#I hope you wake up to find your phone nearly dead because the other end of your charger wasn't plugged in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miekasa · 3 years

Text

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

#attack on titan #aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren smut #eren fluff #levi x reader #I DONT WANNA TALK ABOUT IT

5K notes · View notes

skyeet-the-writer · 4 years

Text

The Love Among Us

Chapter 1-- I’d Never Snitch On Daddy

so i haven’t seen many corpse husband x reader stories on here, so i decided to upload one myself. i’ve been watching jacksepticeye’s among us videos and when i heard corpse talk for the first time, i was like, “hol up” and now i’ve been obsessed with him. also, go stream his music on spotify, it’s amazing. enjoy! x.

corpse husband x female!reader

summary: while playing among us, y/n watches corpse kill felix in o2. when his body is reported, however, she doesn’t tell who killed him.

word count: ~3.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of death (not real death), mentions of murder (not real murder)

EDIT: before i wrote this and after i published it, i did not know that corpse did not like to be referred to as “daddy”. had i known this, i would have not even thought of posting this. and since i know now, i won’t refer to him as such in the future. thank you. (10/19/2020)

EDIT 2: this is the first part to my corpse x reader series. i will be adding chapters as we go!

next>

4 rounds before the incident

“I was in coms with PJ!” Sean exclaims.

“He is doing the liar voice!” Felix shouts with a laugh.

“I’m not,” Sean tries to say, but everyone talks over him and the voting time ends. Everyone left alive, though it was only four people, had all voted for him and he yells at them as he gets ejected.

stinky was not the imposter

2 imposters remain

The round ends and everyone unmutes themselves.

“Lizzie, you saw Felix kill me and you did nothing!” Roomie yells as soon as the round ends and the imposters are revealed.

“Yeah, because I was the other imposter.”

“Oh. Okay, well that makes sense.”

Everyone laughs and Ken starts the round again.

“Wait, can I invite y/n to play? She’s doing her twenty-four-hour stream and she just finished playing Monopoly with Mark, Bob, and Wade,” says Lizzie, looking down at her phone as they all appear back in the waiting room.

“Yes,” Corpse blurts out and there are a few laughs and chuckles.

“You were quick to answer, Corpse,” Sean teases.

“Shut up,” Corpse mumbles and there are even more laughs.

Lizzie smiles and taps into her phone. “I’m gonna invite her.”

“I can’t believe that you actually made that deal, y/n,” Wade is telling you after ending the second round of Monopoly that you’ve played with them.

You smile and cross your legs on your chair. “Look, I was going bankrupt and it seemed good at the time. Besides, Mark was going to win anyway, he owned half of the board.” Your phone buzzes beside you on your desk and you pick it up. “Lizzie texted me.” There’s a sound effect that plays in your headset and you look up at your screen and smile. “Thanks to _lorieplays _for donating a hundred dollars, that means a lot. Thank you so much.”

“Do you want to play another round?” Marks asks.

You shake your head, reading the text from your friend in England. “No, I don’t want to lose to you again.” You laugh. “Nah, Lizzie wants me to play Among Us with her and a few others. It was fun playing with you guys.”

“It was even though you took all of my money,” Bob snaps.

You laugh. “Yeah, yeah. See you guys later.”

“Bye,” says Mark.

“See y--” Wade begins but you cut him off when you disconnect from the call.

“Oops.” You put a hand over your mouth and laugh. “Sorry, Wade. Okay.” You straighten up and glance over everything, making sure it’s all working properly. “I have to pee and I think my roommate ordered pizza, so we’ll be back after this short break. Enjoy this live feed of my pet rats.” You giggle and switch the stream over to a view of your two rats in their cage where you have a camera set up. You take your headset off and head out of your recording room.

Every two months, you have a twenty-four-hour livestream where you play games with your friends from all around the world. Despite being only twenty-five, your Youtube channel had grown exponentially in the past three years and you’ve had the chance to meet lots of other Youtubers like Markiplier, PewDiePie, and your close friend, LDShadowLady.

Currently, you’re on hour twenty of twenty-four and you’re beginning to feel the effects of not sleeping for a whole day. You had been drinking coffee and energy drinks for the past four hours and that seemed to perk you up for two hours max. But your roommate had ordered pizza and that would hopefully wake you up.

After going to the bathroom and grabbing an entire box of pizza, you return to your recording room and sit down. You put your headset back on and eat a slice of pizza before switching the views back to you. “And we’re back. I hope you guys enjoyed my rats because I don’t. They keep me up at night.”

You read a comment while loading up Among Us and laugh. “No, they’re not dead. They’re sleeping. They do that a lot when they’re not fighting.”

When you finally get into the game and entire the code, you spawn in. You also quickly join the Discord chat and wince when nearly ten voices hit you at once.

“y/n!” exclaims Lizzie and the other voices die down for a moment before rising to greet you.

You wince again but laugh. “Jesus, you guys are loud. Hey, Lizzie.” You move your character to the customize tab and go to try and switch your color. But then you frown and realize that you’re stuck with being dark blue. “Damn, I wanted to be white.”

“Do you want to switch?” Corpse asks.

Your eyes widen you your stomach flips. You hadn’t noticed Corpse was in this game. Immediately, your chat became flooded with keyboard smashing and lots of “omg my shipp” and “y/n rlly said ‘anna oop-’”

“Uh, yeah, if you don’t mind,” you manage to stutter out and take a bite of pizza as Corpse’s player comes over and the white option becomes available. You select it and also select the goggles in the hats menu.

“How’s your stream going?” asks Sean.

You shrug. “Pretty good. I’m super tired, though. I literally almost fell asleep while playing Monopoly with Mark, Wade, and Bob.”

“You went to college, right?” You’re pretty sure that’s Roomie.

“Yep,” you affirm with a nod even though they can’t see you. “You’d think that those all-nighters writing papers and studying for finals would make me able to do this.”

There’s a laugh in the group and the round starts.

3 rounds before the incident

You scratch your eyebrow and sigh in relief when you’re the crewmate. You mute yourself and slide up in your chair.

“I like being the crewmate,” you say, heading towards admin as a habit. “It’s a lot less stressful than being imposter.”

After doing your tasks in admin and fueling the engines, you stumble across a dead body in the lower engine and a vent closing.

“Oh,” you say, and press the report button. You unmute yourself and begin with, “So I saw a vent close but I didn’t see who went in.”

“Who died?” asks Lizzie.

“Felix,” says Sean.

You smirk. “It’s always yellow that dies first.”

“Where was the body?” Ken asks.

“Lower engine,” you reply.

“I was in medbay with Corpse doing the scan so it wasn’t him,” PJ says and Corpse makes a noise of confirmation.

This makes your cheeks heat up and you smack a hand over your mouth. Your chat explodes again but you decide to ignore it.

“And I was doing wires in cafeteria,” Lizzie says.

“Sean, where were you?”

“I was in reactor doing the simon says thing,” he answers.

You sigh. “I hate that one. What about you, Ken?”

“I was with Roomie in electrical doing the power thing. You know, the one where you have to divert it somewhere else.”

“So do we skip then?” asks Lizzie.

“No one is super sus, so I’m going to skip,” you answer.

When no one is ejected, you mute yourself again. “I dunno why, but Sean seems pretty sus. Because I didn’t see him on the way down from upper engine. But I guess he could have gotten there in time.” You shrug and run over to the trash chute in the cafeteria. “RIP to Felix, though.”

After doing the trash there, you head down to storage, running into Corpse doing the wires in there. You wait there to clear him and once you do, you run a few circles around him to get his attention and he follows you over to the trash in storage and watches you do that. After that, the two of you head over to electric together and do wires there.

Suddenly, there’s a body reported and you unmute yourself.

“Sean just killed Lizzie in front of me!” exclaims PJ.

“PJ killed Lizzie,” Sean retorts, flipping the blame. “I watched it, he didn’t realize I was there and murdered her.”

“I watched PJ do the scan in medbay, he’s cleared,” Corpse says and you find yourself smiling for no reason. “Sean, you killed Lizzie.”

“I knew he was sus,” you say, grabbing another piece of pizza. You look at the box and your eyes widen. Had you really already eaten half of it?

“Wait wait, how am I sus?” Sean asks.

You take a moment to swallow. “Because when I was doing fuel earlier, I was running down from upper engine and didn’t see you in reactor. Sure, maybe you could have gotten there earlier, but it was super weird.”

The discussion time ends and PJ immediately goes to vote for Sean as well as you, Corpse, and everyone else still alive. Sean ends up getting ejected.

stinky was an imposter

1 imposter remains

“You’re such a detective, y/n,” Sean says when he gets ejected.

You laugh. “I just play this game too much.” You then mute yourself and smile. “I am a genius.”

You end up finishing your tasks quickly after that and then stand in the cafeteria and eat another piece of pizza and read some of the chat.

“’ What am I going to do after this?’ I don’t know. I might play some Minecraft. Should I have a poll on Twitter? I’m stuck between public Among Us games, Minecraft, and taking random quizzes on Buzzfeed.” You smile and hear another sound effect and something pops up on the screen. “Thank you to coochie man for donating a hundred dollars, that means a lot.” You laugh at their name. “I love your name, by the way.”

There’s some rattling in the cage behind you and you turn around to see one of your rats drinking water. You turn back to the chat and read another comment. “’ Do you have a crush on Corpse?’” You blush and smile, biting your lip. “I mean, his voice is hot. I’ve never met him since he lives in San Diego and I live in h/t, but yeah, I guess I do. I’ve been listening to his music for the past few days and it’s really good, you guys should go check it out.”

You look up and unmute yourself when a body is reported. “Who died?” you ask. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Are you already done with your tasks, y/n?” Corpse asks.

God, even the way he says your name is making you blush. “Yeah, I get them done quick.”

“She does that,” says Lizzie, “She always gets her tasks done quick.”

“Ken is dead by the way,” says Roomie and your snort, smacking a hand over your mouth. “I found him in the hallway by navigation. Where was everyone else?”

“I was in cafeteria doing nothing,” you say, leaning back in your chair and spinning around just a little. “I think I saw PJ downloading while I was in there, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, I was downloading,” says Ken.

After more discussion, Corpse points out that Jaiden had been following him and it looked like she had been faking tasks.

“No I haven’t,” she says.

“That sounds like something the imposter would say,” you hum with a smirk. “That’s pretty sus, Jaiden.”

Everyone else agrees and you all end up voting Jaiden out.

jaiden was the imposter

0 imposters remain

You cheer as the round ends and a blue victory screen pops up for the crewmates. “Good game, guys,” you say and play again, waiting for the host.

1 round before the incident

“Oh my god, I’m imposter again?” you groan and sigh when you spawn back in. “I was just imposter, I don’t want to be it again. I’m so bad at it,”

After another short round of you and Felix losing to the crewmates, you all agreed to play two more rounds before Sean had to leave. So you move your character to admin where PJ is and fake the card swipe before moving over to the admin security thing where you could see who was around where. Luckily, no one appeared to be near admin, so you quickly kill PJ and escape through the vent and come out through medbay.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you whisper over and over, running down to storage. “That was clean.” You fake getting fuel and go back up to the upper engine.

When PJ’s body is reported, you see that your fellow imposter, Sean, had reported it. You stay silent for most of the round and only say that you were in the fuel area when it was reported.

“Yeah, I saw her run past electrical earlier,” Corpse says. You blush and glance at your exploding chat and shake your head.

After everyone skips the round, you mute yourself once more and head towards navigation. “I hate this.” You drag the last syllable and watch Lizzie enter the room. You wait a moment before walking towards her and killing her, jumping into one of the vents. You let out a sigh and flex your fingers. “I’m so stressed.” You exit out of the vent into shields and your heart stops when you see someone else in there but you realize that it’s the other imposter, Sean, and you relax.

You run past him and go to the trash compartments and pretend to unload those. And that’s how the rest of the round goes. You kill someone, someone reports it and you vote someone off. Eventually, you and Sean do a double kill and end up winning the round.

You unmute yourself.

“Let’s go!” Sean exclaims and you smile.

“I can’t believe you killed me, y/n!” shouts Lizzie. “I thought we were friends.”

You laugh. “There are no friends in this game. I’m not loyal to anyone in this game. You could be my best friend and I would fucking murder you.”

“That’s cold,” says Roomie as everyone else spawns back in.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Wait, PJ disconnected,” says Sean, and you all end up waiting for him to rejoin.

In that time, you look at your chat and say, “Hey, do you guys have any questions for who I’m playing with. I’m asking you, chat.”

“I swear if someone asks about my hands, I’m leaving,” Corpse says and everyone laughs.

You laugh louder when you read a comment and read it aloud, “_Ironlady _says that you should be a hand model, Corpse.”

“Okay, I’m leaving,” you hear Corpse say over everyone laughing.

“No, stay!” you exclaim, trying not to laugh. “C’mon, don’t leave.”

He sighs deeply and your brain goes fuzzy. “Fine. I’ll stay for you.”

You beam and your tummy turns. You ignore the whistles and remarks from everyone else and stand beside Corpse. You suddenly wish that the little bean characters could hold hands.

When PJ joins the server again, Ken starts the round and you cross your fingers, hoping to get crewmate.

0 rounds before the incident

You mute yourself and sigh when you’re a crewmate. “Thank god.” You let out a breath and go over to admin with everyone else. You swipe your card and go to the cafeteria to do some wires there.

The game turns out to be rather uneventful. A few people die and two people are voted off before the game gets truly interesting. And that happens when you walk in on Corpse and Felix.

“I’ve had this song stuck in my head for days,” you’re saying, walking from electrical over to O2. “And I can’t get it out of my head. Maybe singing it will help.” You hum the first part. “Don't go in there, you'll become one. Freaky creatures, monster party. Eyes of yellow, scales and feathers, tails in tethers. Turn the lights off. Bend the nightmare, you control it. Artful dodger, easy does it. Shut the closet, get under the covers. Snakes and lovers. Turn the lights off.” You do a little dance for a moment and continue hum the song, glancing at the chat as you go towards O2 after doing wires in storage.

“Like, I know the song, it’s just been stuck in my head,” you explain. “And it kind of annoys me--”

But you stop as you enter O2 and watch Corpse murder Felix. Neither one of you move and you don’t know what to do. “Uhhh.”

Then, without thinking, you turn straight around and make your way away from the scene of the murder. “I didn’t see anything!” you shout to no one. “I suddenly can’t see who murdered Felix.” You smack a hand over your mouth and stand in the middle of a hallway. “Oh my god, what do I do? I don’t want to snitch on Corpse, he’s hot.” You scratch the back of your neck and shrug, continuing on to reactor. “I didn’t see anything.”

You’re in the middle of doing the simon says in reactor when Felix’s body is reported. You unmute yourself and fidget with the sleeve of your hoodie. You know exactly who killed Felix.

“--was in O2,” says Jaiden and you focus back into the conversation. “And I didn’t see anyone around.”

“I saw you heading that way, y/n, but I know it wasn’t you because I saw you do the trash in storage.”

You look at the screen when Sean talks to you and you chew your lip. “I know who killed Felix.”

“Who?” asks almost everyone at the same time.

You close your eyes and swallow. It’s just a game, why are you taking this so seriously? Suddenly, a song lyric pops into your head and your stomach flips. You imagine yourself saying it and no one knows who you mean except for him.

You open your eyes. “I’d never snitch on daddy.”

There’s a laugh in the chat and you blush fiercely, your livestream chat blowing up once again.

“I think we know who it is, then,” says Sean, laughing.

“Yeah,” agrees Lizzie and your eyes widen.

“Wait, what?” you ask, watching everyone vote almost as soon as the discussion time ends. “Wait, hang on, who--”

“We know who you’re talking about, y/n,” PJ tells you.

You vote for yourself and your brain goes blank as you see that everyone voted for Corpse. He even voted for himself. They knew. They all _knew _about your feelings for Corpse.

