#i honestly just got lucky with the saving throws on the second attempt | 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

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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

Text

MC’s Date With the Side Characters is Going Terribly and Then it Starts to Rain

Brothers ver.

Diavolo

It was a tragic truth that the poor Crown Prince didn’t get to go out and have fun very often, but he had managed to get a singular day off! He of course was going to spend it with the future monarch-consort of the Devildom!

Diavolo had a whole list written out that was full of fun cliche date activities that he wanted to try, and it was also full of stuff MC said they wanted to do, so the date was going to be completely perfect.

As Diavolo and MC walked hand in hand to Madame Scream’s, they both took notice to the fact that literally every single demon in the vicinity was staring at the two of them.

The crown prince laughed it off, saying that MC looked so positively radiant that everyone couldn’t help but stop and look. MC laughed and leaned their head against Dia’s arm, but both of them knew full well that everyone was really staring at Diavolo.

To be fair, wouldn’t you stare if the most powerful person in the entire realm walked by holding hands with a pathetic little human?

They got to Madame Scream’s, got their sweets, then Diavolo got a phone call. It was Lucifer frantically explaining that the RAD gym was on fire and he needed to run everything by Diavolo before he could do anything about it.

That ate up about fifteen minutes and the desserts ended up getting cold… Diavolo tried to make light of it as the two finally got to eat their chocolate chip cookies.

“So apparently one student thought it would be a good idea to set a firework off inside, you know I encourage having fun at school but maybe they should have set this off outside.” “Maybe..?”

Next it was time for a romantic walk on the beach! That would have gone better if Diavolo remembered it was giant-crab season. As cool as it was to watch Diavolo hammer-throw an eight foot tall crab into the ocean it left MC’s ankles vulnerable to get pinched by regular sized crabs.

And maybe they both should have wore appropriate shoes… they were sinking into the sand and it was getting into their shoes…

Okay, so the beach didn’t work out, Diavolo had plenty of other ideas! They just had to- wait he was getting another call.

Half an hour later, Diavolo was finally able to hang up and gave MC an apologetic look. He said that he needed to cut the date short and go to an unavoidable meeting…

Oh well, at least this date couldn’t get any-

A loud crack of thunder caused Diavolo to nearly drop his phone in surprise. Oh… oh no… not rain…

Large droplets of water pelted the pair as they waited for Barbatos to pick them up. Diavolo slowly lifted up his arm and shielded MC from the rain as best he could. Well… this outfit was ruined, the least he could do was try and save MC’s…

“Well…” Diavolo tentatively began. “I heard getting caught in the rain is supposed to be romantic..?”

MC only sighed and moved a little closer, they folded their arms and stared blankly ahead. Their glassy expression made the crown prince’s heart sink right to the floor. Maybe he could cancel the meeting! He promised he’d spend more time with MC and he intended to keep it!

“MC, I could-”

“Dia, no.” MC looked up and gave him a small smile. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I knew what I was getting into when I said I’d be with you. Your kingdom is more important than one little date.”

“But I wanted to make you happy today…” Diavolo mumbled. His kingdom had always come first, before his friends, before MC, before even himself, was it so much to ask to have just one day for him to spend with the person he loved?

The human reaches up and lowered Diavolo’s arm and looped it around their shoulders. “And you did, any time that I get to spend with you makes me happy. Besides, it wasn’t all bad. The crab moment was pretty awesome.”

MC pulled out their DDD and showed Diavolo a picture of himself chucking the giant crab into the watery horizon. “We can put at least one moment of this date into the photo album.”

The precise tapping of the falling raindrops cause the DDD to flick to the next picture, which was an awkwardly angled snapshot of MC brandishing a stick at a much smaller crab who had attached its claws to their ankle.

“Uh, maybe not this picture…”

Barbatos

The poor butler rarely ever gets a day off, and he could tell MC missed spending time with him, so he asked Diavolo for a day off.

Of course Diavolo said yes, but when the day of the date came…

Barbatos saw every mishap and disaster coming a mile away. The smart thing to do would be cancel the date, but NO. Barbatos was going to use his powers for good and make sure MC had the time of their life!

The first disaster was supposed to come in the form of a pickpocket stealing MC’s wallet, key word being supposed.

As the perp made their way through the somewhat crowded sidewalk, fully prepared to swipe some wallets, Barbatos quickly twirled and dipped MC out of the way. This action also conveniently had the result of Barb knocking the pickpocket out cold.

MC of course, was none the wiser of the attempted theft and just assumed Barbatos was being suave (tm).

The second disaster was both MC and Barbatos getting hot coffee accidentally spilled all over them. Or it WOULD have been if Barbatos hadn’t quickly notified the person that would have spilled the drink that their shoelaces were undone.

Hell yeah! Second disaster averted!

The date progressed smoothly, well, as smooth as it could have gone. All those days of work and the task of making sure MC was none the wiser of any of the nasty things that could have ruined the date was really making Barbatos tired…

“Barbatos, are you alright?” “*exhausted breathing* Y-yes dearest, of course. Don’t trouble yourself.”

MC would have bought that lie if Barbatos didn’t look like he had just finished running a ten kilometre long race through a heatwave.

After making sure MC was not in the path of the escaped hellhound that would be running down the street in three, two, one, there it went, MC was safe and sound, Barbatos sighed in relief.

Just one more thing…

In the smoothest possibly motion, Barbatos opened the umbrella he had been carrying and held it over himself and MC.

MC looked up at the umbrella perplexed. “Barbatos, why-”

Thunder rumbled as the first drops of rain pelted harmlessly against the umbrella. Barbatos smiled softly and took MC’s hand. “Did you enjoy the date, darling?”

“Have you been doing damage control all day..?” MC asked. “Oh no wonder you look exhausted…”

Barbatos’ face burned with embarrassment when MC wrapped their arms around him.

“You work way to hard, this date was supposed to be relaxing for the both of us,” MC sighed. “You know what? We’re going to go back to the Demon Lord’s Castle, and I’m making you tea and snacks.”

“MC..?”

They began to pull Barbatos in the direction of the castle and plucked the umbrella out of his hand.

“I’ll hold this.” MC smiled brightly. “You relax, mister.”

Barbatos was about to protest, then sighed, no future he could see in his brief overview involved MC giving up on their new mission to make him take a break. He felt himself smile, he really lucked out with this human, didn’t he?

Simeon

The next volume of TSL had been released and Simeon was officially completely exhausted. He had spent the past two days signing special hardback copies and his writing hand was officially deceased.

He needed to relax and unwind… who better to do it with than MC? Simeon simply invited MC over to Purgatory Hall to hang out.

Oh my~ premarital eye contact~

It was just so nice, MC rested their head on Simeon’s chest while they lounged in bed watching TV, their hands gently intwined, the smell of Luke baking cookies…

Simeon let out a content sigh, he was truly and completely at peace in that moment. The soft knock on the door to his room barely phased him.

Solomon poked his head into the room with a bright smile.

“Hi you two, so sorry to barge in on your date, but before Luke took over the kitchen I made way too much food. I’ll bring some in for you guys!” “Solomon no-” “Wait!”

The date was now in intense danger. They needed to get out of there immediately! The first thing the angel could think to do to save the love of his life was to throw them out of the window.

Fret not, MC’s fall slowed considerably and they gently landed on the grass outside thanks to Simeon’s magic, but the angel himself was not as lucky. Yes his fall was slowed, but he still faceplanted into the dirt.

The two ended up running for dear life away from Purgatory Hall, further exhausting Simeon.

Well, at least they ended up near a very pretty fountain. Simeon and MC sat on the fountain ledge and resumed their snuggling.

Until Simeon got a phone call from a very frantic Luke begging for help with his math homework.

Due to being quite rusty at the subject, Simeon had to teach himself how to calculate the square root of something and then teach Luke, which was honestly frustrating for everyone involved.

After the homework was felt with, Simeon got ready to sit back down on the fountain ledge, ended up missing, then slipped straight into the fountain. It was a good thing that the water was shallow…

Then to MC and Simeon’s horror, it began to rain.

“Well…” Simeon sighed, he accepted MC’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled out of the fountain. “This isn’t so bad..?”

Lightning cracked in the distance, Simeon pulled MC into his arms on reflex, only to then realize that MC had become just as soaked as he was.

“I… sorry, MC.”

Simeon slowly unwrapped his arms from around MC, but the human remained firmly in place. “Ah, it’s fine. Want to call a cab or back to Purgatory Hall?”

“Y-yes, that sounds-” Simeon felt around for his phone, then winced and looked into the fountain. His phone was lying at the bottom of the fountain… “Do you think you could call?”

MC perked up and planted a kiss on Simeon’s cheek. “Of course, we can cuddle in the car.”

“That sounds wonderful…”

Solomon

Solomon decided to text MC at two in the morning to ask them out. In his defence, he was up late making potions and didn’t notice what time it was.

“Hey MCMCMCMCMC-” “ITS TWO OCLOCK IN THE FUCKING MORNING.” “Wanna go on a date tmrw?” “…ok.” “🥳” “see you tomorrow, Solomon.” “Oh yea- that reminds me- look at this snail I saw yesterday.” “Effervescent.” “Marry me.”

Obviously super happy that MC said yes to the date, Solomon was newly rejuvenated and went back to making his potion. It was six in the morning when he realized that maybe he should have just quit while he was ahead and went back to sleep.

It was a little late for that! He needed to go to school, then go on the date. Solomon gracefully took MC’s hand, led them out of the school, then fell down the stairs.

It um… may have messed up his tailbone. Solomon never felt more like an old man than when he and MC sat down at the cafe for coffee and MC had to help him into his seat.

The coffee arrived, MC and Solomon drank it, and Solomon just sighed in relief. This was nice, time with his sweet MC…

The way they made him feel so completely at ease… that smile… those eyes… those eyes were looking very confused-

“Solomon…” “Yes my sweet?” “There’s uh… there’s a giant spider on your head…”

…Solomon looked up and the giant spider fell right into his drink. He wasn’t thirsty anymore.

A little later, he and MC were walking hand in hand through the park, the darkness of the Devildom was almost comforting as the fireflies and pixies created little balls of light that danced around the pair.

It was such a soothing sight to behold, Solomon and MC sat down beneath a giant tree. MC rested their head on his shoulder, and Solomon let out a content sigh. He was just going to rest his eyes for a moment…

Solomon was harshly shaken awake by MC who yelled at him for falling asleep in the presence of pixies. Solomon had completely forgotten that pixies like to possess sleeping people. That was probably why he was awoken in the middle of stuffing his face with cookies that were in his backpack.

The two unanimously decided that it would be best to head back to Purgatory Hall. When the two had just returned to civilization… Solomon heard thunder.

Quick as a flash, Solomon looped his arm around MC’s waist and pulled them closer, using his other hand to draw a circle above them, when the rain began to fall, the two were completely dry thanks to the shield.

“Ha… HA! HAHAHA!” Solomon pointed and laughed at the sky. “GOT YOU BITCH!”

“Solomon..?” MC asked tentatively. “Are you alright?”

The sorcerer looked at his dear sweet perfect MC, gave them a toothy smile, and shook his head. “No darling, I’ve been awake for 56 hours.”

“Wait what? You texted me at two in the morning, you couldn’t have been awake for more than an extra few hours..?”

Solomon peppered MC’s face with sleepy kisses as the rain pattered against the shield. “I have a weird life.”

“You know what, I buy it.” MC sighed fondly. “Do you want to go home and sleep?”

“More than anything, I’ll teleport us home!”

“NO! Let’s just call someone to pick us up!”

#Obey me #Obey me!#Obey me Diavolo #Obey me Barbatos #Obey me Simeon #Obey me Solomon #obey me headcanons #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date?

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basicallywhiterice · 3 years

Text

countdown (na jaemin)

pairing: na jaemin x reader

genre: fluff. friends to lovers, college!au

summary: The three times you should have made a move, the two times you tried to, and the one time you didn’t need to.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: cussing

a/n: alternatively titled “haechan being both the best and worst wingman to grace the face of the earth”

i. Three times you should have made a move.

“Hey! Jaemin! Over here,” Haechan shouts, waving at a boy clad in an oversized flannel across the dining hall. He turns, lighting up when he waves back, and all but runs over from the dish drop-off section.

“He’s my roommate,” Haechan introduces once Jaemin is in earshot. “Jaemin, this is y/n. Y/n, Jaemin,” Haechan introduces.

He’s cute, you notice immediately, his floppy hair swept to the side messily. Almost as quickly, you dispel the thought and do your best not to stare, extending a hand for him to shake on instinct. “Nice to meet you, Jaemin. So you’re the roommate who keeps losing his AirPods?”

In the second your hand hangs there, empty, you have enough time to go through all five stages of grief. You blundered in front of Haechan’s unfairly attractive roommate you’ll no doubt see again, about his AirPods? You prepare to draw your hand back and smooth it over your hair to relieve the awkwardness of rejected handshake.

Then Jaemin shakes your hand, eyes crinkling up as he beams. If you thought he was cute before, you’re a goner once his smile is directed at you. “Nice to meet you too, y/n. And yeah, that’s me. Were you the one who convinced him to get me the glow-in-the-dark Among Us case? That was honestly the best housewarming gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Hey, that was all his idea. Besides convincing him to spend an extra dollar on the glow-in-the-dark, I played no part in it.”

“I’m sure. In any case, you have excellent taste. Thank you for picking it out.” He turns to converse with Haechan, but you don’t hear the rest of what he says over the sound of you putting your foot in your mouth.

As soon as he walks away, you collapse into a heap of regret on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me your new roommate was hot before we got the gag gift?” you groan. “God, how am I supposed to flirt with him after that?”

“You just met the guy, relax,” Haechan reassures, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “Stop overreacting,” he mumbles around a mouthful of his BLT.

You raise your head to glare at him for being your voice of reason, and he wiggles his eyebrows.

“You like him already, huh? Don’t worry, he actually thought the case was funny. You’re fine.”

You bury your face in your hands in lieu of responding.

Jaemin is in your Algorithms class, you come to learn, likes useless trinkets more than you do, and vehemently opposes your dislike of coffee.

“Just try it,” he coaxes when he orders his second americano in an hour. “Haechan likes it, and you trust him, right?”

“With my life,” you deadpan as you both glance across the library to observe his attempts to flirt with the junior making his Starbucks order. He drops his straw when he gestures with his right hand, and you both snicker when he bends down to pick it up. “Actually, I think I’ll pass.”

Jaemin shrugs, taking a short sip from his cup before wincing and fanning his tongue. “Maybe you’re right. Anyways, which block did you want me to read?”

You show him, making edits as he comments on your code, and thank him once the block is fixed.

“No problem,” he grins. “Let me know if anything else is confusing. I’m happy to help.”

Just as you open your mouth to start the ritual of asking for his number, Haechan interrupts. “I got their number,” he announces, setting his phone down firmly between you and Jaemin and holding out his hands for a high five.

You sigh and half-heartedly slap his right hand despite your annoyance. At least one of you can be lucky in love, even if it comes at the expense of the other person.

“What’s the most common fear you have?” you ask Jaemin, tracing the outline of a cloud against the pale blue sky with your finger.

“What do you mean?” he asks, turning to lie on his side. You drop your hand to rest on his beige blanket and meet his questioning glance.

“Like spiders, public speaking, dying single… what’re your fears that are common?”

He squints as a strong gust of wind blows his hair into his face. “I think you’re overexaggerating how common the intense fear of dying single is.”

“Why?” you ask, not entirely sure why you’re pressing him about this. “Are you not afraid of it?”

“Hm, I guess I’m a lot more scared of dying alone than dying single. What are your thoughts?”

A fleeting semblance of a pickup line involving the two of you and not being single surfaces in your brain, but it never reaches coherence. Instead, you respond, “Heights, probably.”

And rejection, you sadly add in your head. Definitely rejection.

ii. Two times you tried to make a move.

“Hey, did I spell this right?”

When you lean over to read Jaemin’s meticulously written flashcard, your knee bumps into his. He mumbles an apology but makes no move to shift his leg. You stay like that, reviewing your notes for your last midterm together, until Haechan opens the door to his dorm and you scoot to different places on the couch.

“Hey Jaemin!” Haechan calls when he’s halfway in the bathroom. “Don’t forget about the trash,” he reminds, closing the door.

“Oh shit, one sec!” Jaemin hollers back. You wince at the volume, and he sheepishly turns toward you. “Sorry. Gotta take out the trash once he’s done,” he gestures, hand sweeping outwards before he knocks a couch pillow over.

Before he can fix it, you blurt, “Take me out while you’re at it too,” without missing a beat.

He doesn’t have time to react before you start laughing it off awkwardly. You don’t want to—damn it, why can’t you just be direct—but the fear of rejection overrides your confidence.

“Funny, right? Because of how ‘take out’ has different meanings? I’m hilarious, I know.”

He stares at you for a second too long before letting out a delayed chuckle. Haechan spares you the awkwardness of hearing his reply when he exits the bathroom and sits down between both of you, though, and Jaemin leaves with the trash soon after.

“Nice save, Casanova,” Haechan grins as soon as Jaemin steps out, reclining back into the couch. His Cheshire-Cat-esque smirk only grows when you reach over to smack him with the knocked-over pillow. “Wanna get take out once he gets back?”

You throw the pillow in his face this time. “I’m never coming back here again.”

You find yourself waiting outside their dorm exactly twelve days later when your code won’t run after two hours of debugging and neither of them will answer your texts.

“Asshole,” you shoot at Haechan when he opens the door. “Please help me.”

“Tough luck. I’ve got a date tonight,” he says, smug.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve helped you pick a better outfit than that,” you critique, glancing at his plain button-up shirt.

“Chill, I haven’t layered anything yet. And Jaemin picked it out, so good luck convincing him to help you debug. And getting a date with him. Coward.”

“You say that like you didn’t interrupt us the first time I was trying to get his number,” you whisper.

“And you act like you would’ve met him without me.”

“Touché.”

“Who’s getting a date with me?” Jaemin calls from his desk, pushing up his glasses and frowning at his computer.

“Me,” you call back, and he glances up, eyes widening when he sees it’s you. Ignoring Haechan’s impressed “damn,” you walk over to the chair next to Jaemin. “I’ll help you debug if you help me?”

“You want me to—help you debug? No way,” he says, and for a moment, you regret your boldness. “How’d you know I was dying over coding too?” he continues, and your worries disappear.

“Just a hunch,” you shrug. Haechan leaves when the two of you are hunched over your laptops, elbows brushing gently enough to make it look like an accident.

iii. One time you didn’t need to make a move.

“Y/n?”

You look up, halting your check of Jaemin’s backpack to make sure he hasn’t forgotten his AirPods again. “Yeah?”

His ears are tinged with pink and he can’t quite meet your eyes, but he looks like he’s trying his best to do so anyways. “Would… you… like to go out with me on Thursday? Maybe for dinner if you have time?”

