest. Jean’s apartment is stuffy, and you catch the gleam of sweat on his chest in the LED lighting. You lick your lips.

“Hi,” Eren responds stiffly, looking as surprised as if you’d just punched him in the gut.

“You’re Eren, right? Mikasa’s friend?”

Eren hits his blunt again, nods slowly. “I don’t think we’ve met though, you’re…?”

You give him your name. He smiles and repeats it, rolling it around on his tongue and getting a taste for it. You can already see little hearts in his eyes, it makes you grin to yourself. You had expected him to put up more of a fight; there’s a dozen girls in this room alone that would fall all over themselves to get him in bed, but he’s enraptured by you, eyes never leaving your face. You’ve got him.

“A cat, huh?” Eren addresses the costume, dipping his head in the direction of the little black ears on your head. You’re suddenly embarrassed, feeling a bit silly.

“I, uh, didn’t really have time to shop,” you shrug, pulling at the hem of your dress. Eren’s mouth quirks up. “A prisoner?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get to pick. I like yours, though, it fits you.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “A cat fits me?”

“Yeah,” Eren says, growing surer by the second, “I don’t know. Just fits. S’cute.”

You’re embarrassed by the giddy flutter in your stomach. God, he’s delicious. “You think I’m cute?”

“I think lots of things about you,” Eren replies, voice low and sultry and hardly audible over the music. His eyes widen like he hadn’t exactly meant to say that out loud, but it’s too late now. You grin, all teeth and bad intentions.

“We just met,” you point out. Eren’s confidence has returned, he boldly brings a hand to the spaghetti strap of your dress. His fingers are hot– why do men always run so hot? His touch almost burns.

“You wore this,” he rubs the fabric between his fingers, “and expect me not to have a few thoughts on it? Wasn’t that the point?”

The breath leaves your lungs. Your confidence fizzles at the same rate as your arousal grows. There are plenty of hot guys here, but you might have jumped into the deep end with this one. Something flickers in his eyes, something hungry.

“Why don’t you tell me about these thoughts of yours?”

“I will,” Eren nods, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, “later.”

“Later?”

“We’re at a party,” Eren takes the empty cup from you, replacing it with his own, much larger hand, “shouldn’t we at least dance a little?”

Before you can argue, he’s pulling you out into the center of Jean’s obnoxiously spacious living room, into a jungle of sweaty, gyrating bodies. You’re close enough to the speakers now that the bass pounds through your body to the same rhythm as your heart thudding in your chest. The crowded, makeshift dance floor pushes you into Eren, skin against skin. You have a fleeting moment to be grateful that you’re likely now obscured from Mikasa’s view before a pair of strong hands around your hips prevent any more conscious thoughts from taking shape in your brain.

“One of my thoughts,” Eren’s right beside your ear now, voice echoing in your brain, “is that I like you. Like this body.”

“T-thank you,” you stammer out, wanting to facepalm at not only your stupidly simple response, but the weakness in your voice.

“Move it for me.”

You obey him, letting your body move with the music, trying not to get too caught up in whether or not you look ridiculous with how you’re pressing your body into his, arms thrown around his neck. Eren seems to like the way you move on him, pushing and pulling your hips in the rhythm you’ve set, looking down his nose at you with bloodshot eyes.

Your panties are growing wetter by the second; he’s intoxicating, the feel of him against you, firm and tacky with sweat. His hands are tracing up your sides, dragging slowly as if he’s memorizing the curves of your body. You haven’t known him long enough to want him the way that you do, humiliated by the carnal desire simmering in the pit of your stomach, but you’ve had enough tequila not to care. The whole thing is too similar to what you really want, and you make it through a solid seven or eight songs before you can’t take the stifling tension between the two of you any longer, thick enough to cut with a knife.

You lean up on the tips of your toes, wobbling in your heels, and grab him tight around the neck, pulling him to you. Your lips finally meet; Eren’s slow to respond as you’ve caught him off guard, but he catches on quickly, lips falling open so you can kiss him deeper. His lips are softer than you expect, supple and giving as they move with yours. You trace your tongue through his teeth, hardly suppressing a whine. He tastes good, like cheap beer and weed and lust. You drink him in, a satisfied hum buzzing in your chest.

Without warning, Eren practically rips you off of him. “Not here.”

He’s dragging you through the people around you, knocking them out of the way and not stopping to apologize when he gets offended looks. He pulls you into what you know to be Jean’s room, wastes no time in shoving you up against the door and blocking you in with his wide shoulders.

You swallow hard; you’ve underestimated him.

“Another one of my thoughts,” Eren mouths at the area beneath your ear, makes you groan, “is that you’re pretty. Like, very fucking pretty. Bet you’re twice as pretty under this dress.”

“I think you’re pretty, too,” you manage to say, forcing the words from your mouth. Eren chuckles, smiling against the shell of your ear.

“C’mere,” he tilts your chin up, kissing you again. It’s troublingly gentle, long and languid as your mouths move against one another. He kisses you like he loves you; the thought makes alarm bells ring in your head, and you nip at his bottom lip to break up the emotional momentum, sink your teeth into it. Eren pulls back, chuckling down at you. “You’re mean.”

“Only a little.”

“Is that what you like?” Eren thumbs at your mouth, slipping his finger between your lips. You suck greedily, rubbing your tongue against the roughness of his fingertip. “Like it a little mean? Between you and me, I like ‘em a little mean, too.”

You nod, gently biting on his thumb. Eren groans, a low rumble deep in his chest. “Oh, I’m going to have fun with you.”