The round ends with Corpse being voted out and the crewmates win. There’s some talking, but you stay on the victory screen. You’re trying to decide if your mad or embarrassed or both.

“I didn’t know you’d say that, y/n,” Corpse says, effectively breaking you out of your trance. “I thought you were gonna snitch on me.”

“You heard her,” teases Lizzie and you can tell she’s grinning. “She’d never snitch on you, Corpse.”

He laughs and you feel something in a certain place. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die of embarrassment.” You put your face in your hands, listening to your friends tease you in the chat. You suddenly want to jump out your window and run into traffic.

“Don’t die,” comes Corpse’s voice through the onslaught of teasing. “I’ll be sad.”

“Fuck!” you shout and slam your hand on your desk, shaking your equipment and scaring your rats. “I’m so sorry, Corpse, that was really weird, I--”

“Stop.” He interrupts you and the chat goes silent and you look up at the screen even though you can’t see him. “It’s okay. It was funny.”

Your eyes widen and then narrow. Funny? He thought what you said was funny? How could he think it was funny?

But then he speaks again and he sounds oddly flustered. “Uh, I gotta go. Um, it was fun playing with you guys. Bye, y/n.”

“Bye Cor--” but then he disconnects and you’re left talking to no one. “--pse.”

There’s a long moment of silence until Felix breaks it. “I can’t believe you just watched me die and didn’t do anything about it.”

There are some laughs and you smile faintly, rejoining the game. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that.”

“Are you okay, y/n?” asks Lizzie.

You blush and swallow. “I don’t know. God, I’m so weird.” You run a hand through your hair and adjust your headphones

“No, you’re not,” Roomie assures you. “He has a crush on you, too.”

Your eyes widen and you scoot up in your chair. “He does?”

“I mean, he called you pretty once during a game and said that he watches your videos a lot, so maybe.”

You groan and sink in your chair. “I’m gonna go, I need to run into traffic now.”

A few people laugh or chuckle and Lizzie asks you if you’re actually going to leave.

“Yeah,” you tell her. “But not to run into traffic. I’m going to go play Minecraft to soothe myself.”

“Aw.” You can practically hear her frown. “Okay. Bye, y/n.”

“Good luck with your stream,” Ken tells you.

You grin. “Okay, thanks, bye.”

When you exit the game and leave the chat, you scream. You actually scream and it’s loud. Your roommate even knocks on your door, asking if you’re okay.

You look at them and nod. “Yeah, totally fine. Probably about to have a mental breakdown, but I’m fine.”

“Okay,” they say and lean on the doorframe. “But I’m not cutting bangs for you again.”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, okay, fine.” They leave and you turn back to your stream, feeling like you’re about to cry. Corpse knows you have a crush on him. And it seems like he has one on you as well, but now you’re embarrassed because you called him ‘daddy’ on stream.

You rub your eyes. “Well, now I know what’ll be streaming on Twitter tonight,” you tell the chat.

#corpse_husband #corpse husband #x reader #female reader #corpse husband x reader #corpse_husband x reader #jacksepticeye #among us #ldshadowlady #pewdiepie #fanfic

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hotch-stufff · 3 years

Note

hiii 47 and 7 for angst hotch

i love ur writing btw <3

Drunk

gif by hoe-tchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Warnings!: mentions of abuse, stalking, and death, past abusive relationships, normal criminal minds things, angst, crying, pining, but a fluffy ending

Promtps: Angst #7 "Are you drunk?", Angst #47 "You flinched"

Author's Note: Thank you so much <3, hope you enjoy reading!!

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

In hindsight, it probably wasn’ the best idea to get drunk at a bar. Especially alone. But you weren’t exactly thinking straight when you had stepped off the jet after a long case. And it had been a LONG case. Nearly a week of going through the same evidence over and over again scouring for a lead. Finally finding a lead, and coming to a dead end.

The eventual lead that you did catch, led to the unsub already standing over her next victim’s body. At least you got a full confession. But you had been the one that had found the unsub. If that wasn’t enough, this case had already been hitting way too close to home.

A woman was murdering victims of domestic abuse to “save them” because her mom was never “saved” from her father’s abuse. She had grown up watching it. Her victims had all had y/h/c hair, with y/e/c eyes. The same height as you, same style, just overall very similar. The only difference the team saw had been that you were never abused. At least that was what your file had said.

You had been able to keep it on the low for as long as you had been at the BAU. But you were terrified one of them would figure it out. That you would flinch at the wrong time, or you would do something to give it away.

You had gotten lucky and no one seemed suspicious. You ended up hiding in the back of the jet, curled up. No one bothered you. They all assumed that the case had just hit you harder. The one thing you hadn’t known though was that Hotch had been keeping a very close eye on you.

You two had become close, and would often hang out at each other's apartments. Spending tjme just talking about nothing and everything for hours. He had quickly become one of your best friends. You always went to him when you were upset.

But tonight, you just needed to get away.

Which is how you found yourself in this bar, downing your fifth drink. In the back of your mind, you knew that you wouldn't be able to drive home, or even walk without tripping over your own feet. You needed to call someone, and your drunk self called Hotch. While the phone rang you checked the time. 3 am. He was going to kill you.

“Hotchner.” You giggled drunkenly at his formal response.

“Why so serious bossman?” He recognized your voice immediately.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

“M’great. Havin a blast.” You slurred.

“Are you drunk?” He asked and you giggled again.

“Mayyybe.” You slurred, concerning Hotch even more.

"Where are you?”

“Mabel's I think. But let me tell you. I think you need to come get me because there is no way m’drivin home.” He huffed as you heard noise coming from the phone.

“I'm on my way, stay there!” But you hung up. You were so excited to see him. Truth was you had definitely developed a crush for the man. Telling him that was going to be difficult, mainly because of your past, but also because he was your boss, and about 12 years older than you.

You waited for about 10 minutes before you heard the door ring as it opened and Hotch ran inside, frantically searching around. He found you and was quickly at your side.

“Y/n, are you okay?” You nodded sleepily. You always did get sleepy after your sixth drink. He gave you a concerned glance before reaching for your arm. You flinched slightly, but Hotch didn’t say anything about it. He picked you up because there was no way that you could walk, and carried you out to his car.

“You’re staying with me tonight.” He had said once on the road. You lazily watched out the window as buildings went by.

“M’kay.” You mumbled. Hotch sent you another concerned glance. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite figure out what. Usually when a case hit you hard, you would spend the night talking with him. He had been surprised when you hadn't shown up at his apartment. Even more shocked when you had called him drunk. He cared about you and it hurt him to see you like this.

Soon he found himself pulling into his driveway. He parked and quickly ran to your side of the car to help you out. He opened your door, and reached his hand over to unbuckle you when suddenly you shifted back. Your arms came up as if to block a blow and a whimper escaped your lips.

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise!” You let out, sounding much more sober now. Hotch stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to do.

“Y/n, it’s me, can you hear me, its Aaron?” You moved your arms from your face, peeking out wide eyed. You pulled your arms the rest of the way down.

“Sorry Hotch. That was just, um, that w-was-” But he cut you off.

“You flinched.” He paused looking at the tears in your eyes, realizing that he needed to get you inside before you broke down in the car. “C’mon, let's go inside.” You bowed your head and nodded.

“Okay.” You said softly. He helped you out of his car slowly, and walked you up to his apartment. Once there, you plopped on his couch, sobering up for the conversation you knew was going to happen. He walked in the room, a glass of water in hand. He handed it to you, sitting next to you. he waited a few moments before beginning the inevitable conversation.

“Y/n, why did you flinch?” He asked hesitantly. He didn't want to push you, but he was concerned and he wanted to know. So you told him. Every detail, every heartbreaking moment. The bruises, the scars, the hospital trips. Everything. The reports, the disbelief, the arrest, the divorce. Then the even worse parts. The escape, the stalking, the attack, the death. Every little thing. You could feel the tears falling down your face as you spoke about your ex-husband.

Hotch sat as he watched the beautiful woman sitting in front of him break down. He didn't know any of this, none of it was in your file. He knew that Strauss had to know though, because you never would have been accepted without background checks and psych evals.

His heart broke a little more every time you shared another detail. On one side it felt so nice to get it off your chest. On the other hand, it was weird opening up to Hotch like this. He was seeing so much more of you than you had ever allowed anyone since your husband. He sat in silence once you finished speaking.

“Y/n. I'm so sorry. You never should have had to go through that.” And the tears came even faster, until they were silent sobs. Hotch, well he was more Aaron in that moment, brought you into his arms holding you tight, bringing you a comfort you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Shh, shh. It’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay to cry.”He silently whispered into your hair. You looked up at him then, sighing softly at the beautiful man before you.

“Thank you Aaron.” He loved the way his name sounded coming from your lips. But before he could tell you, he looked down to find you asleep in his arms. And that's how he stayed until morning.

* * *

The next morning you awoke to a strange bed, with strange sheets, in a strange room. But one sniff and all you could smell was Hotch’s cologne. You soon recognized that there was a warm body behind your own, an arm wrapped around your middle.

You almost didn't remember what happened last night, but once you did, you began to panic. What if he hated you? What if he was disgusted by you? He probably had just pitied you.

He must have felt you shift, because he was waking up. His arm tightened around you, and he leaned up looking you in the eyes. He saw your panic and was alert rather quickly for someone who had just woken up.

“What’s wrong?” He asked quickly, eyes scanning you frantically.

“You must be disgusted with me.” You paused taking a deep breath. “I'm sorry Hotch. I ruined your night and then cried all over you with my pathetic life story. And you probably just pitied me. I'm sorry.” He shook his head.

“Y/n, look at me.” You looked into his eyes. “I am and never will be disgusted by you. I am amazed by you. You are so strong and beautiful and you never deserved a thing that disgusting man did to you. I don’t pity you, not at all. All of this has just made me fall more in love with you than I already was.” You looked at him wide eyed.

“You love me?” He leaned a little closer.

“Of course I do. It's impossible not to.” You dared closer still as he moved a piece of hair from your face. The loving gesture warming your heart.

“Thank you. For everything. I love you too Aaron.” And he sealed your lips. It was intimate and explosive at the same time. And in the most cliche way, fireworks exploded as you kissed him.

You moved together passionately. Your noses bumped ever so slightly as he kissed you deeper than you had ever been kissed. He was an amazing kisser, to say the least. He broke away a moment later, smiling down at you.

“Give me a chance to show you what real love is, what it's supposed to be.” You nodded.

“Of course Aaron.” And you kissed him again, sliding your hands around his neck into his hair. It was the happiest you had been in a very long time.

So in hindsight, maybe getting drunk wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

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

Thanks for reading! Requests are still open, so ask away! If i don't get to yours, I'm sorry!! If you would like an idea of what to request, here is my prompt list, and if you would like to read more of my work, here is my masterlist.

#aaron hotchner x reader #imagine #angst #fluff #hotch x reader #reader insert #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner imagine

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itsxcowboyrocksteady · 2 years

Text

Good Morning, Mr. Fairfield

Good Morning, Mr. Fairfield: A Dead by Daylight One Shot

Pairing: Dwight Fairfield x (GN) Reader

Contents: Loads and loads of Fluff, followed by total Smut, NSFW

Content Warnings + Specifics: Long Story/Post (4,831 words); Mentions of anxiety; Dwight's really sad in some of this; Mentions of loneliness; Dwight being self conscious about his body/appearance; Mutual pining; A couple of flashbacks; Dwight's never even been kissed before; Virgin Dwight; Dwight's first kiss; Dwight's first blowjob/hummer

Summary: You and Dwight are friends from work, but you've gotten close with him and even hang out with him on weekends. Sometimes even sleeping over at each other's places. After getting approval for a Friday off to spend a long weekend with you at the end of your staycation, the boss calls him in, anyway. In his disappointment, he makes a mistake that turns a really bad morning into being the happiest he's ever been in his life.

A/N: I decided to just post it all at once instead of doing it in parts xD. I couldn't really decide where to cut it and it didn't make sense to me to do that the more I looked it over. Anyways, I'm so in love with this man. Can you imagine Dwight having major feelings for you, and telling him you love him, and how happy that would make him??? And I've been obsessed with the idea of him getting a bj for the first time and how fucking precious he'd be and the sounds he'd make and... Anyway, I wrote it lol. Really tho, someone rescue me, I wanna hold him so bad >.<

You and Dwight are snuggled up together, asleep on his bed, having drifted off to the movie you had been watching the night before. This happens a lot. At first, Dwight had been nervous about it, but now? He loves that the first thing he sees is you in the morning when you stay over. Or how you both wake up sometimes to find that you’d wrapped your arms around him in your sleep. You were embarrassed the first time, but he told you it was fine. Actually, it was kind of nice. And when you agreed, it made him happy… Even if you are just friends... *

He’s not really sure when he began to fall for you, but he thinks it was around the first time you had come to visit him. He had always thought you were pretty cool, but when you had been the only person that showed up to his birthday get-together, that meant a lot to him. Especially since you were the one he was most hoping would show up. He really liked your conversations and you were the person he interacted with most in a friendly way, not just as coworkers.

He had been on the verge of tears as he received text after text from coworkers --the only people he really knew-- all cancelling the night of the get-together. Some never sent a message at all. He didn’t want to make it a party, you see, because if he made a big deal about it and nobody showed up, he’d be sad. But he hadn’t thought that the size of the party, or what he called it, didn’t matter.

He was alone. Again. Just like always. And the feeling of loneliness was so great that he almost didn’t look at his phone when it buzzed again.

Through his tears, as he started to sniffle, he looked at the screen to see a text from you, the last person on the list that hadn’t contacted him yet, after he had come to grips with the fact that the others weren’t going to. As he was preparing himself for his last bit of hope to be crushed, he opened the text.

8:04 PM: Hey Dwight! Im running late but I should be there in 10. Im sorry I didnt text u sooner 🙁 I tried but my service was iffy. I hope my gift makes up for it lol!

He wiped his eyes and read the message a few more times. You were on the way? You even got him a gift? He choked back a sob as his heart leapt that he wasn’t going to be alone on his birthday, after all!

He rushed to the bathroom to wash his face so he wouldn’t look like a mess when you got there, and nearly tripped on his way to answer the buzzer to let you up to his apartment a few minutes later. When he opened the door to greet you, you stood there with a giant teddy bear. It had glasses on and large, expressive eyes.

“I-I hope you like it,” you had said sheepishly, before even greeting him. “I don’t know, I saw it and it reminded me of you, so I thought you should have him… But I have another gift and a card in my bookbag.” You motioned with your head to the bag on your back, hanging on one shoulder.

He smiled brightly at you and said, “No- I mean, yeah! I like it a lot. I can see the resemblance.”

Then the two of you spent the night laughing, talking, eating pizza and popcorn, and watching the movie you had brought as your second gift. Office Space. You had said to him once that he should see it and that he’d love it. He didn’t say anything, but he was flustered that you had remembered such a small conversation with him from months ago.

He couldn’t believe how annoyed you got that nobody else showed up, and that they all cancelled last minute on him like that, and how you shook your head as you scrolled through all the messages he had received when he handed you his phone. It made him feel like you actually cared and weren’t just showing up to be nice.

After that night, the two of you started to hang out more. You grabbed lunch together at work sometimes. After a while, you’d even stay over his place some weekends, or he at yours. When he started to realize he had feelings for you, though, he felt a crushing sense of despair, like it was a foregone conclusion that you didn’t feel the same. He’d been there a few times before, and he wasn’t going to ruin this friendship he cherished so much by making you feel awkward around him. So he kept his feelings to himself.

Sometimes he thinks about it and realizes he probably had feelings for you before then, but all those fears subconsciously prevented him from figuring that out until he couldn’t deny it anymore... *

Dwight begins to stir as he hears his phone chime. At first he’s confused because he hadn’t set an alarm the night before. As he feels around his nightstand for his glasses and wakes up a little more, he realizes that it’s not his alarm. It's a text. Multiple texts. From your boss. On his Friday off that he had gotten approved so he could have a long weekend with you at the end of your vacation time.