You blink, holding your breath for three seconds just in case you misheard or he’s joking. Neither seems to be the case. “On a date?”

“Yes.” He nods. “Yes, a date.” He fidgets with the hem of his shirt. You smile, and he stops.

Silently, you count down from three before answering to avoid blurting out your answer, but it comes out with the same level of enthusiasm nonetheless.

“I’d love to.”

247 notes · View notes

ramzawrites · 4 years

Text

Rivals - Prince!Reader x Prince!Eret

Male

Pairings: Eret x Reader

Characters included: Eret

Warnings: n/a

Series: a request from 🌱🌟 my beloved <3 /p

Summary: Prince Y/N and Prince Eret hated each other. That was just a fact. Mostly causing trouble together in order to one up the other. Though over the time even their relationship can change.

Words count: 5367

Authors Note: I’ll be honest you hit me with this request at a very good time so I ended up writing 10 pages in one go haha

At the end I made the executive decision to finally cut it off or I probably would have written even more, for which I’m honestly don’t have the time at the moment. I hope it’s not that obvious but if it is I apologize.

Thank you for the request 🌱🌟

I am reposting it since the original post doesn’t seem to appear in the tags no need to check the original post but I wanted to give a reason why it’s twice on my blog

Prince Eret and Prince Y/N hated each other.

That was just a universally accepted thing and something that made sense. Just like how water is wet, the ground was made out of dirt, Eret and Y/N hated each other.

Both of their respecting kingdoms never had a good relationship to say the least. Way back in the day the two nations have wared against each other which almost ruined both kingdoms forcing the two to an act of neutrality with the behest of the neighboring kingdoms.

Though this was way off in the past. Nowadays they had rebuilt. Their forces and monetary situation stood strong but they stayed neutral. Eyeing each other closely for any slip ups, though they were also bound to contracts that would involve other nations as well should they begin to go to war again, which wasn’t in interest for both parties.

So they tried to mostly ignore each other which only worked to an extent. If you are a strong nation with an impressive military force or with a lot of money, other nations will invite you to their balls, banquets or whatever fancy party they have going at that point. And it was in your best interest to join these as well, to show off your might, wealth or to connect with other foreign powers.

The first time Y/N’s family took him with them to one of these balls, he was barely six years old.

For a six year old a ball was a boring affair. All the adults were courteously laughing and only sipping on their drinks. Occasionally walking on the stage to dance to the slow and boring music.

Y/N was busy watching two older women dance in tandem. Their dresses and silk moving together in a sea of fabric that seemed to hypnotized the child as he sat on the side of the stage. His parents were off somewhere else, feeling they could trust enough in his proper upbringing to not cause any problems, that they left him. Saying that he should try to enjoy himself.

Enjoy himself how? Dance with the lonely grandma that was busy drinking away all the wine in the castle? No, thank you.

Finally tearing his eyes off the dancing women Y/N noticed how someone else was cautiously approaching him. It was another kid in what he assumed was his age. This stranger had fluffy wild hair and had a sympathetic smile on his face. He wore a simple suit similar to Y/N’s but there were a ton of differences in details.

As he got closer Y/N could swear that something seemed off about him. Something in him was screaming but he couldn’t place why he felt like that.

“Hello.” The other kid greeted Y/N.

Y/N looked around the room for a second before setting his attention back on him “Hello. Who are you?” There was a small hope in him, hey maybe this boring ball won’t be so boring after all.

With a proud expression the kid did a proper royal greeting, bowing in front of Y/N for a second “I am Prince Eret from the mighty nation of-“

But Y/N interrupted him “Prince Eret?! I know of you! My parents warned me and told me to ignore you.” He then stuck his tongue out and made a point to look away from him.

Eret furrowed his brows, exclaiming loudly his confusion to this reaction “Huh? Why?”

Y/N rolled his eyes and got off the chair he was sitting on. Just like Eret, he did his own version of the royal greeting that he got taught by his etiquette teachers “I am Prince Y/N.”

He knew he didn’t need to say more which got confirmed by Eret’s worried and confused expression turning into a proper frown.

“Oh, yuck, so that’s what you look like.”

Y/N gasped in anger “What do you mean yuck? You are the yuck one here! Between the two of us I’m clearly the cooler prince!”

“Oh really? Prove it.” Eret huffed as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Now fired up Y/N looked frantically through the whole ball room but couldn’t seem to come up with anything, that was until he saw a servant of the local royal family sauntering around with a plate of drinks and even with a few cheese and meat skewers.

“I bet I could steal more of these skewers from the servants than you.”

Instead of backing down Eret now had a competitive glint in his eyes “You are on.”

And that’s how both Eret and Y/N got into their first real trouble with their parents and other nobles.

They snuck around the people, hiding behind huge skirts and trying their best to grab a skewer from the plate. At first they waited for the servant to look away while they were talking to someone but soon their maneuvers turned riskier and riskier. Jumping up to grab one or even trying to distract them before grabbing another.

At some point for whatever reason both jumped into the air at the same time, grabbing the same skewer which ended with them smashing into the servant who in return fell down, the drinks spilling onto a couple that stood closely by.

As the adults were trying to understand what just happened Y/N grabbed Eret’s arm and yelled “Run!”

The two begun running away, making their way into the garden, hiding behind a bush as they heard some adults screaming and running around.

Y/N didn’t care if Eret got caught by the adults but he was worried he might sell him out to them as well. No, he was positive he would definitely snitch on him.

Out of breath the two kids huddled together, keeping their ears open, trying to catch any sound that might come closer to them.

Eret looked at Y/N “I clearly won.” He then showed off the skewers he was holding against his suit, effectively ruining it.

Y/N shook his head, showing his own off “Nuh-uh. I clearly won.”

For some reason or another they managed to acquire the same amount of food so they sadly had to come to the conclusion that this was a tie. As they angrily begun snacking on their loot, they still continued throwing childish insults at each other.

This only lasted for a few minutes until their parents found them and figuratively tore them away to yell at them. Saying things like “this is not the proper behavior of a prince! Now we have to apologize to all the people! Do you know what this could cost us?”

From that point on their rivalry really started. Every few months they would meet up again by proxy of being invited to the same noble festivities. In fact every time Y/N was on such a party he fully expected Eret being there as well.

He would arrive and keep look out for that oh so dashing prince from the rival kingdom. Y/N scoffed, Eret wished he thought of him like that but in truth Y/N probably knew the best what kind of idiot he could be. After all he had firsthand experience for this.

While they always ended up in some sort of trouble there was this one moment, when they were twelve years old, that always stood out to him.

As usual Eret and Y/N found each other during a banquet. Both immediately fell back into arguing and making fun of each other. The adults got so tired of it that they sent the two outside so they could, in their words, cool down.

“You look ridiculous in your suit.” Eret mumbled towards Y/N as they wandered outside into the garden. Y/N just rolled his eyes as a response, choosing to ignore Eret at this point, not feeling comfortable with being banished outside together with him.

The garden was beautiful, of course.

Different kinds of flowers were planted along all the sides of the garden. Between them stood a few Willow trees with their long leaves hanging above the flowers and seating opportunities while in the middle of the whole place stood a beautiful huge pond with a statue protruding from the middle of it. The statue displayed two unidentifiable human beings holding on to each other, both holding an urn up into the air together where some water was rushing out ouf down into the pond.

While this all, together with the moon light, looked almost magical Y/N was more concentrated on what was inside the pond.

As he walked over to the water he could see a few koi fish flitting around in there. He sat down and lazily begun drawing invisible patterns into the water. Sometimes the fish would come close only to immediately swim away once they either saw the hand or felt the movement.

Eret was just standing dumbfounded to the side. Staring at Y/N which infuriated him. He could feel his dark eyes lingering on him and it just annoyed him. Eret finally shut up but now he was just standing there in uncomfortable silence.

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh “Stop doing that.”

Eret looked bewildered at that “Stop, what?”

“Staring! I can see you staring! I know I’m handsome but come on.” Y/N snickered at the last part.

This time Eret rolled his eyes “Nah, I was just thinking how easy it would be to push you into the water right now and was debating if it was worth getting into trouble for it.”

“And what did your small brain come up with?”

Eret walked over and sat down next to Y/N “It’s sadly not worth it. I feel like I would get in even more trouble than last time when I was destroying you in that food fight.”

Y/N angrily shook his head “Oh, no! I was winning! You were lucky my father literally pulled me away from you or you wouldn’t even be standing here right now!”

“You wish! Your father saved the small bit of dignity you have!”

Ignoring Eret’s attempt to obviously rile him up and make him more angry, Y/N turned now fully away from him and instead returned to watching the fish. They looked more interesting and had more personality than Eret anyhow.

It was also definitely easier to look at the animals than Eret. Every time he would look at him even only for a little bit this fuzzy anger inside the pit of Y/N’s stomach would come up and by god he hated it. Unbeknownst to him this feeling was mutual.

Eret almost seemed chuffed that Y/N didn’t seem to react and instead chose to follow him suit with watching the fish.

“If we are already stuck out here let’s make it at least interesting.” Y/N broke the silence “Let’s catch some fish. I’m betting I can catch more than you.”

Eret was already getting rid of his jacket and pushed his sleeves up “I doubt that!”

Not wasting time Y/N shed his jacket as well and rolled his sleeves up only to jump into the water himself once the fish stayed out of both their reaches due to their incessant punching into the water.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Not losing!” was all Y/N said.

Eret not feeling too keen on possibly losing, jumped into the pond as well, trying to ignore Y/N who was inadvertently splashing water his way.

As a bit of a payback Eret threw some water towards Y/N which resulted in him loosing a prime chance for trying to grab a fish.

Everything is allowed in love and war after all and this was definitely war.

Though this action led to Y/N retaliating with spraying water back on Eret. Soon the two didn’t care about the fish anymore and were too busy trying to wrestle the other under the water. It wasn’t a full blown fight, no real punches fell but there was a lot of pushing and pulling.

They only stopped once they heard a blood curdling scream. Apparently the noble who owned the garden saw them inside her pond and was obviously not too pleased with it.

Yeah, there was a lot of anger and screaming afterwards but for Y/N and Eret it just fueled their hatred toward each other. If the other one wasn’t there, then they wouldn’t have this problem in the first place but since this wasn’t the case all they could do as proper heirs to their respecting kingdoms was to make the others existence pain.

Over the years their rivalry became infamous and nobles who invited both to their festivities either tried to keep increased watch over them or to the detriment of both sides of the families, tried to incite them. Noble people where a strange lot, trying to find entertainment in the weirdest places.

Not that Y/N or Eret cared too much. They were too busy trying to screw the other over though their methods changed over the years. As kids they were more physical with it while the older they got they tended to use their words more and more to the relieve of their parents.

A good example for that was when both were about sixteen years old.

At this point they learned to rein in their anger towards the other and instead concentrated more or less on their royal duties. Well, they tried but every time they saw each other anger would just flood their systems.

It was a typical ball really. The nobles were busy mingling with each other, spreading false compliments in order to gain the political or social upper hand. Some called it an intricate game but Y/N thought it was just stupid. Just say what you think and don’t sugar coat it. That was something and maybe the only thing he and Eret could agree on. As much as he hated that guy he wasn’t scared to tell Y/N what he thought of him.

He appreciated him for that. A shiver ran down his spine as soon as that thought crossed his mind and Y/N just shoved it away. Never in his life would he actually appreciate that mad prince.

That said it was a bit weird how he hasn’t spotted Eret yet. Not that he was specifically looking out for him or anything. He just wanted to be aware where he was so he could avoid him. Was he invited? His family was here but he seemed to be gone. Maybe he finally gave up trying to one up Y/N and stayed home.

Y/N doubted that though. The only reason why Eret wouldn’t appear to something like this was if he was seriously sick. It happened only once and Y/N ended up being bored to death. So what if he derived entertainment from his rival? That’s a part of the reason what rivalries are for, right?

Spending so much time thinking about him made Y/N uncomfortable. This one feeling in the pit of his stomach just flared up again which he didn’t appreciate one bit. Just another reason why Eret was so annoying. He was the only person this happened with.

Bored out of his mind Y/N begun moving through the ball room. There was one place Eret could be hiding away at. If anything Y/N could predict some behavior from him over the years. Making sure to stay away from all the dancing people and the conversations, not feeling interested to take part in it. Instead he moved towards the gardens.

It was just the place he and Eret would default to since at the slightest chance of trouble the other nobles liked to throw them out immediately.

So when he spotted Eret walking around the rose bushes it didn’t completely surprise him.

“And here I thought I spied a birds nest in between the bushes but alas it is just Eret’s hair.”

Eret visibly flinched once he heard Y/N. Apparently he had been so busy with his own thoughts that he didn’t notice Y/N approaching him. He frowned at the other prince while he in return was just smirking smugly.

Sighing Eret walked over to a particular big rose and begun inspecting it“ And I thought I would finally be free of you. You arrived late, huh?”

“Hardly my fault, though I too was hoping you finally conceded and stayed home but here you are just staring at some roses like some hopeless romantic prince from some sort of fairy tale.”

When Eret didn’t immediately fire back and hesitated Y/N’s eyes widened “No! Don’t tell me! Don’t tell me you actually have a crush on someone! Who is the poor person?”

As he spoke the words out loud it felt like his chest was ablaze. Something about that thought rubbed him the wrong way. He just labelled it as a different way for his annoyance towards Eret to show up but it confused him nonetheless.

Realistically what did he care about his love affairs?

Finally Eret vehemently shook his head “No, nothing like that! Why was this where your mind went? I was just bored and am looking at the flowers. Even you can admit that they are pretty, right?” Eret chuckled “Or are you jealous somehow?”

“Only in your dreams.” Y/N responded with a disgusted expression on his face.

“Nightmares you mean.” Eret added before pulling one rose out of the bush.

Y/N looked around hoping none of the staff or someone else saw this “Dude, what the hell are you doing? If you get into trouble for stealing flowers and I’m around everyone will think I’m part of this.”

“They won’t notice, Y/N. Well, they will only notice it if you aren’t careful enough. You need to have an eye for such things and me begrudgingly knowing you as well as I do, you do not have an eye for that.”

This is always how it happens. Every god damn time. One of the two would make a statement that the other person couldn’t do a very specific thing and all bets were off.

A dangerous glint appeared in Y/N’s eyes “I’ll give you the most amazing rose bouquet without tipping anyone off.” He didn’t seem to realize what he just said but Eret did.

While Y/N turned around in order to scour out the place Eret was still standing in the back. A soft blush on his face. Almost angry with himself he frowned and turned to the opposite direction Y/N just went. He was just so frustrating to be around. Doesn’t even think before he speaks.

This whole endeavor took longer than both initially expected. Most of the time they would just saunter between the bushes only occasionally plucking a flower off. Often enough the two stood in front of the same rose, trying to act as fast as possible to get it before the other.

Eret clearly went for the flower first but once his hand touched the stem of the rose, Y/N was there as well, his hand brushing past Eret’s, holding onto the lower part of the stem.

“You’ve got be kidding me.” Y/N cursed.

Eret squinted his eyes as he looked at him “What do you mean? I went for it first! You still continued grabbing it like the brute you are!”

Y/N gasped in a fake display of disbelief. Acting like the biggest insult just got hurled towards him when in fact Eret has said worse things before or even the countless nobles who suffered damages due to their shenanigans.

Both stared at each other, not letting go off the rose. Their brows furrowed into deep scowls as they just continued staring at each other. Hoping that for some reason any kind of weakness would just magically appear or that someone will let go off the damn flower.

It was incredibly uncomfortable for the both of them. Y/N and Eret both stared directly into each other’s eyes. Pink dusted faces turned towards one another, not daring to move a muscle.

“God, I hate you so much.” Y/N grumbled.

Eret nodded “Believe me the feeling is mutual.”

After a few more seconds of staring and angry expressions they both let go at the same time.

There they stood. Two princes of enemy kingdoms holding each a small bouquet of roses with blushing faces.

If you would ask them about it they would immediately exclaim the blush was just a result of their anger bubbling out.

Eret let out a breath he didn’t notice he was holding “Tie?”

Y/N looked down at his own bouquet “Yeah, sure, let’s call it a tie. This is stupid anyhow.”

That was the last time they saw each other for a while.

Since they both were heirs to their respective thrones they soon got sent away to boarding schools in order to get properly trained for their future duties. Besides being educated and introduced what these duties actually entailed, they also got trained in the art of combat.

While most of, if not all, nobles learn how to fight it was something expected from Y/N and Eret. They had to get good at it. A tradition that still stemmed from the waring days of their competing nations.

So for the next four years Y/N was sent away to a boarding school inside his own nation, only later hearing that Eret befell the same fate, which didn’t surprise him.

The years dragged on rather slowly. Most of the subjects were boring but Y/N realized they were important so he put himself through the grueling task of proper studying. The daily training sessions helped him immensely by bringing some sort of change to his every day and tended to look forward to them. Mostly since he became good friends with his coach. A mercenary hired by his family to train him.

Becoming a friend to him, while others tried stay away from Y/N. Most didn’t dare to approach the only heir of their kingdom, others knew he was a bit of a troublemaker and stayed away from him because of it.

Y/N caught himself missing Eret from time to time. While he was annoying and infuriating at best, Y/N couldn’t help but think it was more enjoyable than spending his time alone surrounded by people around his age.

Every now and again his thoughts would always jump back to Eret. Hell, he even once considered writing him a letter before he stopped in his tracks, realizing what he was about to do. Silently chastising himself for it.

Y/N graduated when he was twenty. His parents amazed by his progress threw compliments towards his improved behavior.

“Guess Prince Eret was the problem all along.” His mother noted.

He scoffed, of course Eret was the majority of the reason for the problems. His mother only needed to mention him and Y/N already felt the same annoyance from back then again. Guess some things never change.

It was the time for a lot of nobles to graduate so one family took it up on themselves to prepare a grand ball in order to celebrate these young adults. It also helped to bring all the heirs and influential people together to form new relationships that could be beneficial for their future rule.

Y/N got invited as well.

As a graduation gift his parents bought him fancy new clothes made out of the finest cloth. While he thought it was a bit over the top, it was comfortable so he didn’t complain too much. They even fashioned him with a ceremonial crown that complimented the whole outfit quite nicely.

It was only then that it really sunk in what this all meant for him. He had to act proper no matter what from now on. While people were always aware of him, now they were really watching. This also meant he had to start to properly get into contact with other influential families and nations which meant he had to actually dance on this ball.

So when he and his family stepped out of the wagon that brough them to this event, his heart was beating fast. Y/N was nervous and yet he still managed to put on a confident smile. He didn’t go through all these etiquette classes without learning a few things at least.

When he walked into the ball room, a servant announced his and his families arrival which caused a lot of people to turn their heads. It was the first official outing of an heir to an incredibly strong nation, of course they wanted to see what he was like.