He’s pulling your dress over your head before you can stop him, sucking in a sharp breath when he gets an eyeful of your lace-clad breasts, the tiny thong you’ve slipped over your hips. Stronger than you’d expected, Eren pulls you up to wrap your legs around his waist, slamming your back against the door with a loud thud and knocking your stupid cat ears to the floor. You can hear a few sounds of surprise from outside; surely that got a few people’s attention, but you’re lost in him, whimpering at the feel of his jumpsuit costume rubbing against your clothed center.

Eren’s sloppy, placing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to suck a bruise underneath your ear. You gasp, canting your hips into his stomach, desperate for friction. You’re normally not so uninhibited, but Eren’s doing something to your head, has your mind spinning. He’s carrying you over to the bed, dropping you down onto Jean’s sheets. Eren leans down to pull your heels off, a sweet gesture if you could find the presence of mind to acknowledge it. You feel a flicker of guilt about doing this in Jean’s bed, but when Eren starts sliding a hand up your thigh, it flickers away into nothing, swallowed by your bottomless want.

“Look at that,” Eren smirks, rubbing his fingers over your panties, “soaked. This all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, hips jerking up towards his touch. It is for him, it was from the moment you laid eyes on him, and you both know it. His hands are everywhere: unclasping your bra, pulling your panties down, palming at your tits. You arch your back up to him, offering him your chest; he responds by closing down on one of your nipples with his teeth.

“So pretty,” Eren’s murmuring around the mouthful of your flesh he’s got, twisting the neglected nipple of your right breast between his fingers, “so pretty.”

“Eren,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair, pulling it out of its bun and wrapping the hair band around your wrist. His mouth is hot, scalding, even, but you pull him closer to you anyway, pressing his face into your tits. Eren doesn’t seem to mind, letting you move him this way and that, show him what you like and how to pull those pretty moans out of your mouth. Before long, he’s kissing his way down your stomach, hands gripping your hips like a lifeline.

“Want a taste,” Eren sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to you, “need to taste this pussy.”

“Eren,” you reach for his hair, trying to pull him back up to you. While you’d love to see what the mouth that had just kissed you breathless could do between your legs, the thumping music outside is an annoying but consistent reminder that there’s an entire party outside and you’re in Jean’s bedroom. The clock’s ticking. “Want to feel you, we don’t have time for–”

“Don’t have time?” Something wicked lights Eren’s face up as he shimmies your panties down your legs. “Believe me, it won’t take long.”

“Eren,” your protest is feeble but earnest, and you make another attempt to reach for him when a long, thick lick up your center renders you near-unconscious. You moan, a little louder than you would have liked to.

“See? Gonna make you feel so good, trust me,” Eren’s punctuating each word with a little kiss somewhere on your pussy: your clit, your lips, right over your fluttering entrance. You have no choice but to whimper and nod, canting your hips up towards him. You look down, immediately regretting it: Eren’s wiggled out of his costume, naked and beautiful and staring up at you from between your legs. You’re hardly able to swallow the inhuman sound that threatens to rip from your throat.

Where he’d been cool and calculated pulling you onto the dance floor, you quickly learn that Eren eats pussy like he can’t control himself, like his life depends on it. His massive hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, securing you against his face as you try to squirm away. He licks into you enthusiastically, moaning against you at the taste, sending a succession of vibrations through you that go straight to the fire in your stomach.

When his lips close around your clit and suck hard, you have to slap a hand over your mouth to stop a wail from reaching the ears right outside the door. Eren takes the opportunity to sneak a finger into you, curl it right against that gummy spot in your walls that has you seeing stars. As he works his finger in your cunt, he kisses his way back up to your mouth, greeting you with a sloppy kiss.

“Feels good, right?” Eren’s face is literally dripping with you, a sharp-toothed grin barely visible in the dim light.

“Feels good,” you whimper, daring to look down to where he’s grinding his palm against your clit. You can see the veins of his muscular arm straining as he pumps in and out of you; it’s a lewd sight, one that makes your head spin. “‘S so much Eren, I— fuck.”

“Yeah?” Eren’s smile grows darker, another finger slips into you easily. You’re practically dripping onto the sheets at this point, rolling your hips against his hand with your mouth hanging open. It’s humiliating but too gratifying to stop. “Gonna cum for me? You can do it, give it to me.”

“God– close, so c-close,” you can barely find the words to respond, the pressure in your belly swelling at an alarming speed. You’re going to squirt, you know you are, should move off of Jean’s bed or warn Eren or do something, but it’s too late.

You thrash in Eren’s grip, cumming so hard you think you can taste blood where you bite your lip. You can feel the wetness spraying from you, soaking Eren’s hand and the sheets and your inner thighs, can distantly hear your pitiful cries, but you’re powerless to do anything about it until the mind-numbing orgasm’s run its course. Eventually you do settle, babbling incoherently into Eren’s shoulder about Jean’s ruined sheets, about how you’re sorry for making a mess. Eren shuts you up with his mouth on yours; you can hear the distant rip of a condom wrapper.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he laughs, rolling on top of you and lining himself up, “gonna have to keep you.”

Before you can even think to offer to return the favor or make a sarcastic remark about how you’d never let anyone keep you, Eren’s pressing into you, and your mind short-circuits. Shit, maybe you’d let him keep you.

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him in the darkness, but he’s big, bigger than you’ve ever had before, and big enough that you realize this when he’s not even halfway in.