5:48 AM: We need you to come in today Dwight.

5:50 AM: Your department is way behind on the paperwork we need to file by Monday.

5:55 AM: Be here by usual time.

He holds his phone up, the light reflecting off of his glasses. He doesn’t move for a moment. All that goes through his mind is his deep disappointment. He had been looking forward to hanging out with you today, especially after a particularly difficult work week. In fact, this long weekend was the thing that helped him get through all the bullshit this week had given him.

He slowly gets out of bed, trying not to disturb you. He wonders what to do. You’re in a different department that didn’t have anything to do with this specific project, so you wouldn’t be called in, too. Besides, you never told anyone but him that you were having a staycation. Which means that he’d be leaving you alone at his place all day. He resigns himself to the idea of writing you a note explaining where he is and telling you that it’s OK if you want to head home and try to hang out again the next available weekend.

I’ll do that after I shower, he thinks sadly, not wanting to start looking around for pen and paper in the dark and wake you. At least he has an en suite, though it had always seemed laughable to Dwight to call it that since his apartment was far from nice and that seemed like a “rich” word to him. Still, he was able to slip in without making much noise.

His thoughts race from one depressing thing to another as he makes his way to the shower. He quietly closes and locks the door behind him before undressing to prevent you from accidentally walking in on him. Even the thought of that makes him turn beet red. But he’s broken out of that thought the moment he turns the shower on and gets hit with a blast of cold water. He covers his mouth to keep from yelping.

It’s only after he steps out of the shower and wraps his towel around him that he realizes he forgot to grab a set of clothes to change into while being lost in thought. His heart pounds and his anxiety spikes. He considers putting his sleep clothes back on for a second, but decides that he can’t because they’ve been on the floor this whole time and that would make taking a shower a moot point. He shakily unlocks the door and turns the knob as slow as he can, silently pleading with you to stay asleep.

He hasn’t so much as been shirtless around anyone since high school, in the locker room with the other boys trying out for the football team. Even then, he felt uncomfortable. Dwight has always lacked confidence in most everything. But his appearance, his body, was always one of the things he was most self-conscious about. He had always been the scrawny kid with the big nose and the bigger glasses. It was partly why he had learned to become invisible in the first place. It was also a big reason why he was so timid about pursuing any romantic feelings he had had for anyone in the past, but for you especially.

The idea of you seeing him basically naked except for his towel makes it difficult for him to breathe. He takes a few seconds to try to calm down as he stands in front of his dresser, fearing his trembling hands will rattle the drawer enough to wake you. He begins to slowly open the drawer.

“Hey, Dwight, what are you doing up so early?” he hears you say sleepily and yawning from the bed behind him.

He freezes in place a moment. He knows he’s going to have to turn around to face you and answer you. He feels his face and his ears get hot and knows that he’s turning red. He closes his eyes tight to brace himself, and then turns around.

“The, uh… The boss sent me a message. He needs me to go in today,” he replies, looking anywhere but at you and praying that you didn’t detect the quivering in his voice.

You sit up, confused. “But they approved your day off three weeks ago?”

He still can’t look at you, but he’s in disbelief that you’re carrying on a normal conversation.

“Um, yeah, but the, uh… My department didn’t finish what we have to do by, by Monday, so…”

By now, you’ve woken up enough to recognize that Dwight sounds more nervous than usual. The room is too dark for your sleepy eyes, so you turn on the light on the nightstand next to you. When you look back at him, you understand.

You see him standing in front of his dresser, holding onto the towel wrapped around his waist like he’ll die if he lets go. His other hand nervously rubs the opposite arm like he’s trying to shield himself. His face is practically scarlet with embarrassment. His eyes are transfixed to a spot on the floor.

All you want to do in this moment is hold him. Be close to him. Press yourself against him. Kiss him, and tell him it’s OK... *

Unlike Dwight and his feelings for you, you knew the exact moment you began to fall for him.

You had always liked him well enough. He was one of the only people at the office that you enjoyed talking to. You had thought to invite him to tag along with you and your friends to some activity or another a couple of times, but he seemed shy and you weren’t sure if crowds were really his thing.

As you spoke to each other more frequently at work, you began to notice that you’d light up every time you saw him. You even found yourself taking the long way to your desk once or twice just to pass his station and say good morning to him. It took you some time to admit to yourself that you had developed a crush on him, but once you did, you weren’t sure how to proceed. Or if you should proceed with anything more than how things had been between you.

When he invited you to his place for his birthday, you were thrilled. You told him you wouldn’t miss it. And you were glad to see that he was putting himself out there like that. You went to shop for a gift and you saw this really cute giant teddy bear that reminded you of him. You hugged it to see how soft it was, and thought, I wonder if Dwight’s hugs are this nice?

That thought lingered with you as you gift wrapped the movie before heading over to his place. You wondered if he was the kind of person who gave hello or good-bye hugs, imagining his arms around you. You were hoping so.

Then, when you got to his place, you didn’t say anything, but you noticed his eyes were a bit puffy. When you found out that nobody else showed up, or would show up, you realized that he might have been crying before you got there. Your heart broke. You were so angry at everyone for doing that to this sweet man at the last minute.

Sitting together and watching the movie, you couldn’t help but look over at him as he laughed. Seeing him so happy made you happy. It was then, noticing every detail of his face, from his endearing smile to how his nose would scrunch up when he laughed, that you had first felt the strong urge to hold him. To kiss him.

This wasn’t just a crush anymore. You were in love.

When you started sleeping over his place, and woke up with your arms wrapped around him that first time, your heart pounded in embarrassment. You were so apologetic. But when he told you that it was nice, and not to worry about it, sometimes you would do it on purpose if you woke up during the night. Every time, on purpose or not, he’d wake up and smile at you before reaching for his glasses. And you’d try so hard to hide that his contented smile made you melt.

You had it bad for Dwight. But you worked together. And everyone knew you both were friends. If you said anything and he didn’t feel the same, then everyone would know that something was wrong, and you weren’t sure you could handle the whispers on top of a broken heart... *

Before you know it, you’re out of bed and walking towards him. He looks up at you with wide eyes as you approach.

“W-what are you doing?” he asks, backing up against the dresser as though he thought it would put distance between you both.

You stop just in front of him and look into his eyes. You have no idea what’s come over you, but this feels right.

“Dwight, is it OK if I kiss you?”

He’s sure he didn’t hear you right. “What?”

You smile softly at him. “I asked if it was OK if I kiss you?”

He says nothing, he only nods his head. His skin bumps as you place your hands on either side of his face and press your lips to his. He moans softly as your kiss deepens and you run one of your hands through his still-wet hair.

You pull away from the kiss and whisper, “Did you like that? Was that OK?”

“Yeah,” he says, also in a whisper. “Was I OK?”

Since you’d been friends for a while now, you knew that he had never been with anyone before, and not even been kissed. He was bound to be worried about any new experiences.

“That was perfect. You’re perfect, Dwight.”

“I am?” he asks in disbelief of what is happening right now, of the love he sees in your eyes as you look at him.

You nod. “Yeah… I mean, look at you!”

His gaze falls to the floor again, self-conscious. However, they dart right back up to meet yours when he hears your next question.

“May I touch you?”

His heart pounds so much that he thinks you might be able to hear it. He’s never been more nervous in his life, but he so desperately wants you to.

“Um, y-yeah, but… How?” he asks, his voice shaky again.

You softly kiss his lips again and whisper, “I’m just going to move my hands to your chest, and we'll go from there. OK? If you want me to stop at any point, tell me to stop. As bad as I want you, I’m more concerned with how you feel, OK?”

For the first time since you woke up, he smiles at you. It’s a small, unsure smile, like he’s afraid this is some kind of joke, but he so badly wants to be happy about all of this.

“You want me?” he asks, a little breathless.

You nod. “Dwight, do you really not know how much I love you?”

His body relaxes just a bit. His shoulders aren’t as tense. He moves the hand that had been on his arm to your cheek and kisses you. It’s the most affectionate kiss you’ve ever had. This man is so sincere that it makes you feel like your heart will burst.

When he finally pulls away from you, you see that he has tears in his eyes, but he’s smiling brighter.

“I love you, too. I always wanted to tell you, but I was so scared you wouldn’t want to be around me anymore…” he says in a rambling sort of way.

“Baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you say as you slowly begin to move your hands from the back of his neck, to his shoulders, then to his chest. You rest them there with your palms flat, feeling how fast his heart is beating.

“This OK so far?” you ask, checking in.

“Yeah,” he says.

You continue moving your hands over his body, your light touch giving him goosebumps and making him shiver as they rest at his sides. This time, you seek a silent confirmation, only looking at him and nodding. When he nods back that he’s OK, your hands move to his back, and after he stops pressing himself against the dresser to allow you some room, you slide your hands over the towel and onto his ass.

“Oh,” he says softly, and you can see him beginning to turn pink again as he chuckles, a little embarrassed.

You lean in and kiss him again as you give his ass a gentle squeeze. With your lips still planted on his, you can’t help but smile as he giggles into your kiss.

He’s so adorable! How did I get this lucky? you think to yourself as you pull away from the kiss and look at him for a moment, keeping your hands in place. You look him up and down, wanting him so badly that you can feel your body practically ache. You wish he could just stay with you, wrapped up in each other all day. You’ve never been angrier at your boss than in this moment.

You place a soft kiss on his jaw as you move just one of your hands and hook your finger into the towel, bringing it to the front, where he’s been clutching it.

Reflexively, he gasps and holds a little tighter onto the towel. He berates himself in his head immediately for being so skittish. He wants you, too. Just as badly. He’s just scared. He’s scared that you’ll laugh at him. He’s scared that he won’t be enough for you. He’s scared that you’ll be disappointed in him, if not once you see all of him, then when you finally get him into bed. Having never been with anyone before, and already being so self-conscious otherwise, he has a moment of panic that maybe this is a mistake? Maybe you deserve better?

You see every bit of his anxiety in his expression. You feel bad, thinking you maybe tried too much too soon. Removing your hands from him entirely and backing away a few steps to give him some space, you say, “I’m sorry. It’s fine if that was too much, we don’t have to do anything else. We can go at your pace.”

He sighs. “No, I… That was OK. I’m just really nervous. I just don’t want to let you down.”

“Dwight, you could never. You hear me? Even just thinking about the sounds you might make is turning me on right now. No matter what, I promise you, I’m still going to want you. I’m still going to love you and want to be with you.”

Again, his body relaxes a bit. Slowly, he moves his hand away from the towel and places both of his palms on the edge of the dresser behind him, fingers forward. The towel is still folded into itself, keeping it in place. He looks up at you, still nervous, but with almost pleading eyes.

“May I?” you ask, making sure this was the invitation you thought it was.

He nods, closing his eyes for a second before looking back at you. He watches your every move as you slowly close the space between you again. He trembles slightly from his nerves as your hands move to undo the towel and it drops to the floor. He knows he’s bright red again in the face as he watches you intently for any sign of dissatisfaction, or worse, amusement as you look at him completely. Instead, he sees that same loving look in your eyes from before.

You were right. He's perfect in your eyes. It makes you sad that he had been so scared.

“Um, is-is everything alright? Am-am I alright?” Dwight finally said after more time had passed in silence than he was comfortable with.

You snap out of your thoughts and look him in the eye. “Oh! Yes, I’m sorry… You’re just…”

Had he misread a look of pity as being loving? He braces himself.

“You’re just so beautiful, Dwight. More beautiful than I ever imagined.”

He smiles again and catches his breath. Though he inhales sharply once you place your hands on his hips and lock eyes with him, a playful smile on your face.

“May I continue?” you ask.

“Y-yeah,” he says, wide-eyed and heart pounding.

Slowly, unbearably so, you trail your fingertips down his leg, keeping your other hand in place on his hip. You feel like you might just die from the look he’s giving you. You can still see the anxiety behind his eyes, but there’s a neediness there, too. You notice that he’s getting hard from the anticipation alone, and the silent pleading you see in his expression is enough to make you practically ache for him. So much that you can’t help the moan that escapes you as you finally cup his balls and stroke them lightly with your thumb, causing him to gasp and moan, himself.

His eyes shut tight and his grip on the dresser behind him gets stronger. You smile as he makes little “hm” and “ah” and “oh” sounds as you tease him.

“Is this good?” you ask, still grinning and knowing damn well that he’s melting at your touch.

“Uh--mmmf--uh-huh… Ah,” is all you hear from him.

He gasps again when you kiss his jawline and begin to trail kisses down his neck. To his shoulder, then his chest, pausing only a moment to flick both of his nipples with your tongue and making you very excited to learn how sensitive they are when he moans a little louder and arches his back a bit. You practically giggle before continuing down his abdomen, to his belly, until you’re on your knees in front of him. You finally take your other hand off of his hip to grab the towel on the floor and fold it as best you can with one hand, shifting to put it under your knees for support.

“Um -- Oh-mmm -- w-what are you -- hm -- what are you doing?” he asks, his eyes still shut and his head now tilted downwards towards you. His voice is soft and sweet. But you can hear the hope in there that he failed to hide, too. He knows exactly what you’re doing, and he’s as desperate and eager for you to start as you are.

You’re not simply "angry" with your boss anymore. No. Thinking about how you and Dwight could be spending the day, you hate this asshole even more for calling him in.

“I think you know,” you say with a laugh, smiling even bigger when his face turns pink again, further betraying his desperation and almost unbearable desire. “But just in case,” you continue, trailing your free hand up his leg and resting it on his ass with another playful little squeeze, “if you’re not into it, tell me to stop.”

He tries to say, “OK,” but his brain goes to static when you move your hand from his balls to his now rock hard dick, giving him just a couple of slow, gentle strokes. All that comes out is, “O-kAAAAAH! Oh, god…”

That’s nothing compared to when you finally begin to use your mouth on him, your hand remaining on his shaft as a guide. You lick your lips before pressing them against the tip for a soft kiss. You can feel him already beginning to shake, and his knees buckle just slightly when you move your tongue down his shaft, then back to the tip and repeat on the other side, shifting it underneath as you bring it back up the second time and lick upwards at the head.

He cuts you off before you ask him how he’s doing this time, knowing you’re about to and being unable to take any more teasing. “Please keep going,” he begs breathlessly and sounding like he might cry if you don’t.

Your lips are back on him, now taking the tip into your mouth and playing with it for a moment with your tongue, lapping up the precum that had begun to drip out of him. You slide onto him as much as you can, massaging him with your tongue and guiding him in and out with your hand, occasionally humming and moaning for added sensation.

His knuckles are white from how hard his grip has become on the dresser. His eyes are shut tighter than before. He’s trying not to moan too loudly, but he can’t help it. He’s trying to stop his knees from buckling again because his trembling has gotten worse in how amazing this feels. He’s focusing whatever brain power he has that isn’t locked on what’s happening to stop his body from involuntarily thrusting for more contact. But the man positively unravels when you move your hand from his ass to play with his balls again, using the hand on his dick to make an “O” shape against your lips. Your hand and mouth begin stroking him in unison and your moaning becomes more consistent.

“Oh my g-- Oh… OH! AH!!!”

His head snaps back and he calls out your name. The noises he makes are a mixture of moans and sobs. He tries to tell you he’s going to cum (a little too late, but you don’t mind) but he’s so lost in his orgasm that he can’t form words anymore. He feels like he might collapse as he spills into your mouth. Whatever embarrassment he might have had before dissipates in his rapture. He gives one last little “ah” as you slide him out with a soft pop.

You swallow and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before planting soft kisses on his body again, working your way back up and using the dresser to help you stand again. Each kiss makes him shiver, his whole body feeling tingles. Of course, you pause at his nipples again, this time giving each a little more attention and making him laugh in between moans. But you make your way back up to his neck, and back to his jawline before sucking on his earlobe a moment.