In fact it didn’t take long until Y/N got swarmed by multiple people talking courteously and making conversation with him. He returned the gestures and mingled with the others, curious to see if anyone interesting was here. It was the first time in a long time people didn’t seem to avoid him, even if it was purely for the purpose of forming new beneficial connections.

It beat sitting around alone.

Y/N slowly scanned the huge room with his eyes that’s when he spied something that made his heart figuratively jump into his throat.

In the corner stood someone tall with a shock of brown and fluffy hair that got pushed down by a crown. He wore an amazing suit made out of silk and with a variant of different purples completed with something that resembled a cape. As he talked to the person in front of him he had this huge, genuine, beautiful smile on his face that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

He was handsome that’s all he could say about him. Knocking all the air out of Y/N’s lungs.

Pressing his hand against his madly blushing face Y/N tried to look like he was deep in thought and not just silently checking out this one person way off in the corner.

“Be still my beating heart.” Y/N mumbled as he pressed his free hand on his chest. Feeling his heart beating fast and hard against his ribcage. Luckily no one heard him but he did receive a few worried and confused looks. Guess he wasn’t as sneaky about his display of emotions as he had thought.

Y/N took a deep breath in and coughed in order to calm himself down a bit “I’m sorry to interrupt you all, but I need to go. I need to find something out. It was an honor talking with you and I hope we can continue this later on.”

With all the confidence he didn’t have Y/N slowly made his way towards that person. Something was just pulling him towards him and he needed to at least know his name. It was like his heart and mind both yelled at Y/N.

While walking he could tell that his breath was short. He felt hot and he was certain that his face was still in a lovely shade of red.

Did he just develop a probably one sided crush? Perhaps.

Once he got close enough, he begun to tremble. His knees felt weak and by god he wanted to turn around but something in him just forced him to move on. As if this was his only chance to ever exchange even a word with that stranger.

Y/N was about to put on a polite smile and wave towards him but the stranger was faster and turned towards him.

The stranger audibly and unmistakably gasped. His eyes wide open as his face suddenly turned into a similar shade of red to Y/N.

“Hello.” Y/N begun speaking. He wanted to introduce himself but his voice failed him. Throat and lips dry out of nervousness.

“Y/N?” he spoke with a deep, soothing voice and Y/N had to admit he liked hearing his name coming out of his mouth.

Wait that handsome stranger knew him?

That’s when it hit him. But that can’t be! That was impossible, he would have recognized him immediately!

“Oh. Eret?”

Y/N put his hand against his mouth trying to hide the smile and blush. Why was he feeling like this? Why wasn’t his typical white anger returning? He still had that fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach but something felt different. Maybe it was the maturity from the years or maybe he just imagined it.

Eret was madly blushing and just staring at Y/N as he slowly lifted up his trembling hand “Let’s talk. Would you care for a dance?”

That feeling in his stomach increased as well as the beating of his heart and yet Y/N put his hand into that of Eret’s. Together they walked towards the middle of the room. Slowly beginning to dance.

Y/N was at this point biting his lip. He wanted to talk, say anything but his mind was running in overdrive. No proper sentences would form. Luckily some sort of muscle memory jumped in when it came to the dancing but everything else? No, he was completely screwed.

Why now? Why was he reacting like this?

“You look like you are doing well.” Eret suddenly spoke. His voice trembling almost as much as his hands.

Y/N nodded as he continued moving in tandem with Eret. Their feet skillfully moving around on the dance floor.

“You look good, uh, I mean, you look alright as well, you do look good but I mean you seem to be doing good as well.” After Y/N stammered that out he mentally begun cursing himself out.

He used to wrestle Eret into the mud, why is this happening to him? Why can’t he just go back to his anger, that was easier to deal with. Wait, is that the reason why their anger towards each other held on for so long? Sure, their families had always a rivalry but over time something must have subtly changed concerning their relationship that it managed to end up like this.

Y/N felt like a lovesick pre-teen and he hated it.

Eret suddenly let out a short laugh “I’m guessing you didn’t expect this as well?”

Y/N raised his eyebrows “I- I have no idea what you mean. Like, seriously, what exactly of this do you mean?” Of course his nervousness showed itself via him ranting his thoughts off.

“Us meeting like this again.”

“Seeing our past track record I feel like it was inevitable, though this time it certainly does feel different.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Eret smirked and gave Y/N a wink only to end up turning back into a blushing mess himself.

Now Y/N begun to chuckle, his blush ever present on his face, he pressed his forehead against Eret’s shoulder. Trying his best to hide his face from his view, not willing to give Eret the satisfaction that he succeeded in whatever the hell he just did.

Instead of stopping the two continued to dutifully dance. The best way for a private conversation was while dancing after all but the two were too busy snickering at themselves.

While Y/N had his head still pressed against Eret, Eret spoke up “I’m glad you are here, Y/N. Meeting you here like that again after these years, it made me realize something.”

“Like what?” The same was true of him, of course but he was almost scared of saying it out loud.

Y/N looked back up again but Eret hesitated. His eyes landed on Y/N’s lips only to immediately snap back up to his eyes.

So when he asked “May I?” Y/N knew exactly what he meant.

He gave him a nod which resulted in the two stopping to dance. Eret placed one of his hands against Y/N’s jawline and the other continued to rest at his side as he closed the space between their lips. At first softly brushing their lips for a small second but then Eret went back in pressing his lips properly on Y/N’s only to separate after a few moments.

Y/N put his hands on Eret’s chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart beneath his fingertips “I thought you hated me.” He noted smugly.

Eret laughed “I guess we both were wrong in some way.” He immediately dove back into Y/N’s lips, deepening the kiss, ignoring the confused and surprised noises from all the other guests.

541 notes · View notes

atinyidea · 3 years

Text

Heartworm | Choi San

n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smouldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⟶ college!au, best friend!san, brother!seonghwa, friends to lovers!au, kinda very spicy but there’s no actual smut, there’s mentions of underage drinking and sexual encounters, everything is consentual!

⟶ appellation series masterlist

⟶ 5.7k words

600 special prompt for my lovely soul partner @san–shine, its like 50 years late and I know she no longer is active on this blog but I wanted to keep this.

42: “Exactly how drunk was I?”

49: “Good morning, sunshine.”

☞ When you were younger, you knew you were one-hundred per cent in love with your best friend, Choi San. However, because he was also, in fact, your brother’s best friend and you were a sixteen-year-old rebel adamant to never admit your feelings, you had to watch as he got his first girlfriend during a party Seonghwa had thrown for you. Now, years later and in the middle of college, you find yourself in a familiar setting: a party thrown for you by your brother and Choi San looking as breathtaking as he always does.

☞ moodboard

Just to be clear, when you woke up, you hadn’t expected your brother to announce that there was going to be a party held at your house for your twenty-second birthday. Your brother, being the kind and loving brother he was, had yet again used your birthday as an excuse to throw a house party, even though it wasn’t even your birthday until tomorrow. Seonghwa liked to use your birthday, the date falling in the last week of the summer holidays, as a way to gather all your combined friends as some sort of final summer get-together before the school year began again. You weren’t particularly against them, the end of summer parties becoming a little tradition after the fourth year running, and the fact that they were held at your house meant you could just go to bed any time you wanted. [ thank you sound-proofed home as per your mothers request due to your fathers’ noise-making habits from his job as a musician. ] Though it wasn’t like you knew anyone who would be throwing a house party you couldn’t just walk home from.

You did not know how many drinks you had consumed, alcoholic or otherwise, but the setting you found yourself in was giving you very explicit pangs of nostalgia to the first time you and your brother had thrown one of these parties. Your current situation was not unlike the situations you had been in before. You weren’t ashamed to say that you liked to have fun with your relationships: romantic, platonic or the just-once ones. It wasn’t unusual for you to be found in someone’s lap around midnight; the last party happened to be a beautiful girl named Soojin, the party before that was a guy whose name you hadn’t bothered to remember. However, the person’s lap who you sat in usually was not your best friend, Choi San’s. Not the San you spent the better half of your life burying romantic feelings for because he was Seongwha’s friend first. Not the San, your eyes couldn’t help watch whenever he was near. You made a promise to yourself since that one time when you had just turned sixteen, the one time you found yourself on his lap. [ A promise you made to deny your feelings because the very next day, he had gotten a girlfriend who was definitely not you. ]

At seventeen years old, San knew he was still a stupid and hormonal teenage boy. He practically got nose bleeds anytime he remotely saw a girl's lower back or tummy, their exposed thighs or neck: he knew he could be a perverted little shit. Still, having a girl for a best friend meant that he also knew what was respectful and what was just disgusting – thinking back on it, he was grateful for his friendship with you for teaching him from a young age how to treat girls with proper respect. [ Mainly because you would whack his head or punch him in the balls whenever he said something inappropriate or did something stupid. ] But, also at sixteen, San knew that he was also sorta-kinda-probably in love with his best friend’s sister. [ Who was also his best friend… was it possible to have more than one best friend? ]

During the summer of your sixteenth, Seonghwa’s eighteenth and his seventeenth birthdays, San and his family had gone overseas for an extended holiday. His father had received a promotion, and his mother struck lucky in her weekly lottery draw, so he hadn’t been there to witness the gradual changes to your body. It wasn’t like San wasn’t attracted to you before [ not that either of you knew what the fuck attraction was before ] but when you came to the airport to pick him up with your father, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to look at another girl ever again. [ Of course, that was an overdramatic thought since he proceeded to have girlfriends that weren’t you but the thought of you truly never left his mind. ]

The day of your sixteenth birthday party was something he would always remember clearly. He remembered the way you hugged him for a solid five minutes when he got to your house in the early morning, complaining about how your parents would still be away for another few days, and your brother refused to even hug you on your birthday. [ Seonghwa’s excuse was that it was your birthday tomorrow, and that was when you could claim the birthday hug. ] Secretly, he wished you would tell him you hugged him simply because you wanted to have him close. He remembered how Seonghwa had launched into a story from his last house party (one for the seniors that only he was invited to, but the stories were fun nevertheless) as he attempted to make pancakes at your request. You had bounced your way to your favourite countertop space and jumped up to sit there, right in front of the fridge, because it was the only place that was both cool and warm [ “exactly the right temperature” ] in the entire kitchen. He remembered the way his body slotted between your legs, his back to your chest as the two of you shared a vodka-and-coke at ten-in-the-morning. His mind was restlessly deciding if it was okay to lay his hands on your knees or calves, inevitably switching between the two places every five minutes. It hadn’t felt weird but natural as all three of you shared hearty laughs and then partially burnt pancakes.

[ He remembered when he had given you the small-and-terribly-wrapped box that held your present, egging you on to open it a day early. The way your face lit up as you lifted a thin silver chained sunflower charm bracelet into the air would forever be imprinted on his eyes – your eyes sparkling and lips twitching up into a wide grin as you thanked him seven times. The gentle tone of your voice as you asked him to help you put it on because for some reason, you couldn’t put clasped bracelets on for the life of you, was saved like a voice note in his brain. “You remembered,” you had whispered once he was settled back between your legs, “that sunflowers were my favourite, I mean.” The brush of your lips on his cheek lined the walls of his heart as it threatened to shatter through his ribs. ]

As a sixteen-year-old San knew that you probably shouldn’t’ve had as much alcohol as you had that night. However, as a seventeen-year-old San also didn’t care as long as you were having fun. It was not the first time you consumed alcohol, but it was the first time you’d had enough to get drunk from it. It was your sixteenth birthday party after all, and neither your brother nor your best friend had any objections when you grabbed the first vodka-and-coke at ten in the morning while you got ready. So now, at almost eleven at night, you had had more than ten of those drinks, and you could honestly say you weren’t sure if you’d remember anything from this night at all. The hours went by in a blur, and soon three drinks had turned into eight as you dragged San to your room to decide on an outfit for the night. He remembered the way his throat constricted as you strolled out from your bathroom in a neon green crop top and the pair of flare jeans you always wore. Ultimately San thought he would’ve preferred that outfit to the one you settled on – a black denim mini-skirt with a matching jacket on top of a simple t-shirt with a neon rainbow painted across the chest. The sliver of skin showing from the crop top was way less tempting than the muscle of your thighs, mainly since that was your exact plan for the outfit.

“You look good,” he had said, swallowing gulps of air and saliva when you asked, “you’d still look good in a potato sack,” he complimented you as you twirled on the spot and gifted him with a brilliant grin that simply took his breath away.

“We match!” You all but squealed when you took note of the black denim jacket San wore over his t-shirt with a neon rainbow across the chest.

He hadn’t even noticed.

His memory started to get hazy around drink number thirteen. He couldn’t remember how or what events had led to the current situation, [ or which room the two of you were actually in that was both not your bedroom and also not inhabited by literally anyone else ], but he certainly was not complaining. You were so close to him he could smell the faintest scent of your vanilla and cinnamon shampoo and conditioner you had used the day before, the slightest whiff of your jasmine scented perfume [ the one you always wore, the one he bought you your first bottle of ] and the sweetly bitter smell of cherry coke and vodka on your breath. His hands seemed glued to your lower back and hips, palms almost moulded to your skin like he were a sculptor, and you were his latest masterpiece. Your legs either side of his own, wrapping around him possessively, like he was yours and only yours, and he let you, using his hands to pull you closer to him like you were his and only his. Your faces were so close he could feel each hot exhale of breath hitting his lips, and when they stopped as you shivered and whined, he couldn’t help the way his lips tilted upwards into a smirk. The way you attempted to wire your mouth shut not to make a sound wasn’t effective, seeing as he heard all three of your whines, each one getting more prolonged and higher in pitch as the two of you continued your ministrations. His hips wanted to jut up into you. Still, he forced his movements to be as slow and smooth as possible, wanting to feel every way you would come undone above him, but when his gaze flickered across your face. He spotted the small trickle of blood falling from your lips; it was like everything that had just happened had disappeared.

From your recollection, you only remembered specific parts of that night. Your legs had been situated on either side of his thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck as his palms slowly pushed up the small of your back to pull your body closer to his. Your faces were so close you could physically see the connection between the two of you, yet neither of you pushed forward enough to make that connection real and tangible. [ You wanted to, God, you wanted to kiss him right then more than anything. Why didn’t you kiss him then? ] San’s hands felt hot against your skin, his fingertips slowly moving to draw a masterpiece on your back. You shivered slightly as a slight breeze floated around the sliver of exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your eyes were drawn to San’s lips as they twitched up into a slight smirk; his own eyes flickered to watch you watch him. Neither of you had said a word to each other for almost half an hour, drunkenly pushing at the limits between your friendship with nothing but burning touches and delicate twists of hips.

You subconsciously sucked your bottom lip into the confines of your teeth, but you willingly bit down harshly to stop a sly whine from escaping your lips as San had the cocky idea to roll his pelvis into yours as he held you in place with his hands on your hips. Apparently, you had bitten down way too hard because the next thing you knew was that San’s playful smirk had evaporated into a concerned frown. He lifted a hand from your hip – the sudden rush of cold where his hand previously was leaving you feeling a sense of loss – to your lip, his thumb tugging your lip back out.

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbled, thumb coming away with a smear of blood moulding into his fingerprint. The taste of blood in your mouth was unexpected and had sent you reeling. You almost flew off of his lap and practically ran to your bedroom’s bathroom to inspect the damage. There was a tear in the side of your bottom lip. [ The side of your lip you always bit out of habit, so the skin was thinner there than the rest of your lip. ] Against your better judgment – the rational part of your brain was too drunk at that moment – you settled your tongue against the fresh cut. Finching away from yourself at the unexpected [ which really should’ve been expected ] pain, you decided that there was nothing you could do to help soothe it. After twenty minutes, that felt like two, of staring at yourself in the mirror, you finally shrugged and made your way back into the heart of the party.

As an almost sixteen-year-old, you knew you were just coming into figuring out your body and the emotions of more physical relationships as you grew into it. You knew you had grown up a little (a lot) over the summer, your chest filling out from a b-cup to a c-cup, your lanky figure could no longer be considered lanky as your limbs gained muscle, fat and tone, creating a new full and curvy figure. Your mother had been ecstatic when you came to her asking how to style clothes to fit your ‘new’ figure as it meant the two of you could go shopping [ one of her favourite activities ], and you could find your style that both suited your body and personality. You did have to admit that your style didn’t change much; you still loved a sturdy flannel shirt [ always oversized though, now you tended to wear it open with a form-fitting crop top or spaghetti-strap top underneath to show off your chest and waist ] and you still loved your favourite pair of flare jeans enough to wear them almost every other day, [ the one with the painted sunflower over the back pocket. ] You also loved pleated mini skirts and knee-high socks or a simple loose-form-fitting dress with lycra cycle shorts underneath. You didn’t like the emotional side of your summer changes, though and, while you were new to the whole attraction thing, the one person you definitely didn’t feel anything remotely romantic for was your best friend. [ Well, maybe you did, but he was Seonghwa’s friend first, and that was a no-go… and perhaps you wanted to reject the way your heart turned into butterflies when you saw him at the airport… and maybe you just weren’t ready to put those feelings into words, so you denied them instead. ]

Your best friend whose lap you were just sat on, grinding your hips into his with your noses touching. Your best friend who was now kissing another girl [a beautiful girl who was named Hyemi, she was in Seonghwa’s class and also happened to live across the road… she was always nice to you and you couldn’t find it in you to dislike her even as your stomach knotted and twisted into something green with envy ] in the middle of the kitchen. You wouldn’t remember how long you stood there, watching the two of them kiss like a complete and utter creep, and you wouldn’t remember the look San gave you as he noticed the sway of your hair as you retreated out of the kitchen with a frown on your brow.

You did not fancy your best friend, and you definitely did not care that he was kissing Hyemi in front of the fridge. [ The fridge he stood between your legs in front of literal hours ago. ] Lastly, you definitely did not feel like crying as your mind reminded you about two different memories of earlier that day – one of you sat on the counter opposite that exact fridge with San leaning back into you as he gave you the sunflower charm bracelet that wrapped around your wrist, watching Seonghwa attempt to make you birthday pancakes. The second the memory of his hands burning up your skin, the way his lips tilted into a smirk when you shivered under his hold and the way you inflicted pain to yourself in an attempt not to whine with pleasure at the way he moved his hips.

It was too raw, and now you just wanted to forget.

San’s brain refused to calculate time because one minute his hand was reaching for your bloodied lip and the next you were gone, and San was back in the kitchen getting you a glass of water [ and then he was kissing another girl in front of the fridge he rested between your legs literal hours ago. ] San wouldn’t remember what their conversation had been, only that this girl, Hyemi, was older than him and had just asked him out. He wouldn’t remember the exact way her grin turned a little too malicious to be sincere. He would, however, remember the way your hair flew over your shoulder as you spun away from the scene involving him; he would remember the way his eyes followed your figure all the way into the embrace of your brother as you shallowly smiled and stole his drink [ and he would remember the way his chest seemed to ache at that simple action. ]

Hyemi became his girlfriend at that same party; you didn’t even know they knew each other. He didn’t even know why he said yes.