“Eren…it’s so– s’big,” you hiccup into his shoulder, fingernails clawing into his biceps.

“Is it too much, baby?” You hate pet names, hate them, but from the greek god splitting you open right now, you love it, want to lick the word right out of his mouth and taste it on your own tongue. The genuine concern glittering in his eyes, the little furrow between his brows as he pauses, frowns down at you, fuck, you might be in love.

“No, not too much– feels good.”

Eren’s grin is feral. “Yeah? Tell me.”

“Feels so fucking good,” a little giggle sneaks out from your clenched jaw, Eren smiles wider and cups your face to kiss you again, far too gently to match the way he’s stretching you, bullying your cunt into the shape of him.

“Feel full?”

“Mhm,” he’s bottomed out now, impossibly deep, and you give him a little roll of your hips to show him just how okay you are, that you’re ready to see what he can really do.

“You’ve got–” Eren rolls his hips experimentally, punches a moan from your chest– “the best fucking pussy. So tight for me.”

Ordinarily, dirty talk makes you cringe, but something about the way he words things, as raw as if his inner monologue is spilling out of him, turns you on, makes your cunt clench down around him. That makes him happy, he sucks in a breath of air and starts pounding into you hard enough to make tears well in your eyes, hard enough to make you squeal in a way no one else ever has.

“Taking me so fucking well, baby,” Eren’s hands are grabbing your face, his lips pressing into your forehead, “never gonna let this pussy go.”

You grant him a long moan of agreement, so cockdrunk that for now, you’re more than happy to sign your freedom away to stay in this bed, pinned underneath him for all of eternity. He’s fucking into you so deep he’s practically in your throat; your breath comes out in short little huffs, choking on the brutal pace of his fucking. And god, he’s so big, but you’re taking him somehow, like you were made for it.

Eren moves one of his hands away from his face to swat your fingers away from where you’re digging into his arms, surely close to drawing blood.

“Fucking hurts,” he hisses, “just as mean as you are pretty, y’know that?”

He easily manhandles your arms above your head, pinning them above you by your wrists. The way he stretches his body to do so changes the angle he’s fucking into you at; now he’s hammering into the spot inside of you he’d found far too quickly with his fingers. Your eyes shoot open at the change, and Eren doesn’t miss it. He smirks.

“Right there?”

“God, yes, please– right there,” you sound pathetic, the few surviving rational brain cells you possess are laughing at you, but there’s no help for it. He’s already got you spiraling towards cumming again, the wetness from your cunt creating a sucking sound where he’s moving in and out of you.

“Fuck, m’close. Think you can cum again for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, tilting your head up to nip at his neck, a tear or two running down into your hairline. You can do anything he asks, you think, anything in the world just for him, for how he’s making you feel. Eren practically growls, pistoning his hips faster.

“Need you to cum for me, okay beautiful? Cum right now.”

“S-so close– I– Eren, oh my god,” you’re babbling, eyes rolling back into your head. Eren smashes his lips to yours, grinding his hips into your clit and shoving you over the edge for the second time that night. You sob and convulse around him, back arching desperately and pressing your chests together. You’re seeing stars as he fucks you through it, grunting in your ear and growing sloppy as you tighten around him.

“Fuck!” Eren bites into your shoulder, hard enough to bruise, stilling his hips as deep inside you as he can manage. Your fucked-out brain wants the condom off, wants to feel the full warmth of him as he cums inside of you, grinding his hips against yours. Before he’s finished, Eren moves back to your mouth, kissing you deep and slow, a kiss that means a whole lot more than what you’ve just done together as a party rages just past the door.

As you’re panting beneath him, trying to ground yourself and come back to reality, Eren rolls off of you, whips the condom off, and to your surprise, takes you into his arms, pulls your head to his chest.

“You okay?”

You’re so blissed out right now that it’s a laughable question, and you giggle, watery and light into his chest. “More than okay.”

Eren laughs at that, a real laugh from deep in his stomach. The sound of it makes something warm and happy spark in your chest. “That good, huh?”

“You’re alright.” You’re trying to keep your eyes open, more than aware that your teeny tiny thong is on the floor and you’re naked in the arms of a stranger in Jean’s fucking bed, but Eren’s so warm, so comfortable, your eyes are fluttering despite your protests.

“Oh?” Eren’s voice raises in pitch, gets breathy. “Yes, Eren! Right there, Eren! I’m cumming, Eren!”

“Oh my god, shut up!” You smack at his chest, cheeks burning, but you make no move to roll away from him, preferring your snug little hovel against him to the loud, smoky party that awaits you should you leave.

“S’okay,” Eren presses a kiss to your hairline, “I like that you’re loud.”

“Not loud,” you grouch, resolving to let yourself enjoy just a few minutes of keeping your eyes closed before you return to the party. The last thing you remember is Eren humming, tracing circles into your shoulders with his fingers. You think you recognize the tune; it’s a love song.

–

“Jaeger!”

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god, is that Jean? What time is it? Eren!”

Eren’s first peaceful sleep in months is disturbed rather rudely, in his opinion; he shields his eyes from the brightness of the overhead light, peering through his fingers to see you, hair a rat’s nest and smudged makeup in rings around your eyes. He scowls at the warm, empty spot next to him in the bed that you’ve already leapt out of, frantic with energy even through your hangover. You’re alternating between running around the room naked, trying to find your dress, and shaking him urgently. He bites back a grin; so you are real, and just as hot as he remembered.