“How do you feel,” you whisper, sending another shiver through his body.

“That… That was amazing. I-I just can’t believe…” He trails off and gets quiet a moment. You’re kissing his neck so lovingly, but his anxiety begins to return and he can’t shake the feeling. He’s never been this lucky, and he’s never fallen this hard for someone before.

“This is real, right?” he finally asks. His voice sounds like he might cry. It breaks your heart.

“Dwight,” you say, now looking him in the eye and not raising your voice much louder than whispering, “yes, it’s real. I love you.”

He wraps his arms around you tightly and kisses your cheek.

“You should probably go get cleaned up… Again,” you say, laughing.

“Just a couple more minutes,” Dwight replies, still holding you.

“You can have me for much longer than that when you get back later.”

He smiles. “I’d like that very much.”

He really is adorable. How did you get this lucky?

#dead by daylight #deadbydaylight #dwight fairfield x reader #dwight fairfield #dead by daylight dwight fairfield #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight dwight #dwight fairfield x you #dwight fairfield x gn!reader #fluff #smut

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skiller0dani · 3 years

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Intoxicated | Klaus Hargreeves

M A S T E R L I S T TUA Masterlist

smut | teen!klaus x teen!reader requests info w.c | 8.9k summary | you fell in love with klaus when you were teenagers. but after he continues to relapse, you lose faith that he will get clean. when you see him again as an adult, has anything changed?

The first time you properly met Klaus you were both around 17, and he was slumped against the wall of an alleyway. His face was bare of facial hair, and he looked far too boyish for a needle to be still in his arm. You were only out looking for him as a favor to Allison, whom you’d known since you were both children. You never paid much attention to Klaus, or any of her other siblings but after hours of incessant begging you’d finally agreed to go look for him. You still remembered her frantic voice over the phone.

“Please? If my Dad notices Klaus is gone he’ll lock him up in the Mausoleum to dry him out.”

You might not care much for Klaus or his drug habit, but you couldn’t just let Mr. Hargreeves lock him up so that ghosts can torment him while he sobers up. You know Allison is just protecting him, but you can tell even she is starting to lose faith in Klaus. It’s honestly sort of heartbreaking. But hopefully if you get him back in time, maybe you can get him sober enough to fool Mr. Hargreeves into thinking Klaus finally cleaned up.

“Klaus!” You rush to him immediately, carefully pulling the needle out of his arm. You tuck it into your bag so that Grace can help you and Allison figure out what Klaus took. You trust that Grace wont tell Mr. Hargreeves, the only thing more powerful than the programming is her desire to protect her children. His eyes are barely open when he smiles at you, his pupils blown wide open. You brush his hair out of his face, his palm twitching in yours as you take his hand to pull him to stand.

“Can you stand?” You ask him, watching as his arm limply falls from your hand.

“You’re not really here, you’ve never even looked at me twice…” Klaus mumbles through a slack jaw. That’s when his eyes roll back.

“Klaus?” You gently slap his cheeks, trying to get his attention. You sigh deeply, worried when you see his eyes roll again behind closed eyelids. Is he seizing? His body jerks once before sliding further down the wall. You know you can’t leave him here, but you also know that you need Luther to come get Klaus, you can’t move him.

“Please don’t move, I’ll be right back.” You say hurriedly, cupping his cheeks to force him to look at you. Klaus grunts in what you can only hope is an acknowledgement that he heard you before you’re standing and sprinting for the Academy. By the time you’d reached your destination and had delivered your convincing argument to Luther, it’d been 45 minutes. You lead the way back to Klaus praying to God that he was exactly where you’d left him, but you doubt it. Sure enough, when you turned the corner into the alley, Klaus was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit!” You cursed, a panicked glint in your eyes as you helplessly turned to Luther.

“Please help me find him.” You plead, grasping desperately onto his arm. Luther has what you can only describe as a scowl on his face as he turns to you.

“I’m not doing this again.” He snapped.

“What do you mean?”

“Getting invested in Klaus’s recovery, I’m not doing it again. Letting myself believe that he could get clean only leads to more disappointment when he eventually uses again.” You can see layers of old scars in his eyes, reflections of all the times Klaus has relapsed and let his siblings down.

“Luther I get it, really I do. But right now Klaus is God knows where, and when Reginald realizes-” The mention of his father causes Luther to stiffen considerably. Deep down Luther knows that Klaus wouldn’t have substance abuse issues if he didn’t spend half his childhood locked in that damn Mausoleum being tormented by the dead.

“Let’s just find him quickly.” You nearly celebrate when Luther finally relents but you don’t, instead you immediately start searching the surrounding streets and alleys in search of your resident junkie. You doubt Klaus could go very far, he’d been in really bad shape when you saw him last. He could hardly sit up let alone walk, did he crawl?

“Found him!” You hear Luther call, and when you turn you see Luther standing with Klaus slung over his shoulder at the end of the alleyway. Klaus has the hint of a smile on his face as Luther hauls him back, and you’d almost say Klaus looks entertained. Although, it could be the hallucinations making him smile like that. By the time you’d arrived back at the Academy, the mysterious needle you’d taken from Klaus’s arm earlier had been thoroughly tested by Grace.

“It’s heroin.” Allison’s shaky voice came from the doorway of Klaus’s bedroom. You turned to look at her, watching as nothing but anger fills her eyes.

“He promised me that he’d never done any hard drugs, he promised it was just weed and painkillers! And he’s injecting heroin?” You can tell that she really is hurt, you can see the betrayal in her eyes before she’s turning out of his room.

“Allison-”

“No, I won’t watch him slowly kill himself. In 2 weeks when we finally turn 18 he’ll be gone anyway. Don’t forget to invite me to his funeral.” She snaps, wiping her eyes before slamming his door shut. It was then that you’d decided not to give up on him, because the second everyone lost faith in him was the second they signed his death certificate. Loving an addict is harder than you would think, but you were willing to be Klaus’s person, so long as he was dedicated to getting better. If Klaus gives up on himself, then there’s no point. So you sat on the edge of his bed and used a rag to wipe away dried vomit on his face and neck, plus you dabbed at a closing gash on his head which was still bleeding a little.

“Y/N?” You hear him mumble, and when you look up at him again you see his eyes have cracked open. You brush his hair off his forehead, and the look in his eyes has your entire body heating up. It’s not a particularly provocative look, more of a hungry curiosity. There was still gentleness there, and a sincerity beneath it all. All his siblings have given up on him at this point, and deep down you think Klaus knows that. They’ve reached the point that the next time Klaus goes missing, they won’t look for him or even worse- they won’t even realize he’s gone. The thought breaks your heart.

“Hi.” You can’t think of anything else to say. Klaus reaches one hand up to wind into your hair, a sly smile crossing onto his face.

“Can’t say I remember the last time we properly spent quality time together.” He raises one brow, his hazel eyes twinkling mischievously.

“That’s because we never have.”

“What a shame.” The smug smile on his face makes your cheeks heat up embarrassingly. You feel all mushy in his presence.

“You have to get clean before Reginald gets home tomorrow.”

“Oh wouldn’t want to disappoint daddy dearest.” You can practically taste the sarcasm in his tone, but still he keeps that damn smile stretched across his face.

“He’ll lock you away if he finds out, stop pretending like this isn’t a big deal.” You sigh, standing to find him clean clothes. Klaus pushes himself onto his elbows, his head is swimming. The nausea twisting his gut is hard to ignore, but watching you bend over in those tight jeans has him ignoring the discomfort. He wouldn’t miss the show for anything.

“Enjoying yourself?” You ask him once you notice him staring. You use snarky comments to hide how flushed you are, how flustered you are from the heat in his gaze.

“Enjoying the view.” Is all Klaus says, and you know he can see how red your cheeks are. You shake your head as you toss clean clothes at him, quickly diverting your eyes when he begins to undress with you still in the room.

“Jesus, warn me next time!” You squeak as you turn your eyes to the ground when he tosses his dirty pair of tight jeans at you along with his shirt. You hear the zipper of his tight black jeans pull up and that’s when you decide it’s safe to look. When you eye him again, he’s sitting up on the bed pulling his shirt on over his head.

“What’s the fun in that?” Despite his snarky comebacks and the smirk on his face, you can tell he doesn’t feel good at all. There are bags under his eyes and he winces every time he moves. You place a hand on his shoulder when he tries to stand, a look he can’t quite read on your face.

“I’m gonna make you something to eat, please don’t go anywhere.” The genuine fear in your eyes as you look down at him has Klaus rooted to the bed. Suddenly a fear of letting you down cripples him then, and he can only manage a nod before you’re leaving the room.

The first time you saw Klaus overdosing you had come home from work early. It was a few months since you and Luther found him in that alleyway, and he’d made no attempts to clean up. Of course you thought he was clean and attending meetings. Klaus knew you’d be heartbroken if you knew the truth, and he was borderline worried you’d kick him out if you knew he spent most of the day high. If he knew that you’d fallen head over heels for him, he wouldn’t be worried about being kicked out. Klaus was clean the first week he moved in with you, but then came the ghosts. Their voices echoing in his head, their bloodied and battered bodies plaguing his every waking moment. He had clamped his hands over his ears to try and block them out, and he actually endured the tortuous voices for 17 hours before he gave in and popped some oxy.

“Klaus I’m back-'' Before you could finish whatever you were saying you spotted him lying unconscious on the living room floor. You dropped a glass platter and everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. You immediately scrambled towards him as the glass shattered everywhere. Your hands cupped his cheeks as tears filled your eyes, and you could not stop shaking.

“K-Klaus?” You gasped, shaking his shoulders to no avail. His body was practically lifeless, and his skin was almost gray and colorless. You lifted his wrist to check his pulse, and nearly burst into tears of relief when you felt a pulse but it was fading fast.

“Damnit Klaus!” You sobbed to yourself, leaning down to see if he was breathing. You held your breath, and prayed you would hear his faint breath. When you didn’t, it felt like you had been plunged into cold water. The panic struck you deep in your chest and you quickly sat up to perform CPR. You tilted his head back as the tears flowed down your cheeks, and you quickly started compressions. You reached into your pocket to press the stupid little life alert button you’d purchased when Klaus moved in. In moments like this you knew you needed a quick way to call an ambulance. You listened for his breathing once more, and cried softly when you still didn’t hear any breathing.

“Klaus please, please.” You didn’t know what you were pleading for, but you were so desperate for him to be okay that you couldn’t think straight. You continued compressions and then breathing into his mouth for 10 minutes before the emergency services arrived. They nearly had to pry you off him before shoving a breathing tube down his throat, and injecting him with something in a syringe. You’d climbed into the ambulance next to Klaus, his hand held tightly in yours. He looked lifeless in the hospital room, his eyes were closed and there were tubes sticking out of him. The steady beeping from the monitor was your only clue that his heart was still beating. You called his siblings, but after 5 hours you figured they weren’t going to come, you doubt they’d even listen to the message. Underneath the fear there’s anger, so much anger. How could he do this to you? He lied to you. He said he was clean! Did he ever attend a meeting or was that just a lie to go get more weed and pills?

“Hey you.” You hear his raspy voice from beside you. Once he started breathing on his own again they replaced the breathing tube for oxygen in his nose. The doctors said they would need to keep him here until he completely detoxed. There are tears welling in your eyes and you refuse to meet his eyes, you’re upset and he knows that.

“Baby I’m sorry.” Klaus tries, his hand reaching out for yours. You keep your arms folded as a tear finally falls down your cheek. Klaus hates seeing you cry and he hates even more that he is the reason you’re crying. You weren’t entirely surprised to hear him call you baby, you and Klaus have gotten close during the time he’s been living with you.

“Please look at me.” Klaus begs, a break in his voice that lets you know he has tears in his eyes. You lifted your gaze to meet his, and you see how sick he looks. His skin is gray, his eyes are sunken in and they have bags under them.

“How could you? You lied to me.” Your voice is soft, broken. This is the first time Klaus has truly let you down and you can’t help but wonder if this is how his siblings have felt every time he’s let them down. You see guilt flash in his eyes, the look in your eyes is worse than any other look Klaus has received from his brothers and sisters.

“What if I didn’t get off work early? Then you’d be dead Klaus!” You sobbed, tears wracking your body.

“Baby I swear when I get out I’ll get it together. I-I’ll clean up I promise.” A stray tear falls down his cheek and Klaus quickly reaches up to wipe it away. His hands are trembling when they reach for yours again but you still don’t budge.

“No Klaus, you’re going into fucking rehab. I can’t live with the constant fear of coming home and finding you dead. I love you too much to lose you.” The last part slips out by accident, but you can’t take it back. Klaus’s eyes widen as another tear trails down his cheek, and this time he doesn’t wipe it away.

“You love me?” How could he not know? You laugh bitterly as tears continue to cascade down your cheeks.

“Yes I do, and if you give even half a damn about me you’ll check into rehab.” You beg, your watery eyes finding his. Klaus lays his head back, his own teary eyes looking up to the ceiling before they close and he takes a deep breath.

“I love you so fucking much, so I’ll do it. For you.” Klaus finally whispers, reaching for you one last time and this time, you take his hand.

“Please tell me you’re going to take this seriously. Please? I-I can’t lose you.” You beg a few days later once Klaus was finally cleared to leave the hospital, but he would be going right to rehab. The doctors had him sign a document agreeing to be taken straight to an intensive rehab program as soon as he was released from the hospital. Klaus in all honesty was a tad bit put off by the idea of going into rehab, and was downright terrified of having to deal with the voices. Luckily he had Ben with him to help keep him sane while he was in rehab. Klaus really does love you, and he really does want to give sobriety a shot- but only for you.

“I promise, I already said I was really going to try.” Klaus sighed, turning his gaze down to look at you.

“You have no idea what that was like for me Klaus. Coming home to your lifeless body, I-I thought you were fucking dead.” You snapped, looking away from him as tears build in your eyes again. You’re so sick of crying. You feel his fingers grasping your chin, turning your head to look at him.

“I’m not dead baby, I’m here. I’m gonna get clean, and I’m gonna stay clean. I promise.” Klaus whispered before pressing his lips against yours. What you didn’t know then was that Klaus would be making that promise a hundred more times, and he’d be breaking it a hundred times. Deep down he didn’t want to get clean, he didn’t care enough about himself to try. The dead were too overwhelming, too scary, too much. Klaus couldn’t handle it, he didn’t want to. What he wanted was to be completely numb. The kiss was watery, but you pressed against him with such ferocity you almost took him by surprise.

“Mr. Hargreeves? The van is here.” A nurse says, clearing her throat awkwardly from the door. Klaus breaks the kiss first, his forehead pressed against yours. You can’t stop the tears as they trail down your cheeks. You sling his bag over your shoulder as the two of you head outside together. You see a man in scrubs take Klaus’s bag as other patients from the hospital pile into the van.

“I’ll only be gone for 3 months. Be back in a flash.” Klaus smiles, but the mischievousness doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I love you.” You whisper as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.” Is the last thing you hear him whisper before he’s climbing into the van.

Klaus’s sobriety didn’t last long after rehab. Sure he’d attended all the group therapy sessions, and the annual detox therapy, he saw his therapist and followed the steps. He’d gone through the entire agonizing process of detoxing from the drugs. He wanted to be better, but then the voices came once more. Wailing in his ear about how desperately they wished to be alive, all the horrible details of their death, all the people they left behind. Ben tried to talk Klaus through it, to help him embrace his powers rather than reject them. But when Klaus sat straight up in bed, your sleeping body next to him and a thousand desperate voices screaming in his head he couldn’t take anymore.

“Don’t do this.” Ben pleaded, although he sounded defeated more than desperate. But Klaus’s shaking hands were already reaching for the closest pair of pants, which happened to be one of your skirts. Klaus was way more than itching for a fix, he was downright clawing for one. His eyes were wild as he stood up slowly, careful not to wake you up.