And here you were, on the penultimate night before your twenty-second birthday, in the lap of your best friend. His relationship with Hyemi had lasted six months, and he had gotten six more significant others in the seven-year gap from then til now but, right then, he was single, and you were in his lap. You had flopped down over the side of a two-seater couch; eyes screwed shut with laughter, so you didn’t realise who was sat on said couch – or that anyone was – until your head made contact with their thigh. [ Their thigh was very comfy to lay on, which was the first thing your brain commented on. ] When you looked up and met eyes with San, a small [ tiny really, in no way visible to the person who knew you best and where to look for a blush – finding it immediately ] blush was growing warmly over your cheeks.

“Hey there,” He grinned, setting down his plastic cup, [ more like throwing it over his shoulder, not caring that it hit someone since it was mostly empty anyway ] and poking your nose gently just to watch the way it would scrunch up. His fingers were moving from your nose to his ear to make sure the roll-up cigarette that was balanced there hadn’t fallen.

“Hi,” you giggled, your legs curling up to your chest, making you look like a contorted cat as your feet still dangled slightly over the arm of the chair. After a few seconds, your fingers started twitching and settled on playing with the fabric of his shirt. It was the same rainbow one he wore to your sixteenth party, matching the one you were wearing too. The both of you had grown out of them, San settling on cutting it into a crop top and you doing the same, [ since you were the one who had actually cut San’s shirt and decided to continue and do yours, so you matched again. ] His shirt gave little to cover, showing off his abdominals and tummy [ and the slight happy trail peeking out from the waistband of his jeans ] proudly and only just covering his pectorals. Your own shirt was cut higher, stopping just above the curve of your breasts. Still, your own torso was covered in a neon green fishnet bodysuit [ not that it left anything to the imagination, your torso was still on show ] that was tucked into your signature flare pants which now rode a little low on your hips and the sunflower on the back was more than a little faded.

“What are you doing?” He asked with an amused grin, [ complemented with the subtle raise of a singular eyebrow… Gods, why was he so attractive? ] one hands fingers starting to twist in the loose strands of your short hairstyle. It was nice. [ The touch of his hands against your hair was excellent, the slight tug of the strands against your skull felt really nice. ]

“Taking a break. Siyeon, Minji and Yunho broke out the karaoke machine, and they're playing the song shots game.” You replied as if it explained everything. [ It actually kind of did, San recalled you once telling him that the chaotic energy of that particular trio and the song shots game gave you awful headaches. And you hated having headaches when you were drinking because it made you nauseous. And when you were nauseous and drunk, you tended to go have a smoke, which you were trying extremely hard to stop doing for the sake of your father, who also used to smoke and now had lung problems. So, San understood your meaning. ] “What about you?”

San had to take a minute to think. Just what was he doing? Why was he so out of it today? In his heart, San knew the answer, but he hadn’t unlocked that treasure chest just yet. [ He was tired of watching you be semi-intimate with people that weren’t him… Which he refused to admit. Because both of you were pinning assholes in denial. ] Finally, even though it had only been a minute, he replied with a simple “I’m just… sitting.”

“Oh?” You asked, now it was your turn to raise the amused eyebrow, “just sitting?”

“Sitting... and thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.” The word was out faster than San’s brain had time to process what he’d said. However, now he had said it, he wasn’t going to deny it. Was it the small amount of alcohol in his system? [ It was the way your eyes widened a little as you looked up at him from your place in his lap, fingers twisting in his shirt and lips falling open ever so slightly. ]

“Me?” Your pitch ascended as the volume of your voice diminished.

“Yeah, you!” He grinned, tone equally as quiet but still showing enthusiasm, moving his free hand to boop your nose.

“What about me?”

San’s fingers in your hair froze at your question, his mind whirring with any kind of answer that wouldn’t cross the line into confession territory wherein he would lose your friendship indefinitely, but after one look at the serious longing look in your eye, he decided he would ‘man up’ [ the phrase making him cringe as soon as he thought it… the connotation of the word being so outdated and, for someone who grew up with a very stubborn girl in his life, San wondered why society hadn’t come up with a suitable alternative to the phrase ] and just tell you.

So he did.

“Do you remember what happened between us at your sixteenth party?” He asked, seemingly changing the conversation topic. Confused but going with it, a slight blush warming your cheeks, you nodded, and he took that as permission to continue, “I can’t stop thinking about it.” His voice was nothing louder than a whisper, you should’ve had to strain your ears to hear him, but at that moment, it was like all other sounds and distractions faded from the scene. Your breath hitched as you simply stared up into his eyes, his pupils dilated, almost taking over the beautiful swirling colour of his irises [ making his eyes look darker than usual, more intense than expected, and for a second, you swore your heart stopped ].

“What about it?” Your question was innocent enough, but the way you said it gave way to other ideas. Your voice was soft and breathy, like you weren’t getting enough oxygen, and like San, the words weren’t said above a whisper. Afterwards, you bit down softly on your bottom lip [ unintentional on your part, it was just a habit of yours, to be honest ], minutely sucking it in, and San’s focus shifted to watch your lips specifically.

“I’m thinking about how much I’d like to do it again.”

“You want to kiss me?”

“If you’d let me.”

“Please kiss me.” You whispered, more a statement rather than a question or demand. And so he did, leaning forward to reach you, head still in his lap, [ it felt like a slow-motion scene in a movie, but it couldn’t have been longer than two seconds before his lips were flush against yours ]. It was not the first time the two of you had kissed, but it was the first time you had kissed since becoming official adults — it felt different.

It felt good.

His lips were soft, and his kiss was gentle, at least it was at first. As the seconds ticked on, the kiss grew more intense, the soft brush of his lips pressed harder into you, his hands running over your body to pull you up to him. Your arms threaded around his neck, stretching out your torso [ if you were honest, it hurt a little… not that you were lucid enough to be aware of it ] and arching your back. He bit down on your bottom lip, tugging at it a little when your fingers twisted through the hair at his neck, pulling him to you with a new sense of desperation.

And then the two of you fell off the couch. You slid off his lap and landed on your back [ though it was more like you were on your side than your back ] while San rolled over on top of you. Both of you froze in your positions, eyes wide, [ pupils dilated but that was most likely due to the desire flowing through you ] lips parted as you just stared at one another for a second. San was the first to crack the silence, lips pulling into a grin and eyes crinkling with joy as his laugh sounded out around you. He flipped off from on top of you, landing next to you on the floor but his smile never dimmed and his laugh hadn’t faded. You rolled slightly so you were actually on your side as you continued to look at him. When he looked back at you your heart skipped a beat, his smile was so pretty and it made his dimple so deep but it wasn’t long before his laughter simmered and his expression faded as he looked back at you.

Biting your lip once again you made an executive decision [ the only decision you could think off, since all thoughts were now preoccupied with San at the moment ] to lift yourself to hover over him this time. You swallowed and let out a breath as your eyes met, searching for any sign that you should stop. Your shaking breath cut out into a soft gasp as San’s hands caressed over the small of your back to pull you down so that your chests touched. Your right hand lifted up to take hold of the cigarette tucked behind his ear, [ a small giggle leaving your lips at the thought that it was still there even after all that ] and twisted it between your fingers a little. Was it a nervous habit or just a neat trick, you couldn’t distinguish at the moment. San’s own hand came to hold yours, two sets of fingers now playing with the home-made roll-up gently. Soon enough San took it from your shallow grip and flicked it across the room, using the same hand to cup your jaw to cirect your gaze back to him.

Meeting his eyes made you want to shy away from his gaze but you let him keep you there. He looked at you with such a strong emotion you though you’d possibly be able to taste it from his lips. “I have to tell you something…” You whispered, close enough to not have to raise your voice.

“What is it?” He whispered back, the fingers on your back drawing small circles as the hand at you jaw left to curl a strand of hair around his fingers in the opposite direction. [ how he did that subconsciously and not mess it up would’ve made your head spin in wonder ].

“I love you.” You began, still whispering. “I have for a long time, though in the beginning I tried rather hard to deny it. Mainly because you had a significant other and I didn’t want to ruin that for you. And then, in a rather dick move, I got a significant other in the hopes of stopping it but that didn’t work so I stopped getting into romantic relationships altogether and now-”

He cut you off, pulling you into him to kiss the words from your lips [ which you appreciated because your inner thoughts were beginning to panic because your mouth wouldn’t stop talking ]. When you separated his smile was back, albeit not as wide as before. His eyes were as soft as his smile as he kissed you once more, resting your foreheads together. “I love you too,” he said against your lips. At his words you surged forward, pressing into him with fierce emotion as your kissed him.

You had wanted to hear those words from his lips for so long. You had wanted him for so long. And here he was, right in your reach, his hands on your body and yours tugging gently at his hair. Before all the breath in your lungs had finished and you lost your conscious nerve to a blur of desire those word had repeated at least thrice as you made your way to the comfort of your bed and the warmth of his body.

The next day when you woke up, you woke up earlier than usual and feeling unusually chipper as you took a hot shower. The subtly sweet scent of pancakes met you as you made your way through the house and into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Sunshine, you’re up early,” your brother grinned over his shoulder, both hands currently busy holding a pan and spatula. “I made pancakes.”

“Yes, I can see that.” You returned his grin with one of your own, a teasing smile lifting to your lips as you took a seat. Your head was clear of any headaches or lingering pain from a hangover since you were better with your alcohol intake as a twenty-two-year-old, and your reckless youth had lined your stomach with a fair amount of tolerance.

“Exactly how drunk was I last night? I don’t remember anyone leaving.”

“Oh boy,” Seonghwa sniggered, a sly grin taking over his features, “the party was two days ago, you slept all day yesterday. Really freaked San out.”

“What?!” You exclaimed, a piece of pancake falling from your fingers back onto your plate, bouncing off and onto the side sadly. [ It went ignored as you stared down your brother. ]

“Yeah. And he’s been ramble-muttering about you for a solid ten hours now. He’s really not subtle at all.” Seonghwa grinned. “So now that you two have slept together, are you two actually together?”

If you had liquid in your mouth, you would have spat it out. “He told you?!” You exclaimed, heart racing at the thought of your best friend and your brother discussing your sex-life.

“No.” Seonghwa denied immediately, face scrunching up in disgust at the mere thought, “I definitely don’t need to know details about that. It’s just San isn’t subtle at all when he’s mutter-rambling. He was oblivious to the fact he was thinking out loud about how to move forward after your… time together… while I literally sat next to him.” Seonghwa then grinned at you, again, the stretch of his lips becoming a little too mischievous for your liking. “Pretty sure he passed out on the couch half an hour ago.” He hinted, motioning over to the living room with his head as his eyebrows wiggled up and down suggestively.

A puff of air exhaled through your nose as a small smile climbed over your lips. You opened your mouth to talk, but he cut you off with a gentle pat on the head, “I’m happy for you two,” was all he said but it was enough. [ Your heart soared at the approval of your brother. It was not that you nor San needed Seonghwa’s approval, but it was nice to know he wouldn’t oppose it. ] Then you made your way to the couch San was asleep on.

You sat next to him, in the space unoccupied by his body. His brow was furrowed, which you frowned at. You lifted a hand and gently pressed on the juncture between his eyebrows, smoothing them out. His face instantly relaxed under your touch [ a part of your mind daydreamed that it was because he knew it was you ] and a small smith lifted upon your lips. Your hand moved down to cup his cheek and then his jaw before you raised it to gently wipe away the hair that had fallen in his face. You bit down on your lip, confused on whether to wake him up or not but life had chosen for you as one by one San’s eyes opened and slowly focused on you.

His eyes widened, and in a flurry of limbs suddenly he was laying on his back on the floor while you had balanced yourself with your knees over his waist. After a second of shocked silence [ as the two of you came to terms with what the fuck just happened ] a grin spread across his lips, eyes crinkling in delight, as his hands came to grip your hips gently.

A silent confirmation washed over the two of you as your lips spread to mirror his grin. The two of you would be alright as the next part of your relationship bloomed, the embers of your crushes were now burning bright.

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alonfic · 3 years

Text

forget the world

pairing: todoroki shouto x reader genre: established relationship au | fluff wc: 1,763 description: despite all the obstacles life has to throw at you, there’s comfort in knowing that home actually feels like home for once; also, that you have your boyfriend Shouto’s arms to take refuge in. author’s note: i honestly just wanted well-regulated, temperate cuddles with shouto. also backrubs. yes <3

Today is an unbearably long day.

It’s one of those days that goes beyond words and replays in the back of your mind, with needless postulations of what-if’s nagging you as you walk through the paradoxical door. Somehow the reminder that this is both a familiar and unfamiliar entryway slips your mind in favor of exhaustion and starvation for your boyfriend’s touch.

If you were paying any attention to that realization, you would’ve been a little proud of yourself from graduating from the first-time cohabiting couple anxiety to finally accepting this new territory. But you don’t.

You don’t rejoice in the fact or relish in it so much as you douse yourself in scalding hot water to baptize yourself from the work grime, because all you can think about is Todoroki and what it’ll be like to settle into his arms. His perfectly well-regulated and temperate arms that you’ve sworn he’s perfected to your respective likings over the two-year long course of your relationship.

Just the prospect is enough for you to saunter back into the room, despite your hair still being a little damp. Another small win you don’t think too much about is how you hardly have to attempt to navigate the dark room without help from any light; it’s a step up from a few weeks ago when you were constantly bumping into the bedside table.

A part of you then wonders if he’s still awake, though when you really think about it, you’re almost certain that he would be asleep by now. Considering it’s much later than your usual arrival time, you would be surprised if he was still awake.

When you hear him stir before you’ve even touched the corner of the comforter, you’re shaken from your thoughts.

“How was your day?” he asks, with his voice a touch closer to sleep than usual. It’s not rare for him to be so tired, being third ranked Pro Hero and all. He’s a busy man, so you’re still a little surprised that he’s been awake every night since you’ve started living there. Tonight, especially.

“It was long,” you mumble. Your next words are all intermingled together from how your jaw hardly wants to keep working anymore. “M’tired.”

Even in the faint wash of moonlight spilling in from the half-open blinds, you can see that his eyes are closed. He still looks as handsome as when you first met him, probably even more so now. This time he looks more relaxed, save for the slight crease in his brow that gives you the impression that he seems to be a little more awake after hearing your response.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, while raising the corner of the comforter, “was work crazy for you again?”

You accept his invitation; while he remains on his back, you settle partially atop his chest, your left leg almost immediately entangled with his, and part of your right side still touching your side of the bed. It’s second nature to wrap your arms around his waist and find ease in the way his heart flutters, like a tether, keeping you from completely losing your mind. But what damn near throws you over the edge is the way his arms wrap around you, as if to keep you from falling apart entirely. For once, you feel whole.

You don’t realize there’s a tremble in your voice until you try to answer his question, and the moment you hear it, you try to nod in its place.

“Hey,” he rubs your back with what you’ve identified as his left hand, the slight warmth being a dead giveaway. “What’s wrong, love?”

It’s no surprise that life has been rough for you as of late. Between moving in together for the first time, recovering from a particularly nasty cold, juggling graduate school applications, and thrusting yourself back into work, most of the overwork is from your shitty manager and another part of it being your pride; it’s all an unfortunate combination that has left even Todoroki disgruntled. But because of the moving newness, you can tell he’s been trying to help your transition to the best of his ability. And you hate that all you can think about is work and school, and how the future is so painfully uncertain, while your present is right here.

“M’sorry, Shouto,” you say, with tears prickling the corners of your eyes, after regurgitating the same spiel of how hectic and understaffed work was, all while your boss got to sit upstairs without a care in the world because that’s how crappy he is. Of course, you don’t want Todoroki to see you crying, least of all over this, but one of his fingers catches your chin and you can feel his thumb wipe away a stray tear.

“Oh baby…” He pulls you in closer and squeezes. His other hand is still on your back, now rubbing circles. It’s a nice attempt to soothe away the anxieties and overwhelm, something only he’s ever been able to pull off with you on a handful of occasions.

“What are you sorry about? You have no reason to be sorry.” His tone is so matter-of-fact you almost want to laugh. You actually do when he mentions how it’s your boss who should be sorry for overworking you. “What? It’s true.”

You can’t help but crack a small smile after a while. How cute could your man possibly get? His earnestness has always had a way with you; it hasn’t once wavered in all your time together, and that kind of consistency is something you never thought you needed until you met him, moments like this remind you how lucky you are.

“You always seem to know how to make me feel better, you know.”

“Yeah?” You can see the corners of his lips turned upward, and it compels your smile to grow a little more.

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad,” he says, meeting your eyes, though his smile doesn’t waver. You love being privy to the sight; his smile is another thing you love so ardently about him. “I’ve been trying. I’m sorry that the last couple of weeks haven’t been the easiest and that this place doesn’t feel like home for you, yet.”

You want to protest, of course, though there is some truth to his words. It has been hard. Probably harder than it should’ve been, but with work, getting sick, and application, you felt like you were playing in an entirely different game. You didn’t think life would be so hectic when it’s been only easy with Todoroki, but you know he’s been trying.

Despite his previous routine of instantly falling asleep before you moved in, you have noticed him making an effort to stay awake long enough to at least bid you a good night or ask about your day. It’s an endearing gesture that warms your heart, one that you know is a direct by-product to the move and his attempt at getting you to feel more comfortable in the new space.

Another thing he’s done (that you appreciate immensely) is letting you redecorate the space—this is one that Uraraka hasn’t stopped gushing over because she’s been fighting with Midoriya over their decór for ages. The bedroom—in all its grandeur and spaciousness—and really the entire apartment had already been equipped with modern furnishings from the beginning of Todoroki’s lease on the place. He hadn’t felt any inclination to change anything, up until you started living with him, and then he offered to let you personalize the place in whatever way you saw fit. For you, that looked like incorporating more photos of the two of you as well as you two with friends, and a few knick-knacks here and there on the now-filled bookshelves.

They’re small reassurances that he is happy you’re here, that even if work is shitty and school applications are a pain in the ass, he at least wants you comfortable in your now-shared place.

“It’s okay,” he says, like he’s mentioned many times before, not that he’s all that bothered anyway, because still, he wants to reassure you. “And it’s also okay if this doesn’t feel like our place yet.”

“But it does.” And you mean it.

While the thought hadn’t fully hit you as soon as you walked through the door at first, it seemed to materialize right this moment. The last thing you want to do is make Todoroki feel like you’re still some foreign invader in your shared home. Yeah, it’s been a huge change to go from a couple who slept at each other’s places to reconvening in one space where all your things congregate together, but it’s a change of pace in your life you feel the most at ease with. Most especially, if it means coming home to him.

“Really?” He sounds genuinely surprised, and you feel the sheepishness rising back up again.

“Yeah, if anything, this has been the most apparent thing to me today. All I could was, I want to go home, to you, and be in your arms because today was so shitty. Today didn’t feel like I was just going back to your place anymore. It felt—feels—like our place. Our home.”