“Chill the fuck out, Jean!” Eren shouts, using far more energy than he can afford to expend if he’s leaving the bed anytime soon. The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 7:01am. Shit. “We’ll be out in a second!”

“Get your ass out here, Eren!” Shit. Mikasa’s here too? Oh, he’s dead the second he leaves this room. All the better to stay put, then.

“Get up,” you hiss at him, looking every bit of a pissed-off racoon as you scrounge around on the floor.

“Need my hair tie back if you want me to get up.”

“Ugh, here,” you fling it at him, hitting him squarely in the forehead. Eren chuckles, pulling his hair off of his neck and into its usual bun. He feels empty, feels alone, realizes that he wants your touch, the same body-to-body contact that he’d enjoyed last night..

“They’re fine,” Eren grumbles, hoping you can’t see the amusement written on his face, “we’ve got a few more minutes.”

He reaches sleepily for you, pulling you back into the bed with him amidst your whispered protests, pulling your lips back to his where they belong. He kisses you slowly, indulgently, convincingly. Your skin against his does wonders for the soul-crushing anxiety he’s been putting up with over the last few months. You’re like a drug to him; just one hit and he feels worlds better, feels like he can actually get through everything weighing on him for now. Jesus, even your morning breath doesn’t turn him off; his cock twitches in interest beneath the covers. Cute when you’re angry, he thinks to himself. He has a feeling you’d smack him if he said it out loud.

“We can’t,” you breathe into his mouth, pushing weakly at his chest. Eren loves the feel of your palms on his chest, necessarily resistant in the name of a one–night stand, but lacking the force to prove your point. You want him too, he realizes. The thought goes straight to his dick, and he takes a deep breath to keep his composure, to stop himself from jumping all over you with Mikasa and Jean right outside. He’s rather impressed with his efforts, rubbing small circles on your lower back instead of grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you into his lap like he wants to.

“We can,” Eren murmurs back, already ten times happier than he was a moment ago, “just want to kiss you, that’s all.”

That makes you pull back, fix him with a stern look. “I don’t want to come off as a bitch, but I don’t really do the morning-after thing. Don’t you live, like, five hours from the city anyway?”

Eren’s not the brightest when he’s tired, and he’s even stupider around beautiful women. He cocks his head at you, smiling. “Mikasa didn’t tell you? I’m moving to the city in a few weeks.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eren’s bullshitting, bullshitting very badly and he knows it, “just have to get some things worked out with my brother and our business. Get the operation moved here, that’s all.”

He knows your type: flighty, heavily anti-commitment, and meaner than a snake when you’re cornered. But Eren hopes, he hopes stupidly and against all reason because even if it was just a night, he meant what he said in the throes of passion. You’re funny, you’re interesting, you’re sexy, and he doesn’t want to let you go. He wants to fuck you stupid, just like he did last night, for the rest of his life.

He can’t say any of this out loud, of course, but what if he’s not bullshitting? What if he can convince Zeke to move their amateur record label into the city, where they can pick up real artists, and he can fuck you stupid whenever he feels like it? Maybe he can even learn how you like your coffee, what your bra size is, where the junk drawer in your apartment lives. Eren doesn’t know you, he knows that, but he inexplicably wants those things, wants the mundane parts of you for himself.

“Get the fuck out here, Jaeger, that’s my fucking bed!” Fists pound against the door, threatening to barge into your little sanctuary. Mikasa’s calling your name from outside too, voice harsh and angry. Eren waits for you to scold him, waits for you to shove him off of you and tell him to fuck off.

To his surprise, you make no move to get up and offer him a sheepish grin, shrugging shyly as if you’re not fully naked in his arms. “I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

Eren’s heart swells. “I’m not chancing that. Give me your number.”“You can earn my number if you buy me breakfast,” you scoff, “and help me find my dress before Mikasa kills us both.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager x readaer #eren x you #eren jaeger x you #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot x you #aot x reader #ti penso uni #ti penso universe #i love them this makes my heart warm!!!!!!!!!

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beomie3 · 2 years ago

Text

to the mountains - huening kai

pairing: best friend! hueningkai x reader

summary: your friend group decides to take a weekend getaway trip to the mountains, but it isn't until you stay in a cabin in the woods that your crush on one of them begins to make itself known. mutually :)

wc: 5k

content: best friends to lovers, cozy woods fluff, the rest of txt is mentioned, light cursing, handholding, cuddles <3, and smooches ^3^

♬🌲soundtrack:

to the mountains - lizzy mcalpine

meet me in the woods - lord huron

let’s go outside - far caspian

apple cider - beabadoobee

evergreen - richy & the coal miners

home - edith whiskers

calico - haux

alps - novo amor

sparks - coldplay

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

you trailed your fingers along the soft wind; feeling it grow colder as you watched rows and rows of pine trees line the road, ears popping as the car climbed elevation.

you looked over at the dark-haired boy next to you; your best friend kai who was in the driver's seat, both hands clutching the wheel. a laugh erupted from your mouths when his voice horrendously cracked as he attempted the high note to a song playing on the radio, his contagious dolphin laugh echoing through the car as you both laughed your asses off.

“maybe i should've taken taehyun up on the vocal lessons," he says once he catches his breath, mentioning your guys’ other friend, who also happens to be the best singer you'd both ever met.

you snorted, patting him on the shoulder. "i mean you could right now, he's in the backseat," you motioned to the back where your friend taehyun lay sound asleep, headphones snug as he leaned on the window.

kai muffled a laugh with his hand, looking at the sleeping tae through the rear-view mirror. "oops! i totally forgot he was here," he giggled quieter now, trying to forget how he was once screaming the lyrics to a song.