“She trusts you Klaus.” Ben tries again, he’s begun resorting to guilt tripping to keep Klaus sober. For the last few days it’s seemed to work, but Ben doubts it’s going to work now. Klaus is too far gone. “That isn’t going to last forever, eventually she will give up on you.”

“Shut up.” Klaus hisses, pulling sneakers on before turning for the door of the apartment. Ben appears in the doorway of the staircase, and Klaus raises a brow.

“Save whatever speech you have planned, I need it now.” Klaus says desperately, walking down the stairs- through Ben.

“Screw you Klaus, you’re taking advantage of her!” Ben snaps, you may not know Ben is around but he’s gotten to know you. He cares about you, in a sisterly way, and he hates seeing Klaus take your love and throw it away.

“Shut the hell up Ben.” There is genuine anger in Klaus’s tone now, his fists clenched as he continued towards where his normal dealer hangs out. Ben doesn’t particularly like hurting Klaus, but dammit someone has to stop him from destroying his own life.

“If you really cared about Y/N, you’d turn around and go home. She’s still laying in bed, thinking you’re next to her. How amazing is it that she wants you to be next to her, and you don’t seem to care at all. If I was alive, I’d love her right.” Ben yells, and this causes Klaus to freeze.

“Like hell you could! Y/N only wants me.” Klaus insists, but Ben can see the insecurity swirling in his eyes.

“For how long? When she realizes you relapsed again she isn’t going to want anything to do with you. Or you could go home Klaus, and put her first for once.” Ben says, his voice calmer this time. Tears well in Klaus’s eyes, he loves you more than anything on this whole planet.

“I’m sorry, I need it.” Klaus whispers before turning down the alley to see his dealer. This time, Ben doesn’t follow him. He can’t watch Klaus overdose again, he can’t watch him throw you away for drugs.

The first time you have sex with Klaus, he was high. You don’t know that, and Klaus knows exactly how you’d react if you did. It was a month since Klaus had gotten out of rehab, and you believed it also signaled a month of sobriety for him. In reality, Klaus hadn’t even made it a week before he relapsed after rehab. You wanted to celebrate with him, to do something nice for him. Ben watched you light candles while Klaus took a “nap”. It made him sick to see you do so many nice things for Klaus, while Klaus was really shooting up in your shared bathroom. You’re out here setting up something nice to celebrate Klaus’s sobriety, and he’s injecting heroin into his veins. It truly does make Ben sick. You lit the last candle, and when you reached up to remove your robe and reveal your lingerie- Ben disappeared. He isn't a pervert, he knew where this was going.

“Klaus?” You called nervously, smoothing your babydoll lace as you sat on the bed. You knew you wanted this, you were just nervous. When he emerged from the bathroom, his eyes widened as they landed on your nearly exposed breasts. He’d never seen you so naked before. Klaus swallowed a thick lump in his throat, and suddenly everything felt hotter, and tighter.

“Hey.” Is all he can say before an easy smile makes its way across his face.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on 1 month of sobriety.” You say softly with a smile, and then all the happiness drains away. Klaus feels sick to his stomach as guilt nearly brings him to his knees. You believe in him, and he’s pissing it all away. He wished he was stronger, but he isn’t. Klaus is weak and he isn’t worth it, and soon you’re going to realize that.

“You didn’t have to do this.” Klaus whispers and you shrug with a nervous smile on your face.

“You don’t like it?” You ask, your eyes widening. You’re really putting yourself out there and you can only hope he likes this. Klaus takes a step forward, his hands landing on your hips.

“No baby I do! I love this.” Klaus reassures you, and you feel your cheeks heat up when you see his eyes go wandering down your body. HIs lips lower to yours then and you feel like you’re up in the clouds. Klaus feels his heart breaking with every tender movement, every gentle brush of your fingers through his hair. It’s all he can do but to grab you and press you against his body with a bruising force. The desperation in his movements is what catches you off guard, his hands are hauling your thighs up around his waist. Normally Klaus isn’t this assertive in the bedroom, but he needs to feel your skin against his. He needs to know you’re here with him, because soon you won’t be. He knows that.

It’s not long before you’re undressed and your legs are spread open for him, and Klaus has no idea what he ever did to deserve you. Deep down he knows he doesn’t, you deserve someone like Ben. Maybe that’s why what Ben said really struck a nerve, because deep down Klaus knows if Ben were alive- you’d choose him. You’d never choose Klaus if he were being compared to Ben. Klaus grasps his cock in his hand before guiding the head into your tight opening, and when he pushes into you- it feels like absolute heaven. But there’s only one thought on Klaus’s mind, I don’t deserve this.

The second time you see Klaus overdose, it’s the morning after the best night of your life. It’s the morning after you sleep with him, the morning after you feel truly connected to him like you’re one. You stretched with a yawn, a smile on your face as your hand reaches over to where Klaus is sleeping next to you. When your hand finds cold sheets your eyes blink open, he’s already awake?

“Klaus?” You call softly, waiting for a response. When you don’t get one you finally drag yourself out of bed, you enter the living room. Again no sign of Klaus whatsoever. Panic creeps into your chest then, he’s just out getting coffee or something to surprise you. You bite nervously at your nails before you turn back to your room to push into the bathroom. The sight before you draws a gasp from you. Klaus is slumped against the wall, his arm still on the toilet with the tourniquet around his arm. The needle is on the lid of the toilet next to his arm, and you immediately rush towards him.

“What have you done?” You whisper desperately, reaching for the life alert you have in the bathroom. You have one in every room in your apartment, which at the time felt like overkill but now looking back on it you’re happy you did. You pull Klaus to lay on his back, yanking the tourniquet off his arm. You try to feel for a pulse, and much to your horror you don’t feel a pulse. You frantically press your ear to his chest, his heart isn’t beating.

“Oh my God Klaus!” You nearly scream in horror, balling your fist up and slamming it down on his chest as hard as you can. You continue to do this, tears cascading down your cheeks. He’s dead, his heart isn’t beating.

“Klaus, why? You said you were sober!” You scream in pure emotional agony. You hardly notice when the paramedics arrive until they pull you away from him.

“H-his heart isn’t beating. Please help him.” You beg as they rush him out of the apartment, but this time...you don’t go with him. You’ve finally reached the point all of Klaus’s siblings reached, the point where you just can’t take being let down anymore. You believe in him, you feel hopeful. Then you feel lower than low when you realize he relapsed again, you can’t do this anymore. You can’t take the let down anymore.

It’s a few days before you go see Klaus in the hospital, and you know what you have to do but you’re not sure you have the strength to do it. Klaus is sitting in bed, eating chocolate pudding, and this time he looks worse than last time. He glances up at you when you come in, and he has to do a double take.

“Baby-”

“Please don’t. I don’t want to hear your excuses, or your promises to get clean.” You interrupt, and it’s only just now that he notices a suitcase in your hand. There are tears endlessly falling down your cheeks, and inside you feel completely dead. Klaus knows what the suitcase is for, he knows that you’ve lost faith in him. Just like Ben predicted you would, but despite the fact that this is all Klaus’s fault...Ben still sits nearby with a look of sadness upon his face.

“What’s the suitcase for?” Klaus brings himself to ask the dreaded question even though he already knows the answer. You swallow a lump before depositing the suitcase on a chair at the end of his bed.

“That’s all your stuff. D-Don’t come back to my apartment. Don’t call. I can’t be with you like this.” You cry, watching as the broken look on your face crosses onto Klaus’s.

“Baby please don’t do this. Just give me another chance, I’ll stay clean this time-” But you’re already shaking your head, taking slow steps back towards the door.

“We’re over Klaus. I’m done. I can’t be terrified of finding your dead body, I can’t wonder where you are at night or where you’re going when you sneak out. I can’t live like this anymore, I don’t want to live like this.” You sob, your shoulders shaking as you cry softly.

“Please don’t give up on me, not you.” Klaus pleads, and the look in his eyes nearly makes you change your mind, But then you remember where he is, that he did this to himself. You shake your head.

“You’ve given me no choice Klaus! I can’t take it anymore, I can’t handle anymore heartbreak.” You snap, tears heavy on your cheeks.

“I can get my shit together, I can!” Klaus pleads as your hand finds the door handle. He can’t lose you, not you. Anybody but you.

“I know you can, but I can’t wait around wondering if you’ll get your shit together before you overdose and die. I can’t wait around hoping the latter will come first. Goodbye Klaus.” You open the door and step into the hallway.

“No, Y/N please. I love you.” You hear Klaus call before you’re closing the door behind you. Your heart shatters as you do, and continues to shatter as you walk away.

Despite what you said, he called. He called over and over again and even came to your apartment. You remember him knocking and begging you to open the door, you had slid down the wall sobbing softly with your hand over your mouth. You love Klaus more than you’ve ever loved anyone, but you can’t watch him die. You can’t. You had to let him go and hope that someday he gets clean, and that he stays clean. You hope that someday he finds something or someone to stay clean for. Clearly, you weren’t enough.

“Please open the door, I know you’re in there.” Klaus begs, leaning against the closed door.

“She’s crying. I don’t think she’s going to open the door.” Ben says, poking his head through the door to look at you. His heart breaks for you, he tried to warn Klaus this was going to happen.

“I love you Y/N, just give me one more chance please.” Klaus tries again but you stay rooted to the floor, your body shaking through the tears.

“You’re hurting her Klaus.” Ben says softly, and Klaus finally takes a step away from the door with a look of realization on his face. He is hurting you. You don’t want him here, and as much as that kills him it’s the truth. The longer he sits here in the hallway, the more you’re going to cry. He has to let you go. He quickly wipes away falling tears before slinging his bag over his shoulder. Klaus leans down to slide something under the door before heading back down the stairs, and this time he isn’t going to be coming back. You turn to see a piece of paper with a plastic bag sitting on your kitchen floor. You lift the bag, and inside it is a necklace. It’s a silver heart with diamonds along the side, but on the inside is a rose made out of rose gold. You feel tears drifting down your cheeks as you turn to the note.

“Happy 1 Year Anniversary. I love you. -K”

You collapse to the floor, clutching the necklace and the note to your chest tightly. You never thought you would lose him, actually you were stupid enough to believe you could save him from himself. But you can’t save him, you never could. No matter how much you love him, it’s time to let him go and you can only hope that the next time you see him isn’t at his funeral.

-9 Years Later-

The letter clutched in your hand was one you never thought you’d be receiving. It’s from Allison, saying that her father died so she’s in town. You can’t fight the excitement you feel upon realizing you’re probably going to see her soon. You missed her. The prospect of running into Klaus crosses your mind, but c’mon what are the chances he’ll even show up? His father locked him in a Mausoleum for most of his childhood, you know for a fact that Klaus has no love for Reginald. You’re surprised Allison is going, but then again Reginald always did his little “experiments” on Klaus. Never the others. Besides Vanya, he treated Klaus the absolute worst. So you seriously doubt Klaus will turn up, plus you’ll only be there for like 10 minutes to see Allison. That’s the only reason you’re standing here, knocking on the door.

“It’s been a while Miss Y/L/N.” Pogo says once the door opens. You smile upon seeing him and can’t help yourself as you stoop down to hug him tightly. You’ve really missed Pogo these last few years. But you had to forget all of this, push it to the back of your mind. Any reminder of Klaus would cause you to collapse into tears, so you couldn’t think about any of it. There were a few times you nearly asked Allison to use her powers to erase your relationship with Klaus from your head. There was a while where you felt like you couldn’t be happy without him, but overall you did fine.

“Oh my God! Y/N!” You hear her before you see her and before you’ve even properly turned around Allison’s arms are winding around you tightly. You feel tears burning the backs of your eyes as you hug her back, it’s so good to see her. When Allison pulls back, her eyes scan your face before flickering behind you.

“Where’s Klaus?” If it were a few years ago, the question would have sent you to your knees in tears. You shake your head with a smile.

“We broke up a few years ago.” The pain behind your eyes is unmistakable. Allison nods before her gaze is flickering down to the necklace secured around your neck.

“Then what’s that?” She lifts the necklace in her hand, the necklace Klaus had slid under your door.

“It’s just a necklace I don’t know what you-”

“I helped him pick it out Y/N. It was the last time I talked to him.” She said and you nod slowly. You hold the metal in your hands, you’ve been wearing it every day since he gave it to you. Clinging to it like it’s the last piece of him you have, which is sort of true. You stole a few t-shirts of his too.

“I was just about to poke around in my Dad’s office, wanna come?” The playful glint in her eyes sends away the tears that were about to spill over your cheeks. You nod instantly, that was the one room they were never allowed to go into. You skip up the stairs behind Allison, running your fingers along the bannister. You remember all the times you ran up these stairs with Allison, either running away from Reginald or Pogo. Or the times you’d gotten hurt and Grace was there to run her fingers through your hair and hold you to her chest, she really was the best mom. She was a mom to you too, your own parents are pieces of shit and the only person you ever really had was Grace.

“Wow, so weird being in here.” You say once you two breach the threshold into the office. It only takes a few seconds for you to hear someone rummaging around in the drawers. You doubt Luther could fit behind the desk without you seeing him so it’s not him, and you just saw Diego in the hallway. Vanya was downstairs last time you checked so that means…

“Klaus?” Allison says it first. Your heart is in your throat as he stands to his full height, which is a few inches taller than the last time you saw him. He has facial hair, he doesn’t look like a boy anymore. He’s really grown into himself, he’s still super skinny though. His fashion style has changed a lot since the last time you saw him. He’s almost sort of feminine now, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look hot as hell. His eyes light up upon seeing her, a wide smile stretched across his face. He hasn’t seen you yet, so you’re going to just sneak out. You turn and head for the door when you hear his voice.

“Y/N? That you?” You hear the happiness edging at the tone of his voice. You can’t bring yourself to turn around, you can’t look into his eyes and remember how much you’ve missed him. He’s probably still using and you can’t get sucked into his addiction again. You stay stock still, tears burning at the corner of your eyes as you see him come into your view. He uses two fingers to tilt your chin up, and when you look into his eyes- it’s all over. They’re the same hazel eyes that you remember, the same softness behind them. The tears trickle down your cheeks before you can stop them. You shove past him and out of the room just as Luther comes in, he lights up when he sees you but the look quickly falters when he sees the tears on your face. His gaze trails back to Klaus and then a look of realization finally reaches his eyes.

“You should go after her.” Ben suggests as he moves to sit on Reginald’s desk. Klaus doesn’t say anything as he empties his pockets of things he was planning to sell before Luther caught him.

“Klaus, you're like an open wound for her, fix it. I thought you loved her.” Ben snaps, and this time Klaus glares at him before storming out of the room.

“I do love her.” Klaus snaps back.

“So talk to her and stop being an idiot.” Ben says, and the anger in his eyes is unmistakable. Klaus groans, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“How about, ‘I’m sorry’?” Ben suggests sarcastically. Klaus rolls his eyes. Turning towards the railing of the stairs, Klaus spots you next to a giant window. You’re stood with your arms crossed, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to see you.

“Don’t think it’s going to be enough, but I’ll try.” Klaus says softly, looking into Ben’s eyes. Tucking the ornate box he stole from the office into his pants, Klaus makes his way towards you.

“Hey you.” Is all he says, but hearing him say those words with his voice, it’s almost too much. It sends you right back to the first time you saw Klaus overdosing, it’s what he said in the hospital room when he woke up. You push a smile onto your face through the tears.

“Hey.” You wipe away a falling tear as you turn to look at him, and you see his eye fixated on your neck. Klaus reaches up to touch the necklace, there’s a smile on his face.

“You’re wearing it.”

“I never took it off, since you gave it to me.” You admit softly. Klaus looks up to meet your eyes again, and you swear he’s wearing eyeliner. Why is that so hot? Why is him dressing sort of like a woman so damn sexy?