“I like that a lot. The sound of our home.”

“Me too.”

“Is there anything else bugging you?” he asks, wanting to be sure. The gesture makes your heart swell, how thoughtful he can be, how hard he tries to fight for some semblance of peace out in the world, and of course, your home.

You think about it. You really do. If there’s anything worth wasting your energy on, but you don’t want to disrupt this moment. You don’t want to keep giving your workplace—temporary as it is—any more of your time when you’re here. And anyway, any inkling of what could have been the culprit seems to dissipate the longer you remain in Todoroki’s arms.

“No, I’m okay. I can forget all the momentarily shitty things when I’m here with you. That’s usually the easiest part. The best part too.”

You can make out his smile, beautiful and so his, before he presses his lips to your forehead. If there’s anywhere you would rather be, it’s here.

“I love you,” he exhales, squeezing you once more. He continues to rub circles into your back, sometimes alternating between patterns; always, adding a touch of warmth to combat the particularly chilly air.

You squeeze back, relishing in it all. “I love you too.”

And for once, everything else drifts away. Just you and him.

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hawks-supremacy · 3 years

Text

Mall Food

a/n: I didn't proof read it. Sorry if there's errors, I reread as I'm writing and try to catch any as I go.

warnings: Swearing I think that's it

word count: 2k

Masterlist

It was the weekend that the Seijoh team was supposed to come down for their practice match against Inarizaki and you were currently sitting in the gym at 7 am on a Saturday. If it were up to you, you’d still be asleep in a warm bed. Instead Shinsuke had woken you up at 6:15 so you could get ready to be to the school on time. The Seijoh team had gotten to town late last night but wouldn’t be arriving at the practice match until 9. Sitting on the bench after you had finished the tasks assigned to you, you had begun to text the group chat saying the boys were lucky they got to sleep in even if it was only for an hour and a half.

After texting them you heard someone sit down on the bench next to you. Putting your phone down you looked over to see Osamu laying down on the bench with his eyes already closed. You looked down at him and poked his face a few times until he opened his eyes to look back up at you, “Whaddya want Y/n?” You shrugged in response and moved so your legs were on either side of the bench facing the direction he was laying. You started to run your fingers through his hair before laughing to yourself, “What?” He asked.

“Nothing, I just wasn't expecting your hair to be this soft. I thought it’d be fried with the constant lightening and toning.” He rolled his eyes at your reply and closed his eyes enjoying the feeling of your fingers against his scalp. You sat like this just enjoying each other's company in a comfortable silence until Atsumu and Suna came to sit on the floor next to you both. It was early enough to where Atsumu barely even talked, save for a few sentences here and there.

After 30 minutes of everyone trying to get in a little bit of extra sleep you heard Shinsuke and the Coach greeting people. Looking up from Osamu’s hair that you attempted to braid you saw the Seijoh boys. After they were done talking and the Coaches walked off to discuss the practice match you got up from the bench and ran over to greet your old friends.

You jumped on Hajime’s back since he was closest and turned away from you, “I missed you guys so much!” You yelled as Iwa was trying to keep from falling over due to your sudden weight. “Y/n, please get off of me.” You climbed off of Iwa like he had asked and went to his side where he pulled you in for a side hug kissing the top of your head briefly, “Missed you too kid.” You smiled as you shoved him away, “I am one year younger than you quit calling me kid old man.”

“Well where’s my greeting.” Toru said with his hands on his hips and pout on his lips. You shook your head and gave him a hug while he grumbled about Hajime being your favorite. Turning you pulled Maki and Mattsun into a group hug. While catching up with your old friends, unbeknownst to you, your new group of friends had been watching your interactions.

“Yeah so I’m pretty sure they’re dating the one that kissed them on the head.” Atsumu stated with crossed arms. Suna sighed not moving from his spot on the floor whereas Atsumu had stood when you left. Osamu sat up rubbing his eyes, still tired, “Quit assuming things until they tell us specifically.” Atsumu huffed and sat back down on the bench, arms still crossed, “Fine but don’t come crying to me when I’m right.”

“Shut up Atsumu, behave yourself. They’re comin’ over here.” Osamu said as you walked over with the Seijoh four in tow. “Hey guys! I wanted to introduce you guys.” You motioned for the boys to stand up so you could properly introduce them to each other. To be honest you were worried about them meeting each other. It could either go perfect or it could end with the fire marshall being called and the practice match being cancelled. You hoped it went well so you all could go to the mall when there was free time today.

“Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Hanamaki, Matsukawa, this is Atsumu, Osamu, and Suna.” You pointed and gestured to each person as you were naming them and they all gave the same lame wave except for Atsumu and Oikawa who glared at the opposite group. Seeing Shinsuke waving you over, you dismissed yourself to go talk to him.

“Quit glaring,” Iwa said, hitting Toru over the head. He let out a hiss of pain and turned away from the other group while rubbing his head. “No need to hit me.” He mumbled crossing his arms, now pouting. “Boohoo suck it up.” Iwa said, “Hey so which one of you met Y/n this summer?”

Osamu turned to Iwaizumi after scolding Atsumu for glaring at your friends, “That would be me, I went ta the same culinary camp as ‘em.” Iwa elbowed Toru as he mumbled something about a dumb accent. “Culinary camp? You never went to a culinary camp ya liar.” Atsumu said faceing Osamu. “Ya I did. I went to it the same time you did yer volleyball camp dumbass.” Everyone watched as Osamu and Atsumu continued to argue. Shortly after you walked back over to gather everyone, “Come one guys you’re supposed to start warming up.” Nodding everyone went to their respective sides of the gyms to do their warm ups that the coaches had set for them.

The practice match ended with Inarizaki winning the first and last set and Seijoh winning the second set. They ended up playing a rematch where Seijoh won. You started to clean up and put everything away while the boys showered and changed. After cleaning up and discussing what things could be improved on and what the team will work on next practice you all headed out for the day. Seijoh wasn’t leaving until tomorrow so the coach gave them the rest of the day to do touristy things and look around if they wanted, they just had to be back at the hotel at 9.

“Why are we going to the mall anyway?” Mattsun asked, walking in the back of the group with Maki. You turned around walking backwards as you replied, “Because the mall has everything. You’re hungry? Food court. You need a new sweater? Clothing store. Want to play games? Arcade. C’mon Mattsun, use your head.” As you were turning back around you tripped over your own ankle, Iwaizumi catching you before you could hit the ground, “Thanks Haji.” Behind you Atsumu gave Suna and Osamu a knowing look before Suna rolled his eyes and smacked Atsumu in the arm telling him to cut it out.

Everyone was hungry at the moment so you headed towards the food court after entering the mall. After picking where each person wanted to eat you met up at the table with your trays of food. Finishing up your food and throwing away the scraps and setting the tray down you asked where everyone wanted to go. You first went to a book and music store where Maki bought some new cds. Then you headed to a clothing store where almost everyone got a sweater or t-shirt. Lastly you headed to the sports store, you had figured you’d end up here at the end of the day.

“Hey, what do you think of this cross-body bag?” Toru asked, sporting a neon green bag with orange accents. You grimianced, “Fashion really isn’t your thing Toru.” He scoffed saying he

liked it and went to look at the Volleyballs they had. You walked over to Osamu who was looking at the tennis rackets, “You gonna take up tennis?” He hummed in a questioning tone and looked at you, “Oh. No, I’m just kinda wandering at this point. Nothing I really need in here.” You nodded, “Yeah I’m pretty much the same, nothing’s really catching my eye unless I wanna shop for early christmas gifts.”

After 30 minutes of wandering around the store and buying nothing the guys decided they needed to head back to the hotel. As you were exiting the store the security alarms started to go off before an employee told everyone they needed to get back in the store. You looked around confused before the employee started accusing you all of stealing. Sure a few of you looked like degenerates but none of you actually were. You glanced at everyone before stopping at Toru, “God damnit Toru, you’re still wearing that god awful bag.” He looked over at you after you called his name, “Huh? Oh I didn’t even realize it. I wasn’t stealing.”

The employee scoffed, “Then what do you call it? Borrowing?” Scrunching his eyebrows Toru took off the bag, “No I call it an accident.” Ripping the bag out of his hands the employee scowled, “Don’t get an attitude with me young man.” You furrowed your eyebrows taking a step towards Toru and the employee, “He didn’t have an attitude if anyone has one it’s you. Come on dude it was an accident. Who would willingly steal that ugly ass bag?”

The grouchy employee raised his eyebrows, “You all have an attitude? Let’s see where that attitude gets you in the mall holding cells.” After that he called mall security where you were all escorted to the back of the mall where the holding cell was for people who intentionally stole. You honestly thought it was absurd that you were in here. Even more absurd that you only got one call for all of you combined. After weighing the options you decided the best bet was Atsumu and Osamu’s parents. The boys didn’t want to call the coach otherwise they would’ve gotten in trouble and you didn’t want to call your grandma because she was probably sleeping anyway.

As you all sat there waiting for their parents to get here you looked at Toru, “I can’t believe you got us into this situation again.” He threw his hands up in defense, “It’s not like I did it on purpose. If anything it’s your mouth that got us in here.” Crossing your arms you looked out the cell, “Yah well maybe if the manager wasn’t a dick I wouldn’t have needed to say anything. He was totally out of line.” Everyone nodded and sat in silence.

A few minutes later the twins’ mom arrived with the security guard. “Seriously Atsumu and Osamu, what did you do this time?” She questioned folding her arms. “They didn’t do anything ma’am, it was my fault I’m sorry.” She sighed and looked at the twins, “Is this them?” You whipped your heads to look at the twins in confusion as they nodded, “You can explain what happened over lunch tomorrow, how about that?” She asked, as she ushered everyone out of the mall. “Yeah that sounds great, thanks Miya-san.”

Walking out of the mall Atsumu and Suna got into the car with the twins’ mom while you and Osamu talked briefly, “So much for not meeting your mom in a holding cell.” You mumbled looking at your feet. Osamu laughed before giving you a quick hug, “See you tomorrow I guess.” You nodded as you hugged him back, “Yeah see you tomorrow.” As he got in the car you turned to the Seijoh boys to walk back to their hotel before Shinsuke picked you up, “That was weird right? Like what happened? Her knowing who I am and then randomly inviting me to dinner after I said it was my fault? Or am I crazy?” You asked the boys. “No, that was weird, but you’re definitely still crazy.” You shoved Toru running away before he could shove you back. He chased you the whole way to the hotel with Hajime yelling at you both to cut it out.

Tag List:

@officialfictionalwreck @chloji @mynscorner @halesandy @elianetsantana @kaleidoscopekai @browneyespinkhair @rinsangel @marvel-ing-at-it-all @writersandroses @lilith412426 @noodlenerd101 @bakugouswh0r3 @redheadedpineapple @chantalkate16 @confusedturtle @yqshirov @kazewo @kit-kat428 @tetsuhoes

#miya osamu imagine #osamu smau #osamu imagine #osamu hcs #haikyuu osamu #osamu fluff #osamu x reader #osamu x you #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu smau #haikyu x reader #haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#smau #baked goods smau

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distinctlywhumpthing · 3 years

Text

Together 4: Glass.

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CW: explicit language and content, torture, captivity, wounds, implied sex work, strangulation, choking, suicide (hanging), suicidal thoughts/explicit planning, mouth whump description (bleeding, asphyxiation, choking), breathing, attempted noncon, bruises, beating, conditioning, dehumanization, noncon touching, drugs, alcohol, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, whumpee as caretaker, letmeknowifimissedany

August once asked what they do to me. Mouthed it, like he couldn’t stop himself from forming the words, but didn’t bother voicing it out of horror or just because he knew I couldn’t answer. I wouldn’t fucking know where to begin anyway.

Probably down on my knees.

At this point, our situation boggles my mind even more than when they trained me to be silent. That was logical when you psychoanalyzed it but shit got fucked sideways when August came into the picture. It’s just senseless now, an unending labyrinth of manipulation and control. Double the captives means double the fun. I was lucky to be alone for so long. There were two others before him but never like this. In the grand scheme of things, they’re all mere drops of water in the swimming pool of my time here. It was another woman first, although I never learned her name. She seemed like a Tiffany or a Heather and was really pretty, too but never trusted me. Wouldn’t even look at me, as if I wasn’t just as much of a prisoner as her.

Poor thing was in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw something she shouldn’t have. She didn’t last long at all. Unraveled faster than you can say, “Money’s on the table.” You’d think she’d have a little more grit. I mean you hear stories and can only imagine the shit they put up with in that industry, but it was like something out of an exorcist movie. Crying hysterically, throwing herself at the walls and doors, and trying to strangle the life out of me like I was sitting on a key. They came in and intervened but not before she’d purpled my neck so I could barely breathe. That was the only time they ever took the shock collar off. She spent the next bit catatonic and then one day when they brought me back, she was dangling by her own diamond-studded jeggings from a pipe on the ceiling, toes just a few inches from the ground. Damn slow way to die. They took out the pipe.

I’ve given it a hell of a lot of thought myself. She’d obviously been trying something similar with smacking herself into the concrete walls, but that will only get you a concussion that makes it feel like you’ve gone a few rings deeper into Hell. No, thank you. My choice would be the naked lightbulb on the wall, next to the door. If I shoved it far enough down my throat before it broke, I’m pretty sure I would asphyxiate before they could do anything. The key would be to bleed enough into my bronchial tube and inhale enough shards of glass to shred my lungs a bit. A little internal bleeding down my esophagus wouldn’t hinder the cause but certainly wouldn’t be fatal on its own, never mind the risk of just cutting my tongue and mouth to ribbons if it breaks too early. In that case, I’d be fucked. That’s why Wyatt leaves it there, uncovered, even though other lightbulbs down the hallway have metal cages screwed over them. Tempting me to risk it. He also knows that, now, I’d never leave August. I feel responsible and that’s why he holds my life in his hands. The torture will never stop and August is better off with me to take care of him in whatever way I can, even if it doesn’t even come close to reparation.

—

The next guy was probably mid-thirties and built like a truck. I can’t begin to imagine what he did to wind up here. He didn’t take to captivity well either. Everything they’d put into him, he’d let out onto me. The first time, he was angling to get a sweeter kind of release than just wailing on me. I was pretzeled around one of the legs of my bed frame, while he punched and clawed at me, so hell-bent on not letting go, I was screaming my head off for help despite the collar. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Wyatt doesn’t like anyone to touch me. That went over like a lead balloon. Playing off his proclivity like somehow I had any right to decide not to be raped. Wyatt would have stopped it anyway and I could have saved myself the next few days of my bunkmate beating the living shit out of me undisturbed as long as he left it at just that. As soon as Wyatt decided I’d learned my lesson, or was sick of seeing me limping and bruised, that guy was fish food.

The second bed was empty for a long time after that even though I’m sure there were others. Wyatt has a list a mile-long of people he’d like to get his hands on for one reason or another, but I never saw them. Wyatt would still bring me out to toy with me in his usual ways. The buffoons would bring me out when he wasn’t around for entertainment but they know better than to touch me more than cursory shoves to keep me cooperating and even then, more often with their phones or other inanimate objects, rather than their hands. To them, it was endlessly entertaining to get me high out of my mind and mess with me or make me play Emma Fortyhands until I puked all over myself. I should have known Wyatt wasn’t wasting any time during this plateau of suffering. From what August says, he was here for a handful of days, maybe even two weeks, before they made us roommates. Wyatt just talked to him, drilling him for hours. He had been screening him, looking for the perfect match before binding us together in torment.

They always take me first and bring me straight to Wyatt. He likes to talk to me about what he has planned for August, trying to get a rise out of me. Like I’d be dumb enough to think that any amount of disgust or fear on my part would make a lick of difference for August. If anything, Wyatt would double it just for my reaction. Next, Wyatt makes sure I’ll make it through what he has planned for me without passing out. The humane thing would be to give me a second meal or something but instead, he gives me whatever his henchmen have lying around. An unpredictable twist added to my slow destruction. I’m lucky if it’s an energy shot or some gross drink that tastes like fruit-flavored battery acid and leaves me shaking. More often, it’s “just a bump” of something that makes my heart race and the whole session so unbearable I’m screaming in my head at the top of my lungs until I come down.

One time, he gave me a tab of acid. His favorite kind of experiment, the ultimate demonstration of his success. To no one’s surprise, I’m conditioned enough that I still didn’t speak and followed every instruction. That was, no contest, my worst day on this fucked-sideways merry-go-round. I was tripping so hard. Too slow and too fast at the same time, no distinction between myself and everything around me. Wyatt’s barbaric plan turned into a barbaric fuck-up. A small part of me understood what I had done even before I came down and when I stumbled out, I was met by silence instead of the usual dumb peanut-gallery comments. They threw me into the shower after, like always, but left me there for hours since I was still tripping. I was hysterical by the time they let me out. By some miracle, or just Wyatt perversely delaying the end, he had actually called a real doctor.

—

Today, Wyatt hands me a double shot of whiskey because it’s “cute” to watch me struggle when I’m tipsy. I knock it back in one swallow, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that frightens me. He finishes getting me ready and then smacks me on the ass to get me moving. Once I’m in the room, he starts feeding me instructions even though I already know what he wants from me today. This way, he’s in control of my every action, like he’s thinking for me, while I just focus on getting air into my lungs, fighting through the alcohol hitting my bloodstream and burning in my empty stomach. I can throw it up in the shower later if I need to. I just need to survive this.

By the time I stumble out, I’m inevitably a mess. Crying, shaking, and covered in sweat, even on the days I get the raw, straight edge experience. One of the baboons walks me to the small concrete room, empty except the industrial-looking shower head in the ceiling above the drain. The controls are on the outside of the room which is how they make sure the water is ice cold and stays on for exactly five minutes. They take the collar off and I get a bar of soap before they lock me in. It used to be orange soap bars that made my skin feel dry even wet. After that, it was green with the same problem but a stronger smell that clung to me all the time, which wasn’t half bad. Lately, it’s a white, rounder bar, that’s distinctly feminine, and leaves my skin soft, which would be concerning if I wasn’t already too balls-deep in my worst nightmare to care.

I used to dance in and out of the freezing shower while I soaped up but now I stay under the whole time. It’s the only thing that makes any damn sense anymore, the one small touch of reality in this shit storm. I stand under the frigid water and then shake and shiver once it’s turned off until the cold becomes a buzz on my skin and in my veins. Depending on the day, I wait for seconds or hours until they toss me a small, scratchy towel and clean clothes. The waiting is part of it. Not because I’m covered in goosebumps, muscles cramping so that I have to curl in on myself for heat, but because of what I know is waiting for me next.

When they finally let me out and lock me into the collar, it’s all I can do not to run back to our basement hole as fast as my legs will carry me to make sure August hasn’t bled out or gone into shock while they kept me from him. It’s all I care about anymore, helping him survive, making him as comfortable as possible. Honestly, it is the least I can do. It’s my fault he’s here at all, kept to be part of a set. Not to mention the heinous torture. If I had known, I would have done my damndest to kill him before it ever even started.