"kai- we planned that taehyun would come with us and that the choi's would all follow us in yeonjun's caravan. actually- i wonder if they're there yet." you leaned against the window, checking the “six lo$ers” group chat to see if your other friends had arrived to the cabin.

"oh, no, we're definitely getting there first, i need to make sure i get dibs on the room with the comfiest bed," kai stepped on the gas, determined to reach the destination before the other three boys who would surely compete for the same thing. you laughed, rolling your eyes. this is going to be fun.

with a minute to spare, kai pulled into the gravel next to a large pine tree in front of the cabin you’ll be staying in, quickly opening your doors and running out of the car once he took the key out of the ignition.

“crap where’s the key?!” he patted his baby blue hoodie frantically, seemingly unable to locate the key to the cabin’s front door. your heart nearly stopped when you heard the familiar honk of a black caravan pulling into the driveway as well. shit! it’s our competition.

"kai hurry!" you held his arm, pulling at his hoodie impatiently as he was starting to panic and screaming his loud, usual screams you were long used to. you stuck your tongue out at beomgyu as he was quickly unfastening his seatbelt and went to open the car door but it was locked, turning to yell at yeonjun which was silent from where you stood.

“quick get in!” at the last second kai found the key in his jean pocket, quickly unlocking the door and shutting it behind the two of you before beomgyu could reach it as he was sprinting towards you. all you heard was his pounding fist and yells on the other side, telling you to open the stupid door!

you and kai stood shoulder to shoulder, backs to the door huffing and laughing as you made it inside first. you didn’t think the shenanigans would start this early on in the trip. but all six of you together? it's certainly bound to happen.

you give kai one look before he grabs your hand, pulling you into the cabin which is quite larger than what you expected. you didn’t quite get the chance to take it all in since you were being pulled down the hallway by your best friend, but it’s warm, wooden interior and cozy ambiance certainly made you feel right at home.

“quick! we need to find the room with the comfiest bed. they have a spare key and they’ll get in soon,” kai whisper-yelled as he pulled you into the nearest room, adrenaline pumping, jumping onto the bed together and rolling around in it before moving to the next.

the next room was a bit bigger, but the moment you hit the mattress, you felt as you had just fallen face down on a rock. “solid no!” you jumped up laughing and the two of you moved to the next room excitedly.

soon enough, you heard the front door rattle and you both jumped on the last bed, immediately hitting jackpot. before you knew it, beomgyu ran into the room with a mischievous look on his face, grimacing at kai. “they’re in here!” he motioned to the other two boys, immediately sprinting over to the bed.

beomgyu jumped right on top of kai, wresting one another and you helped kai by pushing gyu’s arm off, failing miserably when yeonjun also piled on top. soobin just watched from the doorway, shaking his head. “you realize there are other beds right? and where is taehyun?” soobin’s question made everyone stop in their tracks and look at one another.

“he’s still asleep in the car.” kai laughed and you all ran out to wake the poor boy up.

the warmth of delicious soup soothed your vocal chords after hours of karaoke in the living room with the boys, eating it on the back patio with kai as the rest of them were either inside napping or doing silly little things in their own world.

the two of you lounged on folding chairs like a storybook elderly couple on a sunday morning, basking in the crisp forest air as you observed the vibrant green trees. occasionally spotting an exuberant looking bird and excitedly pointing it out to one another.

“shh!” kai quickly shushed you as you were in the midst of slurping your soup, stopping abruptly with wide eyes.

“do you hear that?” he leaned in closer, pretty eyebrows furrowed as he cupped a hand to his ear. you shook your head, quietly setting down your soup.

“i think it’s…running water?” he looked over at you quizzically and you really tuned into the noise, at first only hearing the occasional chirp of a bird or wind through the pines, but then you began to faintly hear it. like white noise. water trickling down upon rocks in the distance.

your eyes lit up and kai was quick to notice, his bright smile spreading from cheek to cheek. “wanna go look for it?” he nudged your foot with his, both sporting mismatched fuzzy socks.

“what kind of question is that?” you scoffed, raising a brow; you didn’t even have to explain yourself for him to know it was a solid yes.

kai had a habit of grabbing your hand and pulling you along with him, that’s how your friendship separated itself from the rest of the boys since long ago. he was known to be the closest to you out of everyone, considering you were always practically attached at the hip.

and so he did his usual; grabbed your hand and pulled you into the cabin to get on shoes before heading out in search of this mystery body of water.

beomgyu lay asleep on the floor like an old watchdog, missing his opportunity to tag along when you and kai soundlessly slipped out of the front door.

you followed right behind him, quick footsteps in the gravel and then onto dried leaves and twigs snapping beneath you once you reached the forest. you both swiveled your heads all around and above you, infatuated with the way the tall evergreens and pines tower up into the sky, nearly disappearing into the foggy clouds.

the fresh, pine-scented afternoon air tickled your nose as it was much colder than what you were used to down in the city, but it was more refreshing than anything. it felt good to get away. to be in silence. especially getting to see all these amazing sights with kai.

you only whispered to one another, needing to be extra quiet to be able to hear in which direction the water was coming from. the sound did indeed grow louder, signifying you were getting closer.

kai beckoned you over to where he stood, eyes wide. you jogged over, crunching leaves under your feet as you reached him. low and behold, you had stumbled upon a tall, but gentle waterfall, it’s water cascading down upon large rocks.

your head reached his shoulder when you stood next to him, always a perfect place to rest it as you both looked up at the shimmering water, astonished smiles on your faces.

you made your way over to the body of water surrounded by rocks at the waterfall’s base, occasionally getting splashed by cold droplets that ricochet off of the large boulders.