“So, I hate this small talk but how have you been?” Klaus asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You casually wipe away a few tears, pretending that neither of you know why you’re crying. Even though you both know you’re crying because of him, again. What kills you the most is that everything else about him looks different enough for you to convince yourself that it’s a different person. But his eyes are the same. The same soft, puppy like eyes and every time you look into them you see the broken look on his face when you broke up with him.

“Good. I’m good, you?” You and Klaus really did detest small talk, but when it comes to you two you need to take baby steps. Maybe you can be friends but you doubt it, either way you have to take it slow. Really slow.

“I’m great.” He says with a wide smile, you nod once before turning your gaze out the window again. There’s one question poking at your head, refusing to be ignored. So you lick your lips and slowly turn to him.

“Klaus?”

“Hm?”

“Did you have anywhere to go after I...I um-”

“After you kicked me out?” You don’t expect the words to sting so much when he says them, you don’t think he intended to say it bitterly but he did. You nod.

“No I didn’t, but I figured it out.” He says with a shrug. You feel guilty as you look back out the window, and that’s when you notice him inch closer to you.

“I’ve missed you Y/N.” He says softly, turning his body to face yours. You feel tears in your eyes again, you know what he’s doing.

“Don’t.” You say softly, but his arms reach on either side of you to grasp the railing behind you- effectively trapping you in place.

“I really missed you.” Klaus says sincerely, his lips ghosting over yours. It’s too much.

“Stop! We can’t do this again Klaus.” You gasp, shoving him away from you. Klaus’s eyebrows knit together, but you know he really isn’t surprised.

“Baby I’m different now, I won’t let you down again-”

“Really? Then what’s this?” You snap as tears drift down your face. You grasp the bracelet on his wrist, the bracelet from rehab next to the one from the emergency room. You see him shrink in on himself, knowing that he had in fact been caught.

“After all these years and you’re still using, and you overdosed again? Do you know how lucky you are to be alive? Dammit Klaus, I’m not getting pulled into this bullshit again. I can’t.” You yell, crying uncontrollably now.

“But I still love you, I’m so fucking in love with you.” Klaus pleads and you know he means it. The annoying part is that you love him too, there’s never going to be a time in your life that you’re not in love with Klaus. You shake your head, you really wished you could control your damn emotions. You turn to storm down the stairs when you feel his fingers gently close around your wrist.

“I know you love me, you wouldn’t wear that necklace if you didn’t.” Klaus says desperately, a look in his eyes you can’t quite place.

“Please Y/N, just kiss me. One more time, please.” Klaus pleads, and you close your eyes as you release a heavy breath. You grasp onto his shirt tightly before pulling his lips down to meet yours. Klaus sighs happily against your lips as his hands grasp tightly at your own shirt, pulling you as close to his body as you can get. Your lips move against each other, and you can already feel the heat rising. You moan against him when his hand slips between your legs on the outside of your jeans. You pull away from him as he presses his palm against your core.

“W-We can’t do this Klaus.” You gasp, your head tilting back as he grinds his hardening cock against you. He winds his arms around your waist, his lips finding the sweet spot just under your ear. You mewl softly, your hands grasping his shoulders tightly.

“Sure we can, you don’t want a relationship- fine. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a physical relationship.” He whispers, biting at your neck in a way that makes you feel like you’re melting. You sigh softly as his hand slides under your shirt and up your back.

“C’mon baby, let me make you feel good. Use me to get off. Please.” His filthy words send another wave of arousal through you. You look into his eyes and when you see the heat simmering in them, you know you can’t say no.

“God please make me cum Klaus.” You plead hoarsely, and his lips press against yours again. He hauls your legs around his waist as he takes a back hallway to his bedroom. He presses you against the wall outside of his bedroom, grinding his cock up against your core. His lips trail kisses from the corner of your mouth, all the way down the column of your throat. Your head tilts back and hits the wall, your entire body buzzing.

“Just please tell me, are you high right now?” You gasp, his hand toying with the button of your jeans. Klaus hums in thought.

“A little.” He admits, and it definitely bothers you, but you need to cum so damn badly that you don’t care too much. Klaus kicks the door shut behind him before dropping you onto the bed, his hands yanking your shirt over your head.

“Wait, is this my shirt?” He asks, lifting the fabric to inspect it.

“A memento, come here and kiss me.” You plead again, your bra joining his shirt not too long after. Klaus happily obliges, yanking his shirt over his head before his lips are on yours. Your hands find his scarf, which strangely looks good on him before pulling it from around his neck.

“Nice scarf.” You comment against his lips. Klaus’s tongue swiftly enters your mouth and you, honest to God whimper against his lips. No man has ever made you whimper before. Your hands reach down to unbutton his pants, and you begin to push them down his legs. Remarkably, Klaus has managed to keep the giant box tucked into his pants concealed, kicking it under the bed when you look down to help untangle the pants from his ankles. You help peel his pants off before you’re sliding onto the floor in front of him. You pump his cock in your hand a few times before you’re taking him down your throat. Klaus hisses as his head tosses back, and you have to admit that the way he looks sends heat between your legs. His arms holding himself up as his neck is exposed, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving. He looks fucking beautiful. You lick a line up the underside of his cock, you still remember exactly what he likes. That’s honestly a little pathetic, but at this moment you couldn’t care less.

“Fuck baby I don’t remember you being so-” he’s cut off when you suck lightly, and he moans. “-being so good at this.”

He swallows thickly, daring himself to look down at you. The sight before him nearly makes him cum on the spot. You’re looking up at him through your lashes, there are tears in your eyes, and your mouth is stuffed full of his cock. He can see it bulging in your throat. You bob your head up and down his full length, but eventually Klaus yanks you off him by your hair.

“If you don’t stop I’m going to cum and I won’t get hard again.” He growls, pulling your lips against his. Klaus’s hands are quickly unbuttoning your jeans, his hands hooking into the waistband to push them down your legs along with your underwear.

“You’re too clothed.” He mumbles against your lips, you eagerly help him undress you. Klaus gently pushes you back against the mattress to lay underneath you, his hands pressed on either side of your head. His eyes are practically twinkling as he gazes down at you, and there’s a fond smile on his face as his fingers brush against the necklace once more.

“What?” You ask, your cheeks heating up from the look in his eyes.

“Nothing. Just...this is my happy place.” He says and you turn your head away when it starts to feel too emotional.

“This is just sex Klaus remember? We’re not getting back together.” You remind him, and you hate the crushed look in his eyes but he nods.

“Yeah, I remember.” He says softly, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. You moan when you feel his tip sliding against your lips, and just that one sound has reignited the fire in Klaus’s eyes. He reaches down to grasp the base of his cock, watching with nearly sadistic eyes as he teases you by rubbing the head along your entrance.

“Don’t be an asshole.” You groan, your fingers curling around the sheets. Klaus leans down to press his lips against yours before he’s sliding into you in one languid thrust. Your breath catches in your throat as you wind your arms around his shoulders. You’re not as tight as Klaus was expecting, which can only mean one thing. You’ve had sex with somebody else, and deep down Klaus knows that he has no right to be upset about it. But he is, he’s really upset about it. He quickly sets a brutal pace, pinning your arms to the bed as he bites down softly on your lower lip. You wriggle one arm free so you can reach up and grasp tightly onto his neck, your fingers curled around his throat. Klaus’s eyes roll back as he continues to pump into you.

“Fuck I missed this.” Klaus groans, his other hand snaking between your bodies to toy with your clit. Klaus has slept with one other person since he was with you, but that was different. It was a man. To Klaus, sex with men is just as good as sex with women but nothing is as good as sex with you. There’s something about you that just makes his toes curl, that edges him a little higher. Maybe it’s because he’s helplessly in love with you, but who knows. Klaus knows he won’t last much longer, especially when you begin to clench around him. He missed being this close to you, feeling one with you. Feeling you. He missed it all, everything about you. He is going to get you back, Klaus has made it his goal to get clean. For you. He never wants to lose you again.

“I missed you,” You gasp, you can’t help it. You did miss him. More than you thought you would, and you thought that time would heal the wound but it didn’t. Actually, the more time that went on the more the wound seemed to open. Klaus continues to push into you roughly, the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. You hold his chest tightly to yours, your eyes squeezing shut when his fingers gently pinch your clit. The tidal wave breaks open then and you’re squeezing around him so tightly that it draws a strangled groan from him as you gush around him. You moan obscenely as you cum around him, your hands holding him tightly. Klaus gasps as he thrusts into you roughly before pulling out of you and instantly cumming all over your stomach.

“I needed that.” Klaus sighs happily, standing to clean your stomach off. You watch him toss the tissue in a trash can before reaching around for his clothes.

“Leaving?” You ask in disbelief, he won’t stay with you for a little bit? Klaus leans back over you before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Sorry baby, got an errand to run.” He says reaching under the bed to grab the box. Klaus slides the scarf around his neck once more, and when you see the box you know what he’s up to. He’s going to sell it for drug money. He tosses your clothes onto the bed before turning towards the door. Just before his hand tugs the door open, he turns towards you again.

“Be honest with me, do you still love me?” He asks and you bite down on your bottom lip.

“I still love you Klaus.” You admit, watching the small smile on his face.

“I love you too.” And before you know it, he’s out of the bedroom and closing the door behind him. It’s immediate that you should not have had sex with him, you should have said no but you couldn’t. Why?

Because Klaus is your addiction.

#klaus hargreeves smut #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #tua smut #the umbrella academy smut #luther hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus x reader #klaus x you

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aemonds-sapphire · 3 years

Text

Quirkplay — Natsuo x Reader

Natsuo would rarely use his ice quirk, but whenever he did so, he always made sure you enjoyed it.

Warnings: NSFW. Quirkplay, vaginal fingering, ice cubes, praise, needy Natsuo, hot Natsuo, sexy Natsuo, precum, mouth fucking.

Word count: 1.6k

“Can I use my quirk?”

Natsuo’s voice was but a whisper as his gentle and expectant eyes bore into yours. The thought alone had your heart race skip a beat immediately.

Nothing was off limits for Natsuo so long as it would magnify the pleasure he could provide as far as you were concerned.

You promptly nodded at the man on top of you, moaning softly as his hardening bulge pressed against your covered pussy.

The coldness that spread across his palms as he quickly undid your shirt was met with a jerk of your hips.

“Calm down…” he hissed and you felt his cock twitch as he fumbled with the tiny buttons keeping you hidden from him.

Natsuo would rarely make use of his quirk in his daily life, and had resorted to using it under very specific circumstances.

You weren’t a stranger to it, and had had the opportunity of being on the receiving end of the coldness that would emanate from him in such occasions.

Your clit throbbed in anticipation once he pulled your bra down, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

He shifted until his face was but a mere inches away from your flushed skin, and you vaguely wondered what he had in mind.

The answer to that thought came soon enough.

His lips puckered as he let out a stream of stinging cold breeze graze over one nipple, causing it to swiftly harden.

“Always so sensitive…” he smiled proudly, repeating the motion on the other one.

Damn Natsuo’s extensive knowledge of the human body.

The familiar coiling feeling in the pit of your stomach had your eyes flutter shut, and he seized the opportunity to wrap his cool lips around your nipple. He wasted no time, alternating between slow and long suckles, and quick and hard ones.

If quirkplay was an art form then Natsuo mastered it with jaw-dropping proficiency.

He’d switch nipples every now and then while his freezing hands remained plastered on your ass cheeks, angling your body with his and allowing him to dry hump you.

“N-Natsuo… slow… d-down…” you stammered, hands fisting his pale hair in the hopes of breaking the grip he had on you.

It was all to no avail.

One of his hands found your soaked panties and pushed them to the side.

You gasped and your eyes flew open at the sudden coolness that contrasted nearly painfully with the heat radiating from your swollen clit.

Natsuo released your nipple with a wet pop and fixed his eyes on you.

“How cold can I go today?” he asked teasingly, fingertips barely brushing along your sopping slit.

He’d always ask you, but not because he feared going too far — your body language would tell him that —, but merely as a way to have you beg for it.

“As cold as you can get…”

The pad of his thumb immediately pressed down on your clit and you jolted in surprise.

“Icy cold?” he asked, an excited smile tugging at his lips.

You squirmed under his touch. “Whatever you want… just….” fuck me…

Natsuo kept one hand between your thighs as a reminder of the pleasure he could so easily deliver; the other snaked under you skillfully and he undid the clasp of your bra, before sliding the fabric off you.

He took a deep breath, taking his sweet time to admire your body. If there was one thing Natsuo excelled at was making you feel pretty and wanted.

Even though school crammed most of his schedule and robbed you of his focus, he would always find a way to make it up for you.

So when he pressed his cold palm just below your ribcage, eye never tearing away from yours, you felt a rush of hotness splatter your cheeks.

And then something else…

Something hard and cold and wet was starting to dig into your skin. You eyes traveled down to stare at his still hand, and you saw a faint glaze of icy blue coat it up to his wrist.

“Natsuo…”

The young man lifted his hand, revealing one ice cube that he had to keep in place with his fingers to keep it from sliding to the side as your body temperature caused its underside to melt and have droplets rolling down your skin.

Two cold fingers dragged along your pussy lips to smear your own wetness and earning a hiss from him.

“I love that you’re so wet… so ready for my fingers…” he cooed, sliding one digit inside your heated pussy.

The melting ice cube started glinding down your torso, leaving a wet trail in its wake which prickled your skin with goosebumps. He lowered his head and planted a few open-mouthed kisses, following the path laid out by the byproduct of his quirk.

You arched your back reflexively when he added a second finger inside you, drawing out a groan of pleasure mixed with momentary discomfort as your body adjusted to the never-ending temperature fluctuations.

“Ah… fuck…” you suddenly heard him cuss in annoyance, halting his ministrations.

The subject of frustration was his own cock, apparently. A big wet spot stained his pants, and you almost smiled at how adorable he looked as as his cheeks gained a faint reddish tint.

All that sweet precum going to waste as Natsuo struggled with holding himself back.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek as you watched him undo his zipper and yank down his pants, exposing his long cock.

A sigh of relief left him, and he swallowed hard once he realized your eyes were dead set on the thick strings of precum that dripped from the tip.

The two fingers buried inside your pussy cooled down, causing you to clench around him vigorously.

“Natsuo! Why—“

He merely smiled while his other hand conjured yet a new ice cube — as the previous one had completely melted away.

The slow and teasing pace his fingers set was almost agonizing, and you kept on rolling your hips as a way to instigate him to get bolder.

But he had other plans.

The cube in his hand came into contact with your clit and you yelped at the chilling sensation. He made sure your folds enveloped it on either side as your grip around his digits only increased.

“Look at the way your pussy is eating me up…” he groaned, sliding it down to collect some of your juices. “Babe… look at your pussy lips.”

The moment you did as you were, a raspy moan fell from your lips and you felt several knots tightening in your lower abdomen as a clear warning that if he kept this pace you’d reach your high soon.

A needy moan echoed through his room, and you clasped one hand over your mouth.

His sister was at home, and so was his younger brother.

“Keep it down… can you do that?” he inquirer sweetly, sliding his fingers out completely and earning a disappointed mewl from you. “Mouth open.”

His two wet fingers slipped past your lips and you promptly wrapped them around him, sucking and tasting yourself.

It was definitely an effective way of shutting you up.

“You love sucking, don’t you?”

You batted your eyelashes innocently while nodding, twirling your tongue around his digits as if they were his cock instead.

He bit his lower lip to muffle a moan, nudging the ice cube against your pussy.

You looked up at him, eyes widened.

“Grip it for me.”

His eyes were heavy with lust, and you felt a gush of wetness drip from you at his request.

The frozen cube poked at your entrance once more, and you felt him push it inside just enough for you to hold it in place with your walls.

Natsuo’s cock twitched several times at the sight of your pussy gripping the ice cube.

His voice was now low and filled with perplexity. “You need to see this.”

In no time, he had his phone in his hands to snap a quick photo. You clenched briefly as you glared at the screen. Honestly, you had to commend his self-control, because you looked really, really inviting in that position.