And I would have inhaled that fucking lightbulb immediately after.

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Taglist: @deluxewhump

#whump #whumpees #multiple whumpees #caregiver #hurt/comfort #mouth whump #is mind whump a thing #captivity cw #dehumanization cw #torture cw #angst #drugs cw #suicide cw #alcohol cw #emmas a badass #emma and august

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queenofcats17 · 3 years

Text

The Ink Demonth 30

So, after seeing this post, I wanted to write it.

I have just realized that @hello-im-not-a-possum is the originator of this AU idea, so this is for them.

This is old and I decided to repurpose it for the “Partner” prompt

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Henry…honestly wasn’t sure what was going on.

He’d left the infirmary after getting the valve wheel and had been greeted by…a sight he hadn’t seen before. It was a Boris wearing pants, suspenders, a shirt, and a Bendy mask on the side of its head. And it was holding a dustpan.

Henry couldn’t help but stare. He wasn’t sure where this Boris had come from and where it had gotten a shirt of all things. He was assuming this was Sammy. Mostly because of the dustpan and the mask, as well as the fact that this was where Sammy usually popped up.

“….Hi,” Henry said slowly.

The Boris raised its dustpan menacingly. Henry took an instinctive step back.

“Hey! Wait!” He put his hands up, scrambling to find something to appease the irate music director.

This was a change, so maybe he could pick Sammy up as a companion. Maybe he could save him. But he had to act quickly. Sammy in this state wasn’t exactly the patient sort.

He held up a can of soup. “D-Do you want some soup?” He asked with a shaky smile.

The Boris slowly lowered its dustpan.

“You would offer me sustenance?” It asked with Sammy’s voice.

“Yeah, sure.”

For a moment, Sammy stared at Henry. Then he dropped the dustpan and sunk to his knees.

“My Lord,” he gasped, lowering his head.

Henry grimaced, kneeling and rolling the soup can to his former friend. This was weird, but he could work with it.

“Do you…want to come with me?” Henry asked slowly.

“I would follow you anywhere, my Lord,” Sammy said without a hint of sarcasm or insincerity.

“Okay. Cool.” Henry nodded and turned away. “Well, let’s get going.”

Sammy discarded his mask and followed without another word.

Henry hadn’t been entirely sure how they’d get from the Music Department to Boris’ safehouse, but luckily for him the Ink Demon still triggered to chase them. It seemed generally displeased that Sammy was with Henry now, and grew especially displeased when Sammy tried to attack it.

“Sammy, no! We gotta go!” Henry yelled as he dragged Sammy through the hallways. “We are not fighting it!”

“But I must protect you!” Sammy protested, waving his ax in the general direction of the quickly gaining Ink Demon.

“While I appreciate that, I’d rather have you alive!” Henry responded. “I’m not going to lose you again!”

Hearing this made Sammy abruptly stop swinging, which made it considerably easier to drag him. Henry only noticed how much Sammy’s tail was wagging once they had successfully escaped the Ink Demon.

“Sammy? Are you alright?” Henry asked.

Sammy didn’t respond, just staring ahead with a dreamy look while his tail vigorously wagged.

“My Lord values me,” he whispered to himself.

Henry couldn’t help but sigh. This was going to be a thing he would have to deal with, huh? At least Sammy was alright. And the tail wagging was pretty cute.

It was at that moment that the bacon soup can rolled into view and Boris poked his head around the corner.

Sammy jumped into action, getting in front of Henry and brandishing his ax.

“Speak your name and state your purpose!” He demanded.

Boris whimpered and moved away, ears drooping.

“Sammy, it’s alright, he’s a friend,” Henry said, getting between Sammy and Boris. “He’s going to help us.”

Sammy narrowed his eyes, pausing for a moment before slowly lowering his ax.

“Very well,” he said. “Rejoice, hound, for my Lord has chosen to spare you.”

Boris looked over at Henry with an expression that radiated confusion.

“I know, he’s kind of weird.” Henry smiled apologetically and patted Boris’ head. “But he’s on our side this time.”

Boris nodded, although he still regarded Sammy warily on their way back to the safe-house.

It didn’t take long after they got to the safe-house for Sammy to become incredibly attached to Boris as well. The majority of this was because Boris had provided them both with bacon soup. It also helped Sammy to see Henry interacting positively with Boris. Seeing how much Henry cared about Boris convinced Sammy that the wolf was to be trusted. And more importantly, protected.

This meant when the time came for Alice to steal Boris away, Sammy fought her off tooth and nail. So when Henry woke up, he was greeted with two cartoon wolves, ready to continue helping him on his journey.

Even before that, though, Henry found himself incredibly glad to have Sammy around. Yes, the former music director tended to throw himself into dangerous situations with no regard for his own personal safety, but he was also incredibly helpful with dealing with the corrupted Butcher Gang members and Searchers.

And it was really nice to have someone else to talk to, even if Henry did still have to deal with Sammy’s prophet talk. He hadn’t realized the toll it had taken on him to have to go through all of this alone and almost completely silent.

“You know, I’m really glad you’re here, Sammy,” Henry remarked as they headed down to level 14.

They had finished with all of Alice’s errands except for the one on the Projectionist’s level and Henry wanted to express his appreciation now in case the Projectionist killed Sammy. Because Henry was almost certain Sammy would immediately try to fight the Projectionist.

Sammy blinked, clearly surprised by this comment, and quickly looked away. “I’m glad I can be of service to you, my Lord.”

“It’s not just ‘being of service’,” Henry insisted. “You’re a good ally to have and I’m glad me and Boris have you to help watch our backs.”

Sammy said nothing, although his tail began to vigorously wag.

Boris made a noise that might have been a laugh and hugged Sammy. The relationship between the two of them had improved even further since the safe-house, which made Henry happy to see.

“I am…glad that you both enjoy my company,” Sammy said slowly, tail wagging even more vigorously at the hug. “…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Henry smiled and patted Sammy’s shoulder.

The elevator reached level 14 a minute later, and Henry and Sammy got out.

Henry approached the railing, scanning the ink flooded level below. If they were lucky, maybe they could avoid the Projectionist.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be in the cards.

“Ssh…There he is.” Alice’s voice came through the speakers as the Projectionist walked out of one of the doorways. “The Projectionist. Skulking in the darkness. You be sure to stay out of his light, if you don’t want trouble. Just bring me back the pieces I need.”

“Alright. We need to get the ink hearts and avoid him,” Henry whispered. “So don’t go fighting him, okay?” He looked over to make sure Sammy understood, only to see that Sammy was already jumping over the railing to go attack the Projectionist.

“Fuck!” Henry all but sprinted down the stairs to where Sammy was attempting to defeat the Projectionist.

Thankfully, they were able to take him out before Sammy was killed, although Henry did die at one point. But, as usual, he was resurrected at a Bendy statue.

“The monster has been defeated!” Sammy proclaimed proudly once the Projectionist fell.

For a moment, Henry just stood there, catching his breath. Then he grabbed Sammy by the shoulders and all but slammed him against the wall.

“M-My Lord?” Sammy’s eyes widened, taken aback by Henry’s sudden violent gesture. Henry had never behaved like this toward him before.

“Stop doing that!” Henry yelled.

“S-Stop doing what, my Lord?”

“Stop just running into danger like that!” Tears were welling up in Henry’s eyes.

“But I…I must protect you,” Sammy said.

“Then don’t try to die!” Henry’s grip on Sammy’s shoulders tightened slightly. “If you want to protect me then stay!” His voice dropped in volume as he began to quietly sob. “Please. I can’t lose you again, Sammy. Please.”

Sammy paused, unsure how to react. On one hand, he felt he needed to defend his Lord from whatever threat might arise, taking preemptive action if needed. On the other hand, it was clearly upsetting his Lord that he was putting himself in danger. But why did it matter? Sammy was but a humble servant of his Lord. His life was of no consequence.

Still, if his Lord wished for him to cease these actions, he should obey.

“Very well,” he nodded solemnly. “I will…Try not to behave so recklessly in the future.”

“Thank you,” Henry whispered, pulling Sammy into a partner. “I…I know you don’t think of yourself like this but…I consider you my friend. And my partner.”

Sammy’s tail began to vigorously wag once more, which got a laugh out of Henry.

“Alright.” Henry pulled back with a tearful smile. “Let’s, uh, let’s go get those ink hearts and get back to Alice so we can get out of here.”

Sammy’s tail abruptly stopped wagging and his ears drew back.

“I still don’t see why we must play her games,” he grumbled as he followed Henry into the labyrinth.

“I know I know.” Henry nodded as he scanned the corners for ink hearts. “But she controls the elevator.”

Not to mention, they needed to follow the script, even with this change.

Sammy grumbled under his breath, but said nothing more on the subject. Instead, he began to sniff the air. Before Henry could ask what he was doing, Sammy was off like a shot.

“Hey! Sammy! Where are you going?!” Henry scrambled after him.

It turned out Sammy could sniff out the ink hearts. Which was unexpected (even though Sammy was currently a canine), but not unwelcome, and ended up cutting the time Henry usually spent searching in half. This skill also helped them get out of the labyrinth since Henry hadn’t picked up the ink heart on the platform in his hurry to save Sammy.

As they grabbed the last ink heart and got back in the elevator, Henry once again thought about how happy he was to have Sammy there with him. He wouldn’t be alone this loop. Not even for a second.

#bendy and the ink machine #fanfiction #sheepdog sammy au #batim au #sammy lawrence #henry stein #boris the wolf #the ink demonth

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electricbluebutterflies · 3 years

Note

Nina/Mattias + fight sex but they’re idly bickering about something that doesn’t matter very much

Canon-divergent / the little adventure up in frozen hell took long enough for this dynamic to develop (because what even is a timeline and I have no clue how long it actually was on the show). Also, for plot purposes and context, this does make use of my belief that everyone is just SLIGHTLY aged up on the show and in my head most of the main lineup is 20ish. Oh, and first time writing these babes so fingers crossed I got characterization okay. Obviously NSFWish ahead, a little more graphic than I’ve written in a while and also involves a First Time...

He’s keeping the third blanket from her.

It is, objectively, the most petty Nina has felt since the whole almost-dying thing happened, maybe even since the getting-captured bit. Trying to get under his skin, trying to handle the daily shifting of their dynamic, has been almost as exhausting as trying to stay alive. Which in itself is enough of a challenge, because somehow they are lost and whenever Nina gets back to civilization she is going to have so many comments about Druskelle navigational instincts or the apparent total lack thereof. So. Many. Comments. The moment she has a possibly appreciative audience, because she is not wasting her breath on that here right now and-

At least tonight they’re in some kind of fishing shack again, clear space to build a fire and a pile of blankets of various questionable quality. There have been nights they haven’t been so lucky. She’s saving her energy for where it matters. But on the other hand, she is a delicate fragile creature who has made a point of avoiding this sort of climate, and…

Mathias still has the third blanket, and the fire is going well enough that they objectively can stay on opposite sides of this space, and Nina decides it’s time to change the game.

He’s pretty, okay? He’s annoying and stubborn and honestly at this point him technically being The Enemy is relatively low on the list of reasons he’s stomping on her every last nerve, but the man has two things in his favor – he’s loyal, and he is very nice to look at. Nina does not historically have the attention span when it comes to that level of pretty, but this one has decided to make it difficult for her. Like, he can say up and down that he does not want her, but they’ve shared a sleep-space – “bed” is too nice a word for most of those situations – for a week or so and she doesn’t need words, she knows what she wakes up to.

And she knows how damn respectful he is, she thinks as she starts undoing her vest buttons. This outfit, while very cute two weeks ago before her entire life took a very undesired detour, was not made for seduction. But if she does it slow enough, she hopes she won’t set him off. The other time she had to deal with that element of things, he was polite and turned his back even though she didn’t ask him to, and she assumes the same will happen here and she’ll get nowhere and-

Okay, fine, it’s not like taking off her vest reveals anything outright explicit. The current light makes her shirt a little more see-through than it’s meant to be, but still. She is about as decent as she ever gets.

“What are you doing?” he asks, tone about as calm as she’s ever heard him.

“You do not need two blankets,” Nina counters. “I want.”

And oh does that phrase cover more than his little Fjerdan mind has probably ever thought of. All those comments he’s made about assuming she’s trying to seduce him? Yeah, hasn’t been the main goal yet but she’s thought about it. Seeing what she could do to him – she does not expect he’d take any initiative there, highly doubts he’s ever even kissed anyone – would not be the worst way to spend an evening. So, that’s part of the plan now. Make him squirm, get on top of him, and take her prize. Should be easy.

As if to prove her point, she starts loosening the laces of her shirt just enough to easily take it off. She hadn’t bothered to wear anything under it, another brilliant idea proving that two-weeks-ago Nina had questionable judgment in all things, and it is all too easy to push it up over her shoulders and off her arms and…

He’s still watching. He looks wide-eyed and possibly concussed, but he’s still watching.

If Nina were a different sort of person, and probably also if she had gotten laid within the past six months (for the record it has been eight and that cute little bartender with the long nails was a way better lover than she was an informant), she would cross her arms over her breasts and stop here and wait for whatever protective instincts Mathias has to kick in. Even given what she’s just done, she looks vulnerable and cute enough to wake him up like that, and-

“What are you doing?” he asks again, this time more hostile. Good. When he’s frustrated his voice gets all growly, and that does things to her, and-

“Can we get this over with?”

“This?”

“The part where we have questionable hatesex that I will forget ever happened within the next year and you will remember for the rest of your life because whatever little creature gets stuck with you someday will not fuck you like I want to.”

For a moment, she’s pretty sure she broke him. This is definitely not about the blanket anymore, and-

“I. Don’t. Hate. You.”

Nina laughs. “Yeah well you are deeper in denial than anybody I’ve ever met. I am everything that scares you and you are stuck with me and I’m not sure which part of your code I do not violate but I am sure you would’ve-”

“You saved my life. I owe you everything.”

“Cute. Obligation. Great reason to put up with someone but still do everything you can to drag your feet about it.”

“Why do you… want me?” He sounds all hesitant, and good grief has nobody ever told this man what he looks like? Or do all of his people look that good at that age… that’s plausible enough…

“Limited options right now. It’s you or my hand and you’re warmer.”

She is not sure what she’s expecting beyond not what he actually does.

Fine, so she’s been good and hasn’t looked more than she had to when he’s been in a state of undress. Watching him strip right now, layers of leathers and furs that are apparently frightfully easy to take off, is different. He is wanting her to watch, keeping his eyes on her the whole time until he is completely naked in front of her and… she can’t help licking her lips, he is pretty and she wants all of that all over her. Now.

“This or your hand,” he repeats in a way that suggests that at least she probably won’t have to explain the general patterns of female masturbation to him. “Make your choice.”

She about tackles him.

He’s built like a damn tree, Nina reminds herself in the process. Solid enough to handle her attempt at literally jumping him, which doesn’t exactly work but does throw off his balance for a moment, and she gets him pulled down for a bitey kiss. He has just a little bit of scruff now and she’d wanna see what that feels like between her legs but also she is pretty sure Fjerdan men do not do that and she doesn’t want to completely wreck him in one go, and while she still suspects all of this is new to him, he has good instincts.

Her skirt and underwear are feeling like too much of an undesired obstacle, so she undoes them with her free hand while trying to stick her tongue down his throat. So she’s a little aggressive, whatever, he’s clearly into it and nobody gets hurt by it.

“What do you need me to do,” he breathes, and oh he can admit being clueless, this is a treasure, this is-

She grabs his wrist and puts his hand between her thighs. “Poke around until you like the noises I’m making.”

Mathias has good hands. She’s known this for several days now, but it is a different thing to know it with one of said hands exploring her soft parts. She feels a fingertip inside her then quickly pulled back, another batting her clit back and forth with uncertainty. Then the finger inside her is back, and she knows how wet she is, and-

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs.

“That’s why I’m leading. I’m not giving you the chance.”

But he couldn’t hurt her like this, she thinks. Not with his hands prepping her and a second finger up inside her and accidentally finding her sensitive spot, not with his prick hard against her belly, not with his mouth taking kisses as he learns what he likes. There is something inherently good in him and she worries for a moment that what they are about to do will break it, and yet-

“Get on your back,” she orders. Easier for both of them if she leads, she reminds herself.

He does without any complaint, and she takes a moment to enjoy the view. The solidness of him, for the next few minutes all hers. Would any of the girls he might get stuck with back home be able to handle this? And the way he’s looking up at her, a scared but willing participant in whatever she decides to do. Maybe he’s right. Maybe hatesex is the wrong word.

She straddles him, knees around his hips, and drops.

Blame the dry spell. Blame the absolute weirdness of the situation. Blame the fact that she is tired and hungry and cold. None of that matters. He feels good inside her and she makes a noise she cannot describe and-

“Am I…?”

“No. Feels good.”

She rolls her hips against his to prove a point, works him even deeper into her and leans down for more kisses. She can taste the shock and the innocence of him. This isn’t how he thought his first time would go, she is sure of it now, and yet he is allowing her and-

His hips jerk up and she makes a shocked little noise. “Do that again.”

He does, and she continues her pattern, and… it’s good, on her side. Not the best sex she’s ever had, but his hesitance is useful enough. She doesn’t trust him to say if he’s getting close, so she stays focused on his face, looking for signs, looking for-

She shifts her angle just a little bit, his prick hits the right spot inside her harder than she expects, and she shatters.

As she comes down, she sees that his expression has turned to something worse, scared and worried and unable to speak. He’s still hard inside her, at least, but he is motionless and cold and she doesn’t-

“Did I hurt you?”

Nina laughs. She shouldn’t, this is a legitimately valid question, but-

“No. What you just did felt amazing. Your turn.”

She resumes rolling her hips against his to indicate the conversation is over and she does not want to explain herself, and a few clenches of her inner walls later he spills inside her. It’s a beautiful thing to experience, the sudden warmth overlapping with the strangled gasp of surprise and-

“You know this means I have to marry you,” he says when he’s capable of coherent thought. “If there’s any chance…”

She shifts position so their bodies are no longer connected. “No. It doesn’t.”

“But I…”

“We’re too different,” she murmurs. “You know that. There’s nowhere safe. If anything… if the worst happens, I’ll lie.”

“Honor is honor. If there is even a chance-“

And oh, for a moment she wants it too. For a moment, she lets herself think about the impossibility of being all that she could be, both Grisha and wife, not forced to choose between her complexities. Unrealistic, she knows, a flighty daydream at best but she wants all the same.

“Nothing to worry about. My last cycle finished three days before your people tried to kill me, so… right now I can’t get pregnant.”

“Still. If it happened… I would stand by you.”

She kisses his face, covers the angles of him in wet kisses. “Good to know.”