“kai? what are you-” you shot him a confused glance as he bent down to take off his shoes and socks, slightly rolling up his shorts.

“we’re getting in silly!” he threw his leg over one of the rocks bordering the edge, screaming when his feet were submerged in the ice cold water.

“we’re?” you crossed your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him as he held his hands out to you. you knew kai pretty well— he wouldn’t sabotage you by throwing you into the water like the others would. you trusted him to be gentle and civil with you, as he was more sincere than anything. of course, he loved to joke around but he knew you would despise getting thrown into ice cold water.

you removed your shoes and rolled your pants up before taking his soft and warm hands in yours, feeling his attentive eyes on you as you carefully dipped your foot in, the breath leaving your chest at how freaking ice cold it was. of course, your penguin-like friend was able to get in effortlessly.

“this is impossible ningning!” you grabbed his shoulder for support as you clenched your jaw and stepped all the way into the ice-cold water. he hid the small blush on his cheeks of the endearment of his name he so loved hearing you say.

the two of you waded over to the waterfall, hands occasionally brushing as you were careful not to slip over the moss and small pebbles under your feet.

your necks swiveled to look up at the waterfall, cold water pelting you as you stood mere inches from the cascading water. mesmerized, your hand drew out to run your fingers under the cold stream; kai following as he smiled at the icy sensation.

you watched your hands under the falling water, the only sound in your ears of it plunging in front of you, too loud to hear anything the happy boy next to you had said. you wiggled your fingers under the cold stream, numb by now that you didn’t notice the tips of your fingers had trailed onto huening’s under the water.

he stood there, a bit surprised, but subconsciously moved his fingers slightly closer to yours, hand nearly on top of yours. it wasn’t until he turned to look at you that you felt the need to hide your face, feeling your cheeks grow red and afraid he would notice.

something about the air. about being alone with kai in the forest. you had always found him pretty but right now— right now his beauty struck you in a way you felt your heart beat in your chest. sunshine radiating behind him like a golden halo over his dark locks, dreamy eyes and a smile to melt over. what is happening?

with a shy smile he interlaced his fingers with yours, opening his mouth to say something but not even bothering because what he had to say would be drowned out by the waterfall. so he began to pull you under the waterfall with him, your eyes widening when you realized what he was doing, but your heart took over and inevitably followed.

it was like ice, drenching your right shoulder and then your head and down your hair, then your left shoulder and you were completely submerged, mouth open at the sheer shock as it took the breath from you.

your best friend’s hair had matted down completely to his forehead, covering his eyes completely which drew a hysterical laugh from you. he reached up with your conjoined hands to sweep the hair over his forehead.

he showed you a toothy grin and you couldn’t help but examine his face through the sheen of water, beginning to fawn over droplets scurrying down his pretty nose.

you thought maybe you’d been staring for too long, darting your eyes away from him and over to the rocks around you, curious about the small flowers growing between the cracks.

yet, you caught him staring at you from out of the corner of your eye, small smile on his lips as his eyes darted around your face. you couldn’t avoid the small flutter in your chest.

you and kai were usually on the silly side. prolonged eye contact and blush on one another’s cheeks not exactly what you two usually share.

“whatttt?” you yelled over the roar of water, tilting your head to one side, noticing his apparent nervousness when he shyly looked down at your hands.

taking a small step forward, leaning in close so you could hear him over the roar of water around you, chest nearly pressed to yours.

he opened his mouth to say something and nothing came out but a small laugh, apparently nervous to say whatever it was. you cupped his cheek as to comfort him, suddenly aware of your gesture and shocked as to what you were doing. you’d never touched kai in such an affectionate way.

“you can say it, kai.” you assured him, your voice loud enough for him to hear. how couldn’t he hear you anyway? his face was a mere 3 inches from yours. you felt slightly uneasy at this proximity but you also kinda really liked it? your emotions buzzing all over the place at this unprecedented tension.

but kai didn’t say anything, he just stood there, looking at you like you were the beautiful waterfall in the forest, taking in all of your natural beauty.

out of no where, you leaned closer, standing on your tip toes and pressed your lips to his cute nose. what a stupid, stupid idea. what the hell am i doing?

but he found it absolutely adorable, face scrunching and high pitched laugh exiting his lips.

“you like my nose?” he asked you quizzically, and you nodded, having to look away with a slight tinge of embarrassment, squeezing your eyes shut.

then grabbing your chin to angle your face back to his, still flustered, he musters up the courage to look you in the eyes, flicking them down to your lips and back up to admire you.

you were simply overtaken by his dark brown eyes; noticing the way his pupils dilated as he focused nearly into your soul, sinking into the dreamy trance that you never knew your best friend was capable of pulling you into in this way.

in a million years, you never thought you'd share a kiss under a freezing cold waterfall in the middle of the forest with kai kamal huening. but here you were, leaning into him, the nearest proximity you ever had since knowing him, not paying any mind to the occasional shivers and goosebumps pelting your body.

he closed the small gap that was left between your lips and you stayed there, slightly squeezing his hand as your heart felt it would beat out of your chest. the kiss was short and sweet and you almost wished it had been a little longer. but kai pulled away slowly, his cheeks the reddest you had ever seen them.