“Pretty girl…” he praised, flicking your clit with his thumb, bringing you closer to the edge.

You were grateful that he had no intention of removing his fingers from your mouth, otherwise your moans would be heard throughout the entire place.

The ice cube wasn’t able to endure the heat of your pussy, and you felt cold droplets sliding down your ass crack.

Natsuo kept his eyes on you the entire time. “Suck harder… please…”

You did as you were told, in an attempt at keeping some control as waves of unfathomable bliss rippled across your entire body. At that point, you could no longer prevent your pussy from completely sucking in the ice cube and with a seering pinch on your clit, he managed to have you trip over the edge of your sanity.

Flashes of technicolor swarmed your vision as you parted your lips in a silent scream. Bless Natsuo and his quick reflexes, because he had your mouth covered in no time, preventing any obscene sound from being heard by anyone but him.

He kept his cold thumb on your clit, alternating the pressure on it, but his pace never faltering.

Your hips bucked desperately and your arms wrapped around his neck as if you were holding on for dear life, riding out your orgasm.

“Ouch!” he said playfully after losing balance and nearly crushing you under his weight. “Do you like my quirk that much?”

No coherent thoughts came to your mind as you panted heavily. “I… fuck…”

He placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. “I love you, too.”

Masterlist

#natsuo #natsuo smut #natsuo x reader #mha natsuo #natsuo x you #bnha natsuo #todoroki natsuo #mha smut #bnha smut #natsuo todoroki #natsuo imagine

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yslkook · 3 years

Text

BRIGHT (2)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: you and jungkook share a moment in a bookstore. pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc warnings: cursing, excessive use of pet names…bc its me

“Oh, lighten up Jeon,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, “You look like someone told you that your cat died.”

“The only kitty he wants won’t give him the time of day,” Mina grins, earning herself a glare from Jungkook.

“More like I can't get her time of day because her stupid best friend has a stick up her ass,” Jungkook mutters.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” Mei observes, “Our baby tattoo artist pining over a girl…”

“If looks could kill, you’d be dead by now, Mei,” Yoongi says pointedly, “Now stop wasting time meddling in Jungkook’s love life, Jin will have all of our heads-”

“Love life? I don’t have a love life,” Jungkook protests, eyes adorably round.

“And that’s why you’re so broody today, honey,” Mina teases, “More so than usual at least.”

“I am not broody,” Jungkook grumbles, turning his back on his laughing coworkers and friends. He can’t help but smile at their teasing.

“Oh, lighten up, Kookie,” Mei says lightly, clapping his shoulder, “If it makes you feel any better, that girl couldn’t stop staring at you at Hobi’s birthday. And she definitely wants a piece of this.”

Jungkook ignores the raucous laughter of his friends (which only increases when Jin comes out from the backroom to add on to his suffering) and the reddening of his cheeks as he gets ready for his full day of tattoo consultations and appointments.

Jungkook’s day ends about an hour earlier than he had anticipated- his last client for the day had to reschedule due to a last minute conflict. That’s fine by him. It gives him time to stop by the bookstore a few blocks away from the tattoo parlor before it closes.

Jungkook tries his best to read at least one new book a month. He’s known the older shop owner, Jia and her young son, Jae-sung, for years now, as he had basically grown up with Jia from childhood.

He loves the quiet of the store and the immediate scent of vanilla and cedar that surrounds him as soon as he walks in. The bookstore itself has a vintage sort of feel, with dimmed lights, old shelves of mahogany and candles placed throughout the store.

Jungkook always brings croissants from the bakery nearby for Jia and little Jae-sung. Usually when he comes by, the bookstore is empty (or close to it).

Jae-sung screeches when he sees Jungkook walk in the door and immediately runs up to him, hugging his legs. Jungkook crouches, ruffling his hair fondly and Jae-sung is nearly bouncing off of the heels of his feet.

“Mommy say she have new book for you, Kookie!” Jae-sung beams, eyeing the box of croissants in Jungkook’s free hand.

“Does she?” Jungkook muses, “Your mommy always knows what kind of books I like.”

“Me too! Me too!”

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jia’s voice filters through the store as she approaches, “It’s been a while.”

“It took me a while to finish the last book. But so worth it,” He says apologetically, “I also brought croissants. Enjoy.”

“You spoil us,” Jia rolls her eyes, “The new arrivals are in the back, third aisle from the left. You know the drill.”

Jia has known Jungkook since he was a baby in diapers- she’s been his aunt’s close friend for years and years now. Jungkook likes to joke that he likes Jia more than his own aunt, and Jia always reprimands him (without really meaning it).

He thought the bookstore was empty, save for Jia and Jae-sung. But he’s clearly mistaken, when he sees a figure in an olive green sweater and black jeans perusing through the new arrivals with their bottom lip tucked between their teeth in concentration.

He recognizes them immediately and when the person raises their head in curiosity, he sees your wide eyes and a shy smile starting to pull across your lips.

You’re here, in his favorite bookstore where he feels like he’s at home. If he was looking for a sign, then this was it.

“Hi,” You say softly, waving your fingers at him, “So you like reading, huh?”

You visibly cringe and Jungkook chuckles. Your cheeks feel warm when you take him in, swirls and dots of his tattoos peeking out of his black leather jacket and beckoning you closer to him. The three hoops in his left ear glint with the light and the dangling earring on his right ear dangles with the movement of his head. His hair is tied back into a ponytail, accentuating the curve of his jaw and his soft dimples.

Your breath is stolen away when you meet his eyes, deep brown and murky, popping against the peach eyeshadow on his eyelids.

You nearly swoon on the spot before you get your bearings. Maybe he’d catch you if your knees buckled, you think dryly. How embarrassing.

“I try reading something new once a month,” Jungkook replies, pulling you out of your reverie, “And I just like the bookstore in general. Sometimes I like to just come here and hang out with Jia and Jae-sung.”

“Oh! Jia makes my favorite lavender chamomile tea. There’s nothing like it,” You say a little dreamily, “Jae-sung is a cutie. That boy can just look at you and you’d be putty in his hands. Kinda like you.”

The last bit slips out of your mouth without you meaning for it to.

“Kinda like me, huh,” Jungkook smirks, eyes glittering, “It would be fun to see if you’d be putty in my hands, wouldn’t it?”

“The world may never know,” You mumble sheepishly and avoid his eyes again, “What kind of book are you looking for?”

“The one you’re holding, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, looking past your shoulder for another copy of the same book.

“Are you looking for this book just because I’m reading it or because you’ve been genuinely eyeing it?” You ask boldly, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

“Oh, you’re funny,” Jungkook snorts, walking past you to grab the book off of the shelf.

“So I’ve been told,” Your eyes flash, “We should do a boozy book club.”

“Is it a book club if it’s just the two of us?”

“It can be whatever we want it to be,” You shrug, “Besides, don’t you wanna hang out with me?” You tilt your head and Jungkook’s resolve weakens. His heart does something funny- is this how it’s supposed to be?

“Of course I wanna hang out with you, baby,” Jungkook murmurs smoothly, “C’mon, let’s go have some of Jia’s tea. And a croissant too, if Jae hasn’t eaten them already.”

Jungkook glares at Jia the entire time that she’s making tea for both of you. He knows her sly, curious eyes and was unable to keep the surprise off of her face when you had both walked down the stairs together.

She even had the audacity to wink at him. He hopes that the family groupchat doesn’t start blowing up when Jia inevitably informs his aunt and mother about this new development.

“Kookie,” Jae-sung whispers (loudly) when you step away to use the bathroom, “Is dat your girlfriend?”

“What?” Jungkook hisses, “Who told you that?”

“My mommy say I ask you! I not know!”

“No, Jae, that’s not my girlfriend,” Jungkook mumbles, shooting Jia another death glare. She only smiles smugly at him from her spot behind the counter.

Jia leaves him alone for the most part when you return and take your seat next to him. He can still feel her eyes on you both as she washes teacups, watching like a hawk.

“These croissants are so good,” You nearly moan, “Where’d you get them?”

“There’s a bakery near the tattoo parlor,” Jungkook says, “You should come by sometime.”

“The bakery or the parlor?”

“Both?”

“I’ve only been there a few times,” You muse, “I hear you’re the best tattoo artist there. From the mouth of Hobi and Jin themselves.”

“Don’t let Mina and Mei hear you say that,” Jungkook says weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are a little pink and you resist chuckling to yourself.

“I’ve always wanted to get a second piercing,” You trail off, “But never really committed to it.”

“What would you want to get? We do piercings, too,” Jungkook says.

“Cartilage? Industrial? I don’t know,” You shrug, sipping your tea.

“Mina usually has a good eye for that,” Jungkook admits, “Now you have more of a reason to stop by.”

“Oh, I already had a reason to stop by the parlor,” You say brazenly with a sweet smile.

“Is that so?” Jungkook says, quirking an eyebrow at you.

You hum and continue to sip your tea, wondering if he can somehow hear the loud rattling of your eager heart in your ribcage.

Conversation with him comes so easily and you don’t know when the last time you had spent this long with him was. Something always seems to interrupt you both when you eventually do find yourselves alone with each other during outings with friends. But this time, it’s just you and him tucked away in this bookstore.

The sun has long gone down and Jia was about to close the bookstore for the day. In fact, the only reason she kept it open for this long was because of you both. You apologize profusely with worried eyes when you realize the time and see Jae-sung fast asleep in his mother’s arms.

She waves you off, giving Jungkook a lingering look that you don’t understand.

“I’ll be back soon,” You promise Jia in a soft voice, so as to not wake Jae-sung, “Be well, Jia.”

She bids you both goodnight, and unbeknownst to you, she shoots Jungkook a simple text. It states: “keep her close, i like her”.

Jungkook ignores it in favor of focusing on you.

“How you getting home, baby?” Jungkook asks as you both walk up the block shoulder to shoulder.

“Hmm… I’m supposed to meet Sora for dinner but she said she’s stuck at work,” You murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself as you scroll on your phone, “But I was just on social media and it looks like she’s getting drinks with her other friends…”

You look at him with a frown tugging at your lips and your eyes wide. “Maybe it was a last minute thing,” You mumble to yourself.

“Or maybe she lied to you,” Jungkook says sharply. You only look at him in silence for a few moments with furrowed brows.

“Maybe there was a reason,” You shrug, “Why would she lie about that?”

Because she’s Sora, and she just would. But Jungkook stays silent. You don’t need to hear about how he dislikes your best friend, at least not yet. Not when you’re not ready to hear it.

“Forget about her,” Jungkook says easily, “Lemme take you home, baby.”

“I’m not riding that metal death contraption,” You say flatly, “You just got it! Like two weeks ago! You don’t even have an extra helmet, and forget a helmet, I need elbow pads and knee pads-”

“Will you relax,” Jungkook says, putting your books in the small basket he built into the front of the motorcycle.

“No, I will not relax, Jeon Jungkook!” You nearly screech, “This is so dangerous, we could both fall in the road and then what? Become roadkill for the next soccer mom van to run us both over? Death by soccer mom, what a way to go-”

“Are you done?” Jungkook says dryly.

“No, actually, I’m not done-”

“You trust me, baby?” Jungkook asks, hand on your shoulder. You can’t even properly appreciate the warmth of his large hand over your jacket.

“Of course I trust you, I don’t trust that,” You point at the motorcycle accusingly and Jungkook rolls his eyes. You can already feel your resolve weakening. He wordlessly places his own helmet over your own head and you glare at him, about to start your tirade again.

“You take mine,” Jungkook murmurs, “And hold on to me.”

“You can’t just give me your helmet, what if you fall? Or worse, get pulled over?”

“Or worse, get pulled over, are you joking-”

“Jungkook! Be serious!”

“I am being serious! You said you only live ten minutes from here, just relax. I won’t let anything happen to either of us,” Jungkook says, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“If anything happens, it’s your head on a platter and I’m bringing it to the tattoo parlor.”

“How can you do that if we both die?”

“Shut the fuck up,” You say, but a laugh escapes your lips. Jungkook sits on his bike and looks at you expectantly.

“C’mon, baby,” Jungkook coaxes you and you awkwardly sit behind him, making sure that your legs don’t touch his and your arms are safely away from him.

“If you sit like that, you’ll definitely fall off,” Jungkook snorts, “Wrap your arms around me.”

You hesitate, afraid of touching him like this for whatever reason. He unnerves you and you feel completely exposed like this. You’ve never really been this close to anyone, at least anyone who made you feel the way Jungkook makes you feel.

Biting the bullet, you tensely wrap your arms around his narrow waist loosely. “Good girl,” Jungkook murmurs, “Tighter, baby. I don’t bite, unless you want me to.”

Your stomach flips at his words, subconsciously wrapping your arms around his narrow waist even more tightly. Your fingers graze the hard press of his tummy over his jacket and you almost moan at how warm and strong he feels. He smells nice, like Sunday morning laundry.

“Ugh, you’re annoying-” And then you shriek as he pulls away from the road and shoots off into the night with you plastered against his backside.

“See that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jungkook says, taking the helmet off of you. He’s met with a glare but you sigh in defeat.

“No, I guess it wasn’t. But I never want you driving this hunk of death without a helmet for yourself,” You say, poking his chest.

“You should be nicer to her,” Jungkook says, taking your finger in his large hand.

“You’re right, it’s you that I should be mean to,” You roll your eyes. You wonder if Jungkook could feel your heart slamming in your chest (in fear, adrenaline and excitement) as you hung tight to him. You had refused to look up, pressing your face into his back and squeezing your eyes shut the entire way. Jungkook had only chuckled.

The heat in your eyes melts away quickly once Jungkook helps you off of the motorcycle. “Thanks for taking me home, Jungkook,” You murmur, “I’m glad I ran into you at the bookstore.”

“Any time, baby,” Jungkook says. A strand of dark hair falls from his ponytail and into his face. You reach your fingers up to thread through his hair before pushing it back behind his ear for him.

“Get home safe,” You say, with stars in your eyes, “Can I hug you?” When he nods, and before you can change your mind or convince yourself out of it, you wrap your arms around him. And before he can properly return it, you dash into your apartment building while calling out “text me when you get home!”

Hours later, when he’s in the comfort of his home, he decides that he likes the way your spicy vanilla scented perfume clings to his leather jacket.

tags: @kookdbean @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fluff #badboy jk #badboy jungkook

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hereforhalstead · 3 years

Text

Tell me that when you’re sober

*Gif not mine, credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader 18+

• Requested: Yes:

“I fucking love you”

“Hang up and tell me when you’re sober”

• Warnings: Swearing - PURE FLUFF

• Summary: Jay isn’t happy with you bringing work home but leads to a confession he’s wanted to tell you for a long time.

• Words: 4215

• A/N :I slightly adapted this to fit it better and intended for this to be a short fluff but 4000 words later.. here we are😅Thanks so much for your request and hope you enjoy!

You groan and throw your pen down onto the table, this case was really getting the best of you and frustrating you to no end. You look up at the time to see ‘10.30’ flashing in the green light back at you. You run your fingers through your hair which was now borderline greasy with how much you had been absentmindedly running your hands through it as you’re deep in thought. Eyes burning from how much you had been straining them and a slight blister on your finger with how hard you’d been holding the pen as you cross examine the notes intently.

You didn’t realise how quiet the apartment was, the faintest noise from your neighbours TV and the cars rushing past on the street below was all you could make out. This wasn’t like you, you basked in the liveliness and thrived in busy environments, the ones where you barely have time to think so therefore don’t spend much time on the outcome. You picked the pen back up to click it on the papers that were spread out in a manic like fashion in front of you, it made sense to you but if someone else was to see they’d think you’d just picked up the lot and thrown them down in a huff.

You scan over the CCTV stills and traffic cam screenshots, as if you hadn’t been staring at them for god knows how many hours and by a much needed miracle something was going to jump out at you and you’d have your lightbulb moment. Instead, you’re greeted with the same dead end paths and pointless thoughts you’d been fighting relentlessly.