#pixievixen #helnik #nina x mathias #ebf writes fic

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deberiaestarescribiendo · 3 years

Text

Honor him. Younger Mercenary Oberyn Martell x f!reader fanfic. #Writer Wednesday 05/26/2021

Summary: You receive the worst news, Oberyn Martell died, your first lover and the first adventure you lived.

Once when you were younger you ran away from your house escaping an unhappy engagement and the promise of a dull life. But your family hired an elite force of mercenaries to find you not knowing that their leader is a Prince of Dorne.

Word count: 6,5k (ups sorry)

Warning: Blood, violence, Oberyn’s death is mentioned as canon in the book and show, Ophidiophobia(fear of snakes), unhappy arranged marriage, alcohol. +18 SMUT (it means no minors, pls) virgen f!reader, oral sex (f¡ receiving descriptive, male receiving mentioned) p in v sex (unprotected cos there’s no durex in Essos BUT USE PROTECTION IN REAL LIFE PEOPLE) grieving.

A/N: I'M SORRY I'M LATE this is for #Writer Wednesday, the challenge created by @autumnleaves1991-blog

I read the books a long time ago, yep, I’m one of those people that said “I’ll finish them when George publish them all” so I got ASOIAF wiki and run with it, so buckle up for some bad geography from Essos and inaccurate cultural stuff. I think this is the longest thing I’ve written and the smuttiest, so sorry if it’s cringy.

Honor him

“Apparently he won the combat but the wounds were too severe and he died”

You raise your eyes from the book. One of the young servants whispers to another collecting the dead leaves on the ground.

“What is it?”

They rise from the ground nervously expecting that you will scold them for gossiping

“We heard the news from the world. A bard was chanting them on the market, my lady” she approaches the fountain; you’re seated on the ceramic tile, feet inside the water, refreshing from the blazing sun in this part of Essos.

“And what did he say?”

“He said there was a trial in Kingslanding. For the death of king Joffrey, and it was his cousin...”

“His uncle, the imp” clarifies the other and the other girl rolls her eyes

“Yes, his uncle was on trial for his murder. And Prince Oberyn from Dorne was his champion”

“The imp asked for a trial by combat, you see, my lady” adds the other

“He battled the Mountain; he crushed the prince’s skull apparently”

“But! but! His blade had poison on it so the Mountain died too” says the other girl excitedly

“Oberyn died?” you mutter, your hands are limp and you don’t realize that you have drop your book until you hear the “blop” sound in the water and it splashed your tunic

Your mind travels to years past in an instant: A journey through the vast empty lands of this continent and how you loved for the first time.

The pages of your book are getting more and more transparent while the black trickles of ink disappear in the water. You wish to scream, to rip your clothes and your hair out of your scalp but you do nothing.

“Are you alright, my lady?” the girls look at each other when you don’t move or try to retrieve your book from the water.

You always thought the greatest pain he gave you was leaving you at your father’s door many years ago, but now he’s gone forever. You always thought, while looking from your window at night, that you will see him one day, coming back on his dark horse ready to steal you away again, but now that he’s dead that small hope, that tiny flame that you kept in your heart is gone.

Your childish hopes and dreams of reviving your first love are shattered. It’s true that your life has changed, you’re a grown woman now, wiser and experience but you still fantasize over him, seeing his face and his hands on your lovers.

“We should call physician” you heard them whisper, but so far away

“Where is he anyway?”

“At his clinic, you silly girl, run”

“You do not need to call him” you mutter “I’m fine. Excuse me”

Not caring for splashing water all over the house, you run to your chambers and collapse into your bed. Buried in the soft pillows, you cried, muffling your howls with them so nobody could hear. Late in the night the moon and stars shine bright casting bluish shadows in your room.

Your body is tired but restless and in the night shade a timid ray of white light illuminates that small scar in your forearm in the shape of a half-moon. And you kiss it, at least you will always have something of his carved in your skin.

Many years ago. Essos.

“You’re cheating, boy” the big man slams the table, the wooden pieces and the coins that all the players have laid at the center fall down. He points at you spitting from a mouth full of crooked black teeth “Show me your arms, boy, I know you’re lying”

“I’m just lucky, sir” you raise your blouse’s sleeves and your arms up innocently and somehow it makes him angrier

He insults you in whatever language he speaks and slams the table up, the players run and the loud tavern suddenly gets quite, waiting for the next movement. You’re an ant in front of that enormous giant, when he stands tall and walks menacingly towards you, you freeze, he doesn’t listen to you when you apologize, it doesn’t matter anyway, you just did to gain time and look for an exit but the room is too crowded.

“Here, boy, I’ve also many tricks under my sleeve” he has a dirty bag hanging from his belt and takes it and throws it at you. It lands at your feet and for a second you smirk not knowing what a bag could do to you, but then it moves and in a blur you see a green and yellow thing twisting until you feel it pressing and slithering over your body. The snake, a beautiful, shiny creature with vibrant colors faces you hissing and shows its fangs. Everything happens to fast. Out of instinct you protect your face with your arms and the animal understands this as a threat and it bites. The pain rings like a bell all over your body every nerve in your body aflame.

In a second, cold blood wets your face and you gasp when you see the snake’s head slide to the side separated from its body with a clean cut.

“I’m sorry for the demise of your little friend” A tall lean man stands beside the giant. You can’t see his face, since he’s covered with black turban and his body is in full armor. One of his arms still holds a curved sword that has snake blood on it; the other has a dagger pointed to your enemy’s neck.

“That viper was worth more than you or your little friend and you will pay for it”

“I doubt it. You know my little friend here” and he points his sword to you “it’s worth a lot and if I don’t tend to her wound rapidly she will die and that’s a shame. So, decide now, do you want to be a setback or do you want to keep living your stinky life longer?”

By brute force, the giant decides his fate and tries to disarm the man who in a swift movement cuts his throat and his blood and destiny joints that of his pet.

“You’ve been quite difficult to find, child” he opens the fabric covering his face. His eyes are dark, dark beard covers his defined jaw line and an amused smirk graces his handsome face. “Let me see that arm” he lowers his weapons, shamelessly cleaning his dagger on the back of the dead tall man and walks to you until your back is pressed against one of the tavern columns. Sheathing his sword, his hand takes yours and raises your arm, evaluating the wound and he hums deeply “Oh, sweet child”

“Am I going to die?” you cry

“Probably”

“If it’s my father who commands you to find me, I beg you to let me die; I do not wish to go back. Death is better than that dreadful place” you shake your head determined but terrified at the same time. He looks at you with his brow troubled

“Death is never better than anything” and he drags your arm to his face. His dark gaze fix on you while he sucks on the wound so hard that for a moment you think he’s drinking your life away. But then he lets you go and spits to the ground “Let’s hope that’s enough. You will come with me so I can give you the antidote”

“I told you, I have no desire to return to my home”

“It’s a pity, then, that I don’t care about that” he grins.

He gave you so many small jars to drink. Some tasted sweet some bitter and some other made you want to vomit and not drink or eat ever again. But you’re alive. A few hours passed, and then a day, then two, and you’re irrevocably getting back home.

You’ve learnt that your father, in an attempt to find you, has commissioned this elite group of mercenaries to retrieve you; and he’s the leader. It’s a small company but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. All of them seemed to have many different skills, weapons hidden at every corner of their body, they speak languages you don’t know and you ride your horse tied to it watching each one of them with a suspicious look. After two days riding with them you have decided that there’s no way you could escape now. There’s always one of them standing guard and just a small glare your way gets every thought of escaping out of your head. So, even if it’s dramatic, you decided that your best option is to die. A few days in the desert without water and food and your father will receive a corpse.

“Drink, little girl, you’re withering like a flower” the leader, the man that saved you, says handing you the waterskin

“No, thank you” you turn your head, seated under the shadow of a very thin and dry bush. The orange and violet light announces the immanent sunset where you have stopped for the day.

“You’ve been refusing water all day. You have to drink” he says and pushes the waterskin to your face once more.

“No, thank you” you repeat and he sighs. Thinking you’ve won as he throws the waterskin by his side, you smile subtly until he’s close, crouched down, knees over the sand, looking at you.

“Maybe being a spoiled little flower works for your father, but not to me. Drink or I will make you” He takes your chin and raises it to meet his eyes

“I’m not thirsty” you say, your lips are already dry and they hurt, your tongue is thick inside your mouth and your body screams for just one drop.

“Don’t challenge me, child” he lowers his voice and you gulp

“I’m not a child” you protest, he keeps calling you that and honestly you don’t think he’s much older that you

“Then why do you behave like one? Drink, for the last time” His mouth is a fine line now and his grip on your chin is a little bit firmer

When you don’t answer he opens the waterskin and tucking on your lower lip he pours a small trickle of water in your mouth. The liquid taste sweet, your body works on it own and you open your mouth to drink more with desperation.

“So you weren’t thirsty...stubborn girl” he smirks and you want to slap his smug and beautiful face

He stops pouring water and laughs when you rise up drinking the last drops before he puts the cap on it.

“Look at you, not a withering flower anymore” the mercenary brushes his knuckles over you cheek and you feel them burn “What else do you want?” his thumb caress your chin gathering the small drops of water on your skin and spreads it over your lower lip.

You feel your bones burning, a tension in your lower belly that you haven’t feel many times and that makes you ask for something you don’t even know, so you just answer a timid yes and let him guide you to the fire and the rest of the company.

One of the mercenary is skinning some rabbits, methodically pulling the skin off with blood hands and a deathly gaze fix on you “So she decided to join us” she says

“Oberyn can be really persuasive” another, a big bald man with a beard tinted in blue, adds

So his name is Oberyn, where have you heard that name before?

“Remember that her father is paying for the whole of her, untouched he said” a lean blonde woman, with her face full of black and blue tattoos, is lounged over the bags sharpening her knives

“Well, I hope he doesn’t see her arm, that viper left her with a beautiful scar” Oberyn sits down and helps the mercenary skinning the animals and impales them and puts them to roast on the fire

“I’m not talking about that kind of viper...” she says and the company laughs

“I’m right here” they stop laughing looking at you as if you have done something they deem impossible

“So she speaks” the bearded man says

“She does but it may take some convincing” Oberyn smiles at you over the flames that illuminate his striking and sharp features “If you wish to eat, sweet flower, why don’t tell us how did you escape? We love a good story while we camp”

“Your father was convinced some ragged boy had stole you from your palace” adds the blonde woman

You smile, feeling some kind of pride for your plan, that, looking at it from perspective, did not grant you what you wanted but at least you had a good run. You tell them about how you disguised as a ragged boy lurking a few nights prior your escape so that the servants suspected about somebody being guilty of your disappearing. And how you ran away the night of your betrothal and made it look as if somebody had kidnapped you.

“I ran out of money in Lys so I had to beg, or steal, or gamble for a few coins. And then you found me” you finish your tale, sucking on your fingers, the meat is the best you ever tasted but yet again it must be the hunger from this days refusing to eat or drink.

“I’m almost tempted to let you go, young one, you seem a very resourceful girl” the beard man that you now know as Uhlan smiles at you proudly

“Think about the money” the blonde woman, Rikan, chew on a bone and toss it to the fire

“I’m always thinking about it, why do you think I’m a sellsword?” he jests

“Because you were a street rat with a broad back as broad as your stupidity and it’s the only thing you can do” Rikan spits and Uhlan laughs, a deep and low chuckle that resonates as a thunder.

“She’s a little princess, she couldn’t have survived much longer” the other woman, Shifa adds, the rest of the company has changed the way they look at you, but her. She still squints at you

“There’re princes that have survived worse” Uhlan counters and suddenly there’s a heavy and uncomfortable silence over them. You look at all of them trying to understand and you see Oberyn looking at his feet until he claps his hands together “Let’s get some sleep, we have a long way ahead”

It’s surprising what food, water and company can achieve. You’re smiling more, you almost forget that you will be delivered to your father and future husband within days, Uhlan tells you about his many adventures, how he almost die in Yiti, how he rode once with a Khalassar and that he had seen the great shadow in the East. Rikan has gifted you a knife “a girl needs to defend herself” she said and proceed to show you how to kill a man in many different ways “If you want to kill your husband though, you must ask Oberyn, he’s the one that knows about poisons and how to kill somebody without raising suspicions”

“How does he know that?” you ask, leaning to the right so you get close to her horse, Oberyn rides beside Shifa before you; both of them speaking in a language you don’t understand

“He has studied many things; he’s been all over the world. He was almost a Maester once, but preferred to travel, fight and fuck the world before he gets back to his duties”

“Duties?”

“He’s a prince” she whispers a mischievous smile on her lips “he doesn’t want to talk about it, because it makes people treat him differently or underestimate him. So don’t tell him it was me, blame the big rat”

“Did somebody call me?” Uhlan screams at the back

“You do have a sharp ear when you want, my friend”

You arrive to Myr at dusk. The city is still vibrating, the merchants offering everything you could imagine and the streets smell like thousands spices. And you absorb it all with wide eyes and open mouth.

“It’s a beautiful world, my sweet flower, and you wanted to end your life” Oberyn raises his voice over the people chatting and selling stuff

“If only it could always be like this” you answer, your smile dies in your mouth remembering this is a passing thing. The adventure will be over soon.

“Life gives us many opportunities to dwell in its pleasures; you have only to acquire a keen eye to recognize the perfect moment to seize it”

“Are you implying that I will have another chance to escape?” you scoff

“Maybe...if that is what you want or maybe to enjoy your life as a married woman, who knows”

You sigh deeply trying to ignore the thoughts about your future husband, that drunken bastard, boring and dull that your father chose.

“Or you could run away and avoid your responsibilities; you can create your own destiny, my sweet flower”

“And that’s what you are doing? Avoiding your duties?” you stop in your tracks and he watches you for a moment, chewing on his lower lip

“Maybe” he answers finally

“I’m tired of being treated as if I was overreacting being a spoiled child while you are here doing exactly what I did, ran away, from the duties of a noble life. I’m not overreacting; all I want is to decide if I want to live my life bearing children for my fool husband and maybe die giving birth or out of boredom and disappointment or try my luck in the wild world. Isn’t that what you are doing? Travel, fight and fuck the world? What’s the difference between me and you?” The people surround you, the company has already enter the tavern in front of you knowing they shouldn’t meddle

“Travel, fight and fuck the world seem a pretty good title for a book. Maybe when I’m old I will write my adventures under that title” he laughs

“I’m glad I amuse you” you spat with your arms crossed

“I apologize if I made you feel that I was underestimating you. Do not confuse my laughter with mockery, I know how you feel and I understand.” He comes close to you, each hand on your arms, pressing them lightly “Believe me, I wouldn’t have accepted this job if your father didn’t pay so well. I have to get back home and I want to leave my company with enough resources so they can continue on their own” he explains, he bends his neck so you are so close you can smell his scent, leather, horse and the dessert. “But that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy ourselves while it lasts” Oberyn smiles and passes his arm over your shoulders “Have you tasted the wine from Myr?” you shake your head “It’s the sweetest”

The wine is starting to play with your mind, your smile falls languidly over the corner of your lips and you don’t know why you’re laughing but whatever song Uhlan is singing is the funniest thing you’ve heard. Rikan laughs by your side, her laugh is actually sweet and high making her look less menacing. Shifa is the only one that doesn’t look amused at all and he drinks from her goblet eyeing the tavern, especially you, with hatred.

“C’mon, Shifa, we know you can smile” Uhlan grabs her in a bear hug but she squeezes herself out of it

“Let me alone, you brute”

“You haven’t talked much since we retrieve the little girl over here, tell us what’s going on in that little twisted mind of yours?” the man jokes and the other mercenary glares at him

“I’m going to my chamber” She drinks the rest of her drink and strides to the rooms, pushing the drunken people in her way

“Leave her, Uhlan! She’s just jealous that her prince is not directing his attentions only to her lately” Rikan says winking at you

Oberyn has been absent having a conversation in another table until he comes back with a serious expression

“I’m partially offended that you think our company it’s not worth your time” Uhlan says sliding to give him enough space to seat by his side

“Huh, so I guess Shifa is not the only one jealous” Rikan drinks looking at him over her goblet

“Shut up!”

“Where is she?” Oberyn asks

“She went to her chamber” Uhlan serves him wine “So what was about those ugly bastards that got your attention; I thought you had a very refined taste”

“Those are Westerosi men; I wanted to get news of the world. Some of us still appreciate the pursuit of knowledge, my friend” Oberyn taps on his big shoulder

“I appreciate the pursuit of a good fuck better, my friend. Let’s see if those Westerosi want to share some news with me, Rikan are you coming? I’m always lucky with you around”

“I don’t like Westerosi” she snarls

“I don’t care, I just need you to be there so they take a good look at your ugly face and they get convinced that fucking with me is the good option of the two of us” he jokes with one of those thunder like chuckles

Rikan laughs and she follows him, waddling towards the men’s table.

“I should go to my room” you say, rising too fast and the whole room twists and turns

“You liked the wine, I see” he observes you grab the wooden table for your dear life until you find your balance

“Too sweet, I haven’t noticed it until it was too late”

“Let me guide you then”

Oberyn grabs you by your waist and helps you climb the stairs to the second floor. People gather around the aisle, laughter and moans fill the air and the heat of Oberyn skin over yours and the boldness giving by the alcohol make you pressed your body against his a little tighter than its necessary.

“This is you” he says opening the door for you

“Is it true what you said about creating our own destiny?” you collapse on his firm chest, your hands brushing over his neck

“Yes, sweet flower”

“Sweet flower” you mimic his accent “Say it one more time” your glossy lips, sticky with wine, leave a kiss on the tan uncover skin of his chest. His laugh makes you raise your head

“You need to sleep, child”

“No, no!” you slap his hand away when he tries to push you inside the room “Don’t call me that, I’m not a child. I’m a woman” you try to fix your posture to seem taller but you body stumbles to one side almost falling down

“What you are is a very inebriated girl. Good night, my sweet flower” he says closing the door

“Are you going to Shifa’s room?” the words escape your lips before you can think and he lingers on the door with an eyebrow raised

“Why do you ask that?”

“I don’t want you to go to her” again the words are out before you process them

“And what do you want me to do?” Oberyn closes the door behind him. And you breathe deeply a mixture of excitement and fear.

“Stay with me” you mutter

“Believe me I would, but you don’t know what you are asking. It is the wine speaking”

“No it’s not” you pout again falling into his arms, hearing how you sound like a spoiled little girl, you cough “It’s not” you repeat

“Right, let me take you to bed then”

You gasp looking at him with wide eyes. Oberyn hugs your body and walks towards the simple bed at the corner until you both fall down on the soft mattress

“Oberyn” you whisper “I have to tell you something before we...”

“Tell me, sweet flower” He lays beside you, posing his head over his fist

“I’m...I’ve never...” you stutter

“No need to worry” with his free hand he starts to brush his index finger from your brow to the tip of your nose so slowly and softly that you feel your eyes closing down

“Are you trying to make me sleep as if I was a puppy?” you slur

“Shh” he continues until the room goes dark and you cannot open your eyes for much that you try

“Sweet dreams, sweet flower” you hear before you blank out.