“and i like your lips.” he giggled, eyes nearly shut with how big he was smiling. you never knew kai felt the same way about you until now, dropping small hints along your friendship that you didn’t quite pick up on until now, only now getting his message with a sweet peck to your lips.

by now, your body was frozen and you pulled kai out of the heavy stream with you, not able to withstand it any longer since the adrenaline was wearing off and you could now begin to realize just how cold you were.

you wrapped your arms around your body to withhold as much body heat as you could, violently shivering with how cold you were. kai was cold too, but he made warming you his priority, wrapping his arms around you to hopefully try and help.

“here, stand on my feet,” he requested and you did just that, balancing on the tops of his feet as he walked the two of you over to the exit, helping you over the rocks and getting your shoes and socks for you.

you smiled, the only warmth in your body provided by his kind gestures that would melt anyone’s heart.

“race you back?” you looked down at him as he tied your shoe for you, his eyes flicking up quickly at the sound of those words. and before you knew it you were sprinting after kai in the woods; feet numb but heart warm and racing just as fast as you were after him.

“never seen that hoodie on you, is it new?” yeonjun asks as he stirs his hot cocoa, gazing at him from your spot in front of the fire place.

“oh it’s kai’s, actually!” you sip your apple cider, snuggling into the oversized baby blue hoodie that kai lent you a couple days ago once you returned from your freezing cold adventure.

“oh so now you’re wearing his hoodies hmm?” beomgyu nudged you, a mischievous grin on his face as he wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, exaggeratedly winking at yeonjun from where he stood in the kitchen.

the boys had began to notice your closeness with hueningkai especially recently on this trip, due to the fact you two would sneak out at random times and leave them without a clue as to where you two were.

of course, they knew you were always close in comparison to everyone else, but recently, they hadn’t even seen you two much because of how much time you were spending together out who knows where.

they made conspiracies that you guys were secretly dating and would go out on little cute dates everyday, that’s why you wouldn’t tell them. yet they secretly cheered kai on because he was so happy lately. and when kai was extra happy, everyone was extra happy.

and to be honest, that conspiracy didn’t sound too completely far from the truth. ever since you and kai had kissed at the waterfall, you had grown even closer; your bond deepening and tangling so much that it was almost confusing. you hadn’t felt this way for anyone before and it confused you that it was your best friend; you didn’t want to ruin what you had.

but you wanted to be with kai every second of every day. and he wanted to be with you.

and at sunset, you and kai escaped again. hand in hand running into the woods as it was now your favorite place to go.

each time you ran off into the forest, you found something new about each other that you hadn’t known before. hell, you had even discovered what each other’s lips feel like the very first time you even ran off.

you spent your time climbing trees and sharing snacks amidst a deep talk and of course laughter, then carving both of your initials in whichever tree it was, marking it yours.

when you got too tired of walking, kai would carry you on his back, not minding at all. he enjoyed it actually, always offering to give you piggyback rides no matter how tired he got.

you would occasionally go back to the waterfall, sitting on the rocks or skipping stones across the water to see who’s would go further.

today kai wore a loose, earth-toned wool jacket with nothing under but a dainty silver necklace, zipped up enough to expose a bit of his chest. it drew your eyes like a magnet to his pretty collarbones glowing in the setting sunrays.

“i like this jacket on you,” you gingerly traced your fingers along the woven material, a shy smile on your lips. your compliment made his heart skip.

of course, you two were still bestest of friends, doing goofy things and blabbing about anything and everything. but when you caught his eye or exchanged a small compliment, you both got so shy and quiet and blushy around each other.

you were both aware of another option you had now, completely new and foreign to your relationship; the small kiss from a couple days ago. you held the memory fondly since the moment it happened, warmth spreading across your chest at the thought.

your head rested on his shoulder, watching the waterfall together as you decided to look up at him, eyeing the plush of his lips.

“can we..try it again?” you sort of beat around the bush, hoping kai would pick up on what you were throwing down. you felt too shy to ask your best friend directly if you could kiss him.

“what, race to the cabin?” he furrowed his brows and you laughed, head falling back onto his shoulder.

“i meant-”

“i know y/n, just messing with you,” he nudged you, a sweet smile on his lips.

somehow, it felt natural, like this had been something you had both long wanted to do. like something you were made to do. you kept the comfort of your head on his shoulder and he leaned down to place his lips on yours, slowly melting into the kiss with your eyes fluttered closed.

you could sense everything better now; the warmth of his soft lips, the subtle taste of the watermelon you had snacked on earlier whilst sitting atop a tree, the subtle cool breeze blowing pieces of your hair astray. you enjoyed it even more now, since the first was a bit interrupted by the freezing cold waterfall.

after a few moments, you broke the kiss with an interrupted thought, staring into his eyes and then trailing your gaze to the water where you stared at your reflections. his broad shoulders like a large blob in the water, then yours a smaller blob. it was always like this; next to one another for as long as you could remember. you love kai. and you don't want to ruin what you have.

“this…this won’t ruin our friendship, right?” you were hesitant to look up at him in the eye as you slowly look back up at him, almost worried he would regret it.

but he only smiled, shaking his head.

“never, y/n. you’ll always be riiight here,” he pointed to his chest, at the spot right over his heart. you warmly smiled, finding him the absolute most adorable boy in the world. how could you not have the biggest crush on him?

it all made sense now. kai was everything you wanted and needed in a partner, in a friend, in a lover. but you always pushed away any sort of feeling in fear of losing him. but how could you lose him- how could you lose him if he's always been by your side through it all.