You hear the keys turn in the lock and normally you’d be out of your seat and over to him in a heartbeat, your feet hitting the floor as if you were a kid at Christmas on your way to see what Santa left under the tree but today wasn’t that kind of day. You tried to tell yourself it was just because you were tired and it wasn’t that you didn’t want to admit you’d had another night of little success after being warned about bringing the work home by Jay several times. He always loved to prove a point and you weren’t about to let him get another one over on you, you couldn’t handle those eyes boring down on you as he stands behind you to examine you work, even if it meant lying to him.

You jolt in your seat as you feel him rest his hands on your shoulders before dropping a kiss to the top of your head “why are you still working? How many times have I told you..” he trails off but you’re quick to cut him off with your best ‘I’m fine’ smile “Jay, I’m finally getting somewhere” you falsely admit and feel the pit of guilt instantly form in your stomach as his eyes light up, he probes his thumbs into your skin in a light massage “proud of you” he softly confesses as he continues kneeding your skin.

If you weren’t so determined to get this case tied up this easily would’ve lead somewhere else but you had your focused mind at work and nothing was going to change that. He remains standing over you as you scribble pointless notes onto your notepad, highlighting the odd name and photo as you go as if to convey you had some trail of thought but really you were just buying yourself time until he left your side.

A few minutes go by but to you it feels like hours, you hate what you’ve become in that you find yourself dreading seeing Jay when you bring your work home. Knowing he was right in what he says and that he only says it because he cares but you always wanted to prove yourself and especially to him. He managed to get you into Voight’s good books after pissing him off one too many times, you had a back bone and even though most of the time this was an admiral quality it sometimes backfired.

You and Voight disagreed regularly but you had now learnt how and when to bite your tongue for the best result in cases but there were times you just couldn’t. After coming to blows and being sent to ‘get some air and cool off’ Jay was quick to plead with Voight for your job back and luckily it worked and you were back in the department the next morning. This lead to you now feeling this internal debt had to be paid to your boyfriend to prove you deserved your place and it was worth him sticking his neck on the line.

The pair of you became increasingly serious, starting as partners with the occasional flirty comment or glance soon lead to the regular sting of jealousy or worry which was now the feeling of emptiness when you weren’t together. Some may say you moved on fast, having only been together just under a year and already basically living together. However, due to the uncertainty of your job you decided to not hesitate and wait for when everyone else said it was right and do what felt right for the pair of you. Even if this did mean earning raised brows from Jay when he comes home from a late night to see you hunched over a stack of paperwork that you’d bought home, god knows how many times you’d seen him do it but for some reason it was a different ball game when it came to you.

It pulled at your heart how caring he was, always keeping an eye out for you and sometimes even more for you than himself. As much as there’s endless amounts of perks for dating your partner it sure did come with its consequences and you learnt them faster than you were expecting. Jay throwing himself into danger because it meant protecting you, you leading on suspects on undercover missions to try and get them to confess to which Jay hated and heated debates on the best way to handle a case were just a handful to name a few.

But, despite all of those you truly wouldn’t have it any other way, as you see it as spending as much time with him as possible and being grateful to have him beside you and always in your corner no matter how he feels, he will always back and argue for you.

After Jay strolls into the bedroom to change into some comfier clothes you start to fold some of the papers to create a bit more space, the thought of waking up to this mess wasn’t the ideal situation as you’d find yourself working on them at the crack of dawn and hardly in the right frame of mind to work. That was Jay’s one rule that he never budged on ‘put it all away before you go to bed’, he had hammered this into your head hundreds of times that it became natural for you at this point.

Neatly shuffling the papers to stack them in a pile on the side, helped you to resist the temptation to take a peak at the late or early hours when you should be asleep. He caught you one time glancing at an open file at the dead of night and he was not happy to say the least so knew he had to put his foot down. He knew you were like him and would work until a case was done but unlike him, you rarely knew when to stop.

He would know when his vision starts to loose focus from staring at a screen for too long or he gets a headache from the scrunch between his brows as he examines some notes that it was time to call it a day whereas you, would pop a few painkillers and carry on.

You hear Jay’s phone ring from the other room, not really taking much notice as you continue to fold the papers and shuffle them in a pile but can’t ignore when he comes bounding out of the room over to you “Baby, Adam and Kim are down at Molly’s. You wanna go?” He asks and normally you struggle to turn down such an invite but tonight you just weren’t feeling it and it’s as if you not replying instantly already told Jay you didn’t want to go as his face falls “let me call you back” he mumbles into the phone before shoving it into his back pocket.

He continues in his strides over to you and crouches down in front of you, taking your hand in his as he places a light kiss to your palm “please don’t tell me you’re going to sit here and work and make me go to Molly’s alone?” He pleads, eyes in puppy dog form as by now he knows the best way to get to you.

You run your hand over his disheveled hair as he leans into your touch “I think I’m just gonna have a shower and head to bed” you lie through your teeth, knowing full well the second he steps out the door you’ll be back knee deep in your files with the added extra of knowing you won’t be interrupted by your concerned boyfriend.

He scans your face with a concerned look on his own, lightly running his thumb over your knuckles as he sighs “you promise me you’re not going to carry on working and that you’ll give yourself an early night?” He rightfully asks, you nod in response thinking to yourself that you can’t verbally promise as you were one to never break promises and especially when it came to Jay.

He reaches up to plant his lips on yours, lingering them for a few seconds before standing tall in front of you “give me a call if you want me come home”. He reaches to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and you instantly regret not allowing yourself for be bundled into his arms as you crawl into his lap for the night but you knew you weren’t nearly as done with the case as you’d like and the only way you could continue was if he wasn’t there.

He heads into the kitchen to grab the coat he left on the counter but is back at your side within seconds, placing a glass of water on the table in alongside another kiss being left on the top of your head “make sure you drink that please baby” his voice slightly elevates in concern and you can’t contain the smile that spreads on your face at his worry for you.

“have a good time” you call out to him as he heads for the door “text me when you’re in bed and I want proof!” He yells over his shoulder and without looking you can see the smirk engraved onto his face “get out Halstead” you tease, earning a wink from your boyfriend as he exits the apartment to leave you again in total silence.

You pick up the glass of water he left and take a sip, struggling to think of the last time you hydrated yourself and thankful he knows when to think of these things for you. You lean back in your chair and cross your legs beneath you, slight hunch in your back from the pain of being in the chair for so long and now wishing you were still receiving the massage from Jay that you desperately craved. You shake your head to clear the the thoughts and pour yourself back into the notes. Re reading the interview script over and over again, eventually reaching for your phone to find the recording you’d sent yourself before you left the district to be able to listen back at home.

You chew the inside of your cheek at the sight of your lock screen, a photo you’d taken of Jay on vacation just after the pair of you became an item. His back was towards you and he didn’t even realise you snapped the photo of him looking out from the balcony window at the gorgeous beach front below, reminding yourself that everything you do is for him. As cringy as it sounds, you longed for his approval and praise as he was always so vocal about it, wrapping you in his arms after you finish a case report, sitting you between his legs as you work late on a report with the occasional kiss to your shoulder to remind you her was there or the way he just knows how’s to give you that look that says ‘you’ve got this’ was what kept you going.

You click play on the recording and sink back into your chair as it plays, leaning your notepad on your legs as you listen along. Laughing to yourself when Jay looses his temper or Voight makes a snarky comment to which they both laugh to made the listening all that much easier as it seemed to drag on for hours.

You checked the length of the audio on your phone and the combined clips had only been playing for just over an hour. With the faffing around when Jay came home and the breaks you took to replay certain parts, the time had soon passed. The clock now beaming down on you with the time flashing ‘12.45am’ made you toss your head back in frustration. You’d been round and round in circles, still getting no where and conscious of the fact Jay would be home soon.

You certainly didn’t want him to find you like this as you’d never hear the end of it, you have a stern word with yourself and play back Jay’s warning of packing everything away as you finally close the files you’d been staring at for far too long. You push them to one side and prop your head on your elbows on the the table, you finish the glass of water that had been sat at your side that was truly collecting dust at this point due to you forgetting about it. You glance down at your phone to see a text from Jay flash up on the screen

‘You in bed yet baby? Not seen any proof..’

You roll your eyes as you just know he’s been impatiently sat there waiting to hear from you ever since he left just a few hours earlier. You stare at the screen to debate whether it’s best to ignore it and pretend you’re already asleep or to lie to him again for the second time that night. You’re soon interrupted as his name lights up the screen, his toothy grin staring back at you from the contact photo he had set for himself after a night out reminding you how ‘you always make me smile so you deserve to see it when I call you’.

You hesitate to pick up but know he won’t stop until you answer, after having a few drinks the last thing you want is for him to bound home to you in a mood about how you didn’t answer his call. You sigh and slide the button to answer the call and can barely contain your laughter as you hear his drunken slurs on the other end of the line

‘You haven’t answered me you know?’ he moans, annoyance in his tone but also sounding like a child who hasn’t got their own way at the same time. You laugh to yourself but careful to not let him hear as this wouldn’t go down well “ was asleep” you hang your head in shame as you yet again lie.

‘Why are you lying to me? You were working weren’t you?’ He accuses and you’re stumped on how to reply, even without being with you he knows you better than anyone to which you always seem to forget. He huffs on the other end of the line after he doesn’t get a response, knowing he has you cornered. ‘Y/N please, just get to bed and I’ll be home shortly’.

“I’m just packing it away Jay, I only had a few more bits I wanted to do. I promise” you nibble on your fingertips in slight nervousness as he continues to groan down the phone.

‘What, like how you promised me you were gonna give yourself an early night you mean?’ He questions but you’re quick to reply “well actually, I never promised I just nodded” you chuckle to yourself, feeling clever with your response but Jay isn’t happy.

“Y/N I’m just looking out for you, I care about you too much to see you draining yourself over these things” he begins and before you can get a breath in he carries on his drunken rambles “I love you too fucking much to watch you not look after yourself, as much as I love to be the one who takes care of you I can’t be there all the time so I need to know you can put yourself first baby” you’re silent after his admission, unsure if he’s even aware of what he’s just spilled out

“Do you know what you just said?” You tease, trying to lighten the subject but the sigh on the other end tells you he was still in a mood.

“Yes Y/N, I said I love you too fucking much to watch you destroy yourself” he expresses in outrage but you were in too much of a shock to think of a clever reply “hang up and tell me that when you’re sober Jay”.

“I’ll be home soon” he cuts the conversation short before ending the call, you take a moment before placing your phone back on the table and you try to comprehend what just happened. He said I love you.

Fair enough it wasn’t in the way you had envisioned, him confessing his love for you as you lay wrapped within his arms or him accidentally spilling his admiration during a teasing session you often had but he still said it. Whether he meant or it was just a drunk slip up was another question. You couldn’t let yourself say it back in case he woke up tomorrow and didn’t remember, it would pain you to let the last piece of your guard down for him to take it all back the next morning and the whole thing becomes a distant memory.

You finish tidying away the papers, patting yourself on the back for the great job you’d done of making it look like you hadn’t spent hours on end sat at that table, it now gleaming the exact way it did this morning. You place the glass back onto the kitchen counter and trudge into the bedroom, thudding down onto the bed as you lay staring at the ceiling. Wrapping yourself in the comforter and attempting to close your eyes but nothing was enough to push down that anxious feeling in your stomach. This isn’t how you should be feeling after your boyfriend says I love you for the first time and even though you’d both wanted to say it for a while it still didn’t seem real. You didn’t deserve him, all the things he does for you and the way he takes care of you didn’t seem feasible in your mind that it would happen to someone like you.

Moments pass and you hear the front door shut, his attempts to be quiet made you laugh into the pillow as you hear him lightly walk across the hardwood floor. Bumping into the doorframe as he enters, grateful the comforter covering your face to avoid him seeing your amusement of his drunken self trying to be quiet and navigate his way to the bed. You stay laying on your side, hand tucked under the pillow beneath your head and the other resting on your stomach. You hear his belt unbuckle and watch hit the beside table as he gets himself undressed, tempted to turn over and help him but knowing he would still moan at you for being awake no matter what state he was in.

You force your eyes closed, keeping your head slightly buried into the pillow as you feel the bed dip beside you. Within seconds you feel the all too familiar comfort of his arm latching around you, pulling you into him in one swift motion as he tucks his head into the nape of your neck. Your heart flutters as you feel him place a kiss to your back before further pulling you into him, any chance of a gap between the pair of you was well and truly diminished.

You stay facing away from him, now far too comfortable to move and knowing he will be asleep within seconds, as long as he was by your side and you were wrapped tightly within the safety of his grasp he would sleep anywhere. You soon feel the light puffs of air to your skin as he falls into a sleep, the occasional nudge into your back as he gets himself comfortable but after a while he lays still to signal he was finally asleep.

You lay there trying to ignore your thoughts, cursing yourself for being such an over thinker as the one who had sent you into this spiral now laid passed out beside you, unbeknownst to the panic he set off inside you as he falls deeper into his slumber. You run your hand up and down his arm to sooth yourself to sleep, thinking to yourself of how you’re going to forget what happened and tomorrow will be a new day.

***

You awake to the sunlight peering through the window, annoyed at yourself for not closing the blinds before you went to bed as the rays shine in your eyes. You turn in Jay’s grasp and jolt in his arms as you’re met with him softly smiling back at you “morning” he groans, his normal groggy morning voice now made more intense with the slight hangover he would soon be facing. You drop your head to lay on his chest, pressing your lips to his skin as he runs his fingertips up and down your spine and resting his head on top of yours as you lay in a comfortable silence. “Good night?” You break the air, knowing he certainly wasn’t in the mood to be talkative but if you didn’t have some form of interaction from him you’d go insane.

“Wasn’t the same without my girl” he tightens his grip on your waist, a soft pinch of your skin as he teases “but she was at home working when she promised me she wouldn’t, clearly choosing work over her boyfriend” he huffs into the top of your head as you bury yourself further into his chest.

“don’t go there” you warn as he chuckles in response “choosing to look at old case notes than spending time with your boyfriend, that’s a tough one” he continues to ramble, you detach yourself from him and turn to face him with stern look “I said don’t go there”you warn but he pouts his bottom lip at you as he raises his brow. You narrow your eyes at him and he cracks his serious exterior, bringing his hand to the back of your head as he brings it to him to connect his lips to your temple “It’s a good job I love you” he mumbles into your skin, pressing his lips onto yours for a brief second before allowing himself to pull back and admire your expression of shock.

“You remembered?” You question, still nervous he wouldn’t have a clue what you were talking about. “Of course I remember, you think I’d forget when I first tell my girlfriend I love her?” He tilts his head as he asks, you lean your head down onto him as he clears his throat “would help me if you said it back though, bit embarrassing if I’m the only one to say it” he jokes, grin encompassing his morning glow as he gloats “I love you too idiot” you roll your eyes at him, bringing your lips onto his for a chaste kiss. He brings his hand up your back and tousles it into your hair, keeping you in place as your lips intertwine before pulling back and running his eyes over the happiness beaming from your face “you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that”.

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geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek · 3 years

Text

"Geralt."

"Mm."

"Geraaaalt."

With a huff, he lowers his phone to look at the figure in his doorway. In the dim light spilling in from the window, he can just make out the bulky shape of Jaskier wrapped in what must be three blankets over his head.

"What, Jas."

Jaskier pads into the room on socked feet and slumps over the foot of his bed with a dramatic groan. Geralt rolls his eyes, mouth twitching despite himself at the antics. He nudges Jaskier's form with his foot gently and then again a little harder when all Jaskier does is whine again.

"Stop," Jaskier says, muffled by his blankets. His hand sneaks out of the cocoon to swat at Geralt's leg.

"You stop," Geralt shoots back, kicking him again just for the hell of it. "What do you want."