“forever.”

the front door creaks as you both sneak back into the cabin, completely pitch black as the boys had gone to sleep, considering it was half past midnight.

you both tip-toe down the dark hallway, finding every room was closed and in use except for the one at the end of the hall; the one you and kai had claimed on the first day.

you could see his pearly smile faintly in the dark, silently cheering that they didn't all steal the room with the comfiest bed. you held onto his arm as you blindly walked down the hallway and into the room, flicking on the dim night light to provide just enough light to see his soft facial features, hair slightly tossed by the breeze seeping through the window.

you two were long past the i'll sleep on the floor so you can have the bed phase of your friendship, so you shared the bed as it was normal for the two of you. and through all these years, never once had it felt uncomfortable even in the slightest. all you ever did was look up at whoever's bedroom ceiling in deep conversation and occasionally kick at each other's feet under the covers.

tonight, a certain tension blanketed the two of you as you lay next to one another, pinkies interlaced under the sheets as you stare up at the high ceiling of the cabin, listening to the subtle whir of wind through the trees.

you felt cozy here, in this little cabin tucked away in the wilderness with your best friend(s). you almost wanted to snuggle into him, but that had yet to be established.

“i like you, kai.” your voice suddenly emerges lowly from the still room, the sound of his rustle under the blanket apparent as he tightened his pinky around yours. turning to face you, you did the same, facing one another with cheeks squished to the pillows.

"a lot." you whisper with a growing smile, just inches from his lips as you stare into the chocolate glimmer of his eyes. you could feel your heart pounding in your chest and drumming into your ears.

with a gentle finger, he lightly tucks away a stray piece of hair behind your ear, bringing intense warmth to blanket your cheeks. you couldn't quite see in the dark, but his were dusted with a rosy tinge as well.

“does this mean we can cuddle now?” his voice comes out shyly, smiling and red in the face at his own question.

you giggle, nodding and smiling so big that your eyes are nearly shut, slowly scooching closer to kai. almost unsure as to go about this, considering it's your best friend you're cuddling.

but you just go for it; pressing your chest to his, wrapping your arms around his torso, snuggling your head into him, cheek pressed to his warm neck and filling the space under his chin perfectly.

he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, silence filling the room again once you both find the spot you are most comfortable in. you can hear his heartbeat as you breathe him in; warm calico fabric like fresh laundry. the closest you've been to this comforting scent that you wanted to be engulfed in eternally.

"i'm glad we agree, but i like you more," he adds. you giggle, burying your face into his warm chest and you can feel his smile grow with the way his voice flows like it always does when he's brimming with happiness, picturing his cute face in your mind and what he looks like right now.

"at the waterfall i did what i've wanted to for so long." his voice vibrates on the crown of your head, feeling his chest sink as he exhales, relaxing into you; relieved to confess what always weighed on him. eyes fluttering shut as he enjoys your warmth and the scent of your hair curling into his nose, tracing light circles into your back.

you pull your head away to the beautiful sight of his face, looking up at him and finding his eyes shut but then flutter open to look down at you, his lips curled into a pretty smile and slightly parted, looking too good not to kiss.

and so you lean up slowly, inviting him to lean down and close the gap for your third kiss, feeling his heart pound against yours. you're infatuated with the way his hand always comes up to cup your cheek, savoring every moment he had with you. in this moment, your love grew for your special boy, falling for him evermore.

"kai over here look!" your feet patter against the snow as you run towards familiar rock formations, sprinkled with snow as you point at it, covered in white.

he runs up, giving you a large hug from behind, his large wool jacket engulfing you in its warmth, a kiss to your cheek; now a normal thing.

summer and autumn had passed twice and your souls had intertwined more than you could even fathom; ever since your best friend had become your boyfriend, your life became filled with so much pure happiness that you could easily mistake any day for a fairytale.

with the help of his grasp, kai hoists you up so that you sit on the rock he had brushed the the light dusting of snow off of, threading his arms through yours to hold your waist as he places his chin in the crook of your neck.

it just felt so natural, like this was what the two of you were born to do. always destined to be together and never, ever apart.

the bitter winter breeze wasn't so bad with his warmth seeping into you, cradling you so good and you swear you'd never felt comfort until you fell in love with this boy.

after a few moments of enjoying the view of the frozen waterfall, kai pulls his arms away from you and instead dangles his dainty necklace around your neck, the same one you noticed two years ago in this same place.

the small bead at its end weighed down onto your sweater, drawing your eyes down to the sparkling jewel; noticing it was the shape of a heart. a token of his diamond love for you.

"i wanted to give this to you then," he whispered, a sweet smile on his lips when you turned to face him.

your eyes said it all, holding the words i’ll love you forever in them without having to say a word. he just knew.

“my heart is yours.” he says as he embraces you, hardly able to contain your emotions as you hug him even harder, as hard as you could, for that fact.

his love felt like warm blankets on a cold morning, a crackling fireplace as you sip warm apple cider, cuddles during a midnight storm, the much-needed hug after a long day. he felt like home.

"race you back?" he tilted his head with a sly smile, helping you down before disappearing off into the woods. you chased right behind, sure to beat him this time.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

a/n: this is a very late hueningkai bday fic!! i share an august birthday with him so i wanted to write a comforting fic for our bdays lol :) hope everyone enjoys and happy late bday to anyone who had one in august or having one soon (yeonjun fic coming soon)!! 🥳 love u all <3

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