The sun pierces your eyes as if its rays were daggers. The company laughs at your expense, but yet again, Shifa hisses and insults you in some language but it’s evident that she said something nasty because Oberyn glares at her.

“No more Myr wine for you, little girl” Uhlan laughs helping you get on your horse

“Never” you murmur

The pain in the back of your head and the unstoppable thirst you have makes you moody, and it doesn’t help that you know you’re one day away from your home. But everything is worse with the hard sting of jealousy. It’s not that Oberyn does much, but he rides along side her, speaking in that stupid language you don’t understand, and she makes him laugh, he watches with attention whatever she points at during the way. He looks at her, talks to her. All you want is to rush your stupid horse and take her place.

It gets worse when Shifa sees you observing them; knowing damn well what you feel, she becomes softer, leaving touches on his skin, whispers things on his ear. And you can see the intimacy, the camaraderie that they share and that you will never have. And she’s a woman not a little girl, fierce, independent, and strong; and you cannot stop comparing yourself to her.

You arrive to a small town in between the domains of the two free cities, just hours away from the gates of Pentos.

“We will spent the night here, we need to be presentable for tomorrow”

The town has a small and humble bath house. The simple exterior made of red brick doesn’t show the beauty it has in its interior. The garden inside is made of brick and ceramic creating beautiful arches that frame the pool in the middle; green vines crept over the walls and the tender murmur of water is the only sound you can hear.

“We have rooms to accommodate you for the night once you’re done with your baths” the lady, owner of the house, announces and snaps her fingers towards the servants so they get everything ready.

“Thank you” Oberyn says bowing his head “Wash away the dust of our journey, my friends. Specially you, Uhlan” he jokes, slapping the big man’s belly

“You’re as stinky as me, my prince, but the Gods didn’t give me a beautiful face”

The company strips shamelessly, you think that they’re so comfortable around each other that they don’t think twice before submerge their naked bodies in the fresh water.

You stay by the side, taking off your shoes and rolling your sleeves so you can wash your feet and face. You avert your eyes when you see that Oberyn’s armor is on the floor. Your eyes fixed on the water and the blue tiles at the bottom, but you cannot stop from raising your eyes just a little.

His magnificent, strong, and tight body, his beautiful golden skin is marked in scars in some parts, you see the muscles on his legs tensing and relaxing as he gets in the pool. Your eyes travel through the room to avoid seeing him in his full grace.

“C’mon child, you don’t want to be stinky when you meet your father” Rikan splash water at you

“I-I”

“Let her be, she’s scare of my big cock” Uhlan laughs

“That thing that you can barely get up? C’mon, child, it is harmless” The blonde mercenary swims towards you and grabs your hand to pull you in

“Rikan, leave her, let’s finish and we will leave her some privacy” Oberyn says under the small waterfall brushing his skin with a small piece of soap

“Your husband’s eyes will be the only ones that will see you naked” Shifa says and she swims towards Oberyn. Her body is toned and muscular. She joints him under the water stream and when she tries to touch him, he moves away.

You don’t want to smile, but you do, until you remember that he refused you the other night and tonight is the last night you’ll spend with them. Shifa will have him for whatever time she wants.

Eventually they leave the pool, putting on some fresh clothes and rubbing some scent oils on their skins and they look different, less mercenary and more like elite warriors with a thousand adventures to tell. You will miss them; they are the only friends you have ever had.

“Thank you” you say stopping their banter over who’s going to take which room, they look at you confused “Thank you for rescuing me” you say with a trembling voice

“It’s nothing, child” Uhlan says and you see his big eyes shine

“We will give you some privacy” Rikan nods

When they are away you take off those stinky clothes you’ve been wearing since you escape. You moan feeling the water soften your muscle and you enjoy the strong cascade of water hitting your back until your bones feel like liquid inside your skin.

“I never expected you to thank us for getting you to your father” his voice gets you out of the trance, and you don’t open your eyes when you hear the soft sound of clothes hitting the ground and the splash of water when he gets inside the pool again.

“I didn’t thank you for that, but for rescuing me” you answer still your eyes closed under the waterfall “And saving my life” you pass your hand over the now healed wound, a moon shape scar where he suck the venom out of you.

Oberyn fingers grab your wrist, raising your arm towards his lips and planting kisses alongside your veins until he arrives to the thicker skin of the scar, sucking again on it.

“Do you still believe that it was better to let you die from the snake’s bite than to be back home?” he whispers against your skin, his beard tickling you over your pulse

“I still can run away” you open one eye. Oberyn looks amused at you

“Will you?” he asks saving the distance between you

“I don’t know. Will you come get me if I do?” You approach him, intertwining your hands on his neck

“The world is big and beautiful; it will be a shame that a sweet flower like you rots in a place like this all her life” he turns his head and leaves a kiss on each of your arms

“So that’s a no” you laugh but the pain in your heart is real

“I have to leave Essos soon, I guess the time for adventures is up” he exhales deeply

“Just the last one then” you’re surprised of your boldness when you rise on your tiptoes to kiss his lips

It is soft at first. Just tasting him, tempting him to show you more, and he does. Oberyn opens his mouth and sucks on your lower lip and when your mouth is open he savors you with his tongue. He holds your face on his large palms guiding you softly until the kiss deepens and your hands leave his neck roaming through his back and he reciprocates. His hand caresses every inch from your neck to your arms. You moan in protest when he breaks the kiss but then his kisses move to your neck nibbling your skin. He pampers every part of you with his attention, soft kisses and bites over the top of you breast.You cry out laughing when he grabs you and rise by the waist so he can access your tits. You circle his waist with your legs and you hold yourself on his shoulders.

Any good sense in you, any coherent thought gets lost one his mouth sucks on your nipples and you kiss his head trying to control your panting. The sounds that come out of you seem so far away, his low grunts and moans over your breast melt you and you feel the heat gathering between your legs.

“My sweet flower, you have the sweetest tits” he moans and he lowers you so he can kiss you one more time. You run your fingers over his dark hair, his impossibly close to you but you need more. You need him like those drops of water he poured in you the first time. The hunger, the jealousy and desire you felt these past days have reached its peak and you think your heart will collapse. You repeat his name on his lips like a plea.

Oberyn carries you to the side of the pool, and you feel your cheeks burning, your body in goose flesh feeling exposed and at his mercy now that the water is not covering you. He takes his time admiring you, his brow eyes eating every pore of your skin. Kissing your legs he parts them grabbing you by the hips he positions you just at the edge of the pool. He palms your breasts one more time, gracing each nipple with a small pinch that makes you moan loudly. You get flustered, gaining a bit of your conscience back

“No need to be shy, my love, let go. I wish to hear every sweet moan, drink every drop of this sweet cunt” he plants a kiss on your navel, before lowering his face. His first lick between your lips makes you marvel of the unknown sensation. His eyes are fixed on you while he licks faster and sucks between your small lips, when you tense, every single fiber of your body burning, he changes his rhythm, lapping languidly all your sex and back again, fast and slow, and never too much. Until you’re gasping for air and pushing him away

“Please, it’s too much”

“Let me show you, trust me” his wet mouth bites you inner thigh before he starts again. This time you reach the point of no return faster. A wide abyss before you where you skin burns and you heart beat faster until you fall, crying his name. And he holds you, planting kisses all over you body, every part he can reach. The gasps lead to laughter

“What happe...how?” you ask

“I have many things to show you my sweet flower” he smiles

Oberyn lets you in his room. The warm night breeze moves the white curtains and the moonshine casts its rays so you can see him get on top of you with the warmest of smiles.

“Do you still want this, my flower?” he asks

You grab him by the neck and let your lips answer for you. Lowering your touch you push his back so he presses his body against you even tighter.

“Please, please” you beg on his ear

He reaches between your bodies and brushes the tip of his cock on your lips coating it in your arousal, before pushing gently. You gasp at the intrusion; it’s not pain what you feel but definitively a bit uncomfortable at first

“Let me in, my sweet, relax for me” Oberyn bends his neck to kiss and bite your tits. The pleasure turns your body into a withering mess until you’re full of him.

He moves lazily at first letting you grow used to his length and width while he observes your face

“Is it alright my love?”

“I need more” you murmur

“More?” He rises, pressing the weight of his body on his knees and opens you wider grabbing the soft skin on your hips “Like this?” he thrusts deep and fast with each word and you nod biting your lip. His pace is unforgiving, and you cannot think, all you can feel is him, and his sweet words and praises combined with the slaps of wet skin and the creaks of this old bed. Your fingers scratch softly on his chest trying to hold into something when you feel that abyss again, but this time you let it go and it hits you harder. Oberyn collapses over you letting your cunt squeeze him even tighter, slowly dragging himself in and out until he sense his release coming and he pushes harder once, twice until he spills his warm seed.

You kiss his brow, wet from exhaustion and the pool, in a way the cage he’s forming with his body pressed against the mattress is the freest you have ever felt.

The dawn wakes you up, many years later, a harrowing pain in your chest remembering how he kissed you a thousand times, how you slept caged in his arms for a few hours and then woke up with his face between your thighs

“Does it hurt?” he asked and you flinched, feeling the swollen and sensitive skin “I will kiss it better” he said. And you made love again, he moved you in the bed showing how to touch your body and how to touch him, how to pleasure him with your mouth as he did to you. Until the sun invaded the room and crashed your safe space between the shadows. You could no longer hide from your destiny, it was time to go.

He left you, a small and decent kiss on your hand and bid you farewell wishing you a happy life.

You remember running, not paying attention to your father’s complaints and your mother’s cries while you soon-to-be husband drank wine unbothered by the whole thing. You ran to the balcony watching his dark horse taking him out of the city.

He never looked back, and with his parting figure you promised you will live your life happy even if you have to run for it. That you will live adventures on your own until life gives you the last drop of its joy and pleasure. In a way you promised to honor him without knowing one day it will come true.

So you woke up, older, wiser, in your own house, after many adventures lived, and after a sleepless night mourning him, you grab paper and ink and write:

“Travel, fight and fuck the world: the Adventures of an Unusual Lady”

#writer wednesday #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn martell fic #oberyn martell fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal fic #Pedro Pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal characters fanfiction #ASOIAF Fanfic

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specialmoogakii · 4 years

Text

Hippie! S/o Headcanon Katsuki,Kirishima and Shinsou

Request:𝗛𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗶 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗸𝗮𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗸𝗶 , 𝗸𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗺𝗮, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝗵𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗲 𝘀/𝗼 𝘄𝗵𝗼'𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗹, 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝘁𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗵 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗳𝗹𝗶𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗮𝘀𝘀𝘆 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲?

BAKUGO KATSUKI

This boy didn't really notice your existence at first, because he was always focused on his training, the first time he notices you it was when you were fighting (in a training) with Kirishima. He originally judged you for being """lazy""" because you didn't really avoid all Kirishima's attack.

You weren't lazy for sure but you know, we are talking about bakugo. You cant pretend to get a good judgment from him unless you got the balls to fight with him. And that what you did, kinda... well,you ""fight"" him in your own way.

Bakugo was in his usual day to scream at Deku when you were casually walking around the area with your usually chilling atmosphere that can relax almost all the students just by watching you. You look at Deku and decide to enter the fight without any violent intentions.

"Hey, hey good-looking bomber. You don't wanna scare your moma with a punishment from the teach', will ya?" Bakugo looks at you with his usually annoyed face and screams "HUH?!", he was half frustrated by the random half-compliment. Deku is internally praying for you and hopes you don't get in trouble because of him.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, EXTRA?? MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS" Of course, he would scream with his annoyed voice. You smirk and look at him indifferently and not scared at all. Deku was just standing there, looking at you and trying to tell you that this situation may end up bad.

"Saving my classmates from a blondie hot rat like you, it's my business. Especially when I walk around here, you don't own this hallway you know"Oooh, he was so mad and shocked. You weren't affected by his angry mood and that makes him speechless,bakugo continues to argue about it but you were immediately giving a response back with your flirts.

Hold on, the flirts. This boy ain't used to flirt so it slowly killing him, like who the fuck would flirt with him without knowing a single mountain's hair off his?? Of course, you. You didn't care, you just FLIRT. Bakugo ended up going away frustrated after your stupid 3 minutes of argument, a fricking record from bakugo I must say.

After your first meeting, he was looking at you. He won't admit it but, he was curious, you were chilling all the time and when you were around him, you just flirt and gave a sassy response back. His blood boils because of your sassiness, he hate it and loves it at the same time. He couldn't handle his curiosity so he sometimes gets close to you on purpose but, you know who this man is. It's katsuki bakugo, he won't admiiiit it.

When he started to get close to you, he tries to hide his smile when you flirt with him, you notice it but you decide to not point it out, too much stress for you. Bakugo always tries to force you on training more or try to be more energetic in some battles (because he didn't want others to think you are weak), but you just didn't care. He, unfortunately, couldn't do anything about it, you always kill him with an instant surprise flirt. Fricking sassy bitch.

So in a simple way, he slowly opens up to you and starts to get less angry than usual because of your attitude. Your classmates were shocked but they didn't complain. They always found a way to make bakugo shout again and you? Absolutely love it. More reasons to flirt and tease him.But of course,you did all of this without stressing yourself out. Bakugo will be really stressed out but he won’t stop you,deep down,he love you.

I forgot about the hippie lifestyle for a minute. Honestly,this boy doesn’t gave a shit about how you dress up (he kinda does.) or what you do. It’s your life so you choose what you want. As much as you try to make him understand how the hippie life work,he just doesn’t get it.

If someone try to hurt you when you’re trying to communicate without violence, bakugo ask kirishima to cover your eyes and then he start beating that person up if you consent him (you never consent him to attack them,he listen to you.. only for beating them later). He feel very awkward when he need to comfort you but he try. This man try to comfort you and ended up making you giggles.

Text explanation of your relationship with bakugo:

Bakugo:

Where the fuck are you?

You were behind me 2 seconds ago

and now you disappeared.

S/o:

don't worry yellow bamboo.

I just saw a cool drink I wanted to try

Bakugo:

YELLOW BAMBOO?! SERIOUSLY?!

HOW MANY NICKNAMES YOU GONNA GAVE ME, DRUNK FACE?!

S/o:

as many, as I want,

you didn't see yourself in the mirror?

Your bamboo hair never found a good direction lol,

you killed kaminari's eyes a lot of time

when he tried to prank you with your hair.

Bakugo:

HE DID WHAT- UGH WHATEVER

I'M GOING TO KILL HIM LATER

TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE RIGHT NOW

WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE

S/o:

chiiiill dude, the teach' is always sleeping in his banana "suit". He won't notice that I'm late.

Bakugo:

don't be a dumbass

just tell me

I'm going to buy you that shitty drink

S/o:

yoooo, thank you rich boy

next time, I'm going to teleport to Disneyland

so you'll buy me the ticket lolol

Bakugo:

keep dreaming drunk face

Eijiro Kirishima

Kirishima totally noticed you, after seeing you "fighting" with Bakugo and he was SOOOOO shock seeing you so relaxed after literally having bakugo's scream in your face. He went to stop bakugo before the blondie rat starts to go too far. He told bakugo that the thing he was about to do wasn't manly,bakugo just say a loud "tsk" and went away. You thank him by winking at him.

"Thank you for your help, cutie hedgehog. I will definitely make him mad again for seeing you saving me like a princess" Okay, you broke him just by calling him "cutie hedgehog" and you noticed it, you let out a giggle and just pat him for some seconds then you went away in your usually very bright hippie clothes.

That is, you literally become his new manly girl. He just wants to know more about you and your "strange" but cute lifestyle. He doesn't really know what a hippie is, but he doesn't care. He will appreciate it and support it anyway. It doesn't hurt anyone so why not. You are manly to him.

Every time you two interact, you ended up making the boy blush or laugh with your sassy personality. Of course, he'll block you when you went too overboard with your sassiness with bakugo, you listen to him because.. come on. How can you complain to a cute hedgehog?

You and Kirishima got a special relationship, he always offers you to come with him when bakugo want to stay alone for a while. Especially when you are upset after an failed attempt on ending a fight without violence, he protect you if someone try to hurt you and tell them how unmanly they are on attacking you.

he is really into it when you gave him some lessons about what is a hippie and etc. He wants to learn anything about you and even if he doesn't immediately get it, he doesn't always get your sassiness not gonna lie, he supports you.

He wants to try dressing like you, you know... just friends! aha.. who am I kidding? He likes you-, like more than friends but he won't tell you. He needs time for being manly and confesses to you. Of course, if you want to stay just friends, he would do that. No complains.

When kirishima become angry or upset,he always run to you. You are special and your relaxing atmosphere make his heart calm down, Your company and sense of humor really make him chill and laugh,you aren’t exaggerated and he love it.

Hitoshi Shinsou

Shinso is... strangely interested, seeing a student that is chill but can also destroy you with elegant sassiness? Yes, please.

He saw you with kaminari who was teasing you about having a "crush" over a boy, you don't react badly or embarrassed respect you flirt with him and broke kaminari with one single phrase.Okay, that was strange but strange enough to catch shinso attention.

Shinso was the one starting the conversation and the friendship after you leave kaminari broken, you two have a lot in common even if your "lifestyle" is different. Even though most of the time shinso was silent, he enjoyed your company. The fact you could manipulate someone by just flirting make him internally proud, of course, you don't call it"manipulation" but Shinso definitely see it as a form of manipulation.

Your "psychedelic" clothes really kill his eyes, he doesn't really like it. But overall, he respects how you dress, he absolutely loves your sandals. Your personality? Even better, he adores your flirty side. If you flirt with him, he'll smirk and tell you that your "Manipulation" doesn't work on him."I told you, hot eggplant. I'm serious when I flirt with you" you look at him hoping he finally believes you, he smirk and look at you. He stopped walking just for looking at you on the face so he doesn't make you suspicious.

"Well, you do that with almost everyone when they annoy you. So maybe next time, you'll be lucky and I would believe you." you sigh and shinso continue to walk trying to hide the fact he blushes a little, you follow him and start talking about random stuff. Not caring about the time.Shinso adores you because he found you adorable when you try to avoid fighting and just try to make a human communication.

But he was worried honestly, he doesn't show it because of his always tired face. He will bring you out from an argument if they start to throw arms on you even after you try to calm them. He will comfort you if you fail on ending an argument, he will mind-controlling the other guy who made you upset and made them say sorry to you, and then he throws their mindless body somewhere until they wake up.

You two always chill around or even sleep, Aizawa found you two sleeping on the couch of the dorm for HOURS ignoring the class hours. if you act sassy with shinso, shinso will "sassy" you back. Hell yeah, sassy fight.He is never upset with you and never mind control you, he ain't a villain like everyone told.

////////////////////////////////////

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I’M SORRY IF THIS ISN’T EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED- I TRIED MY BEST ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

I’m sorry again because kirishima and shinso are very short,i know that. And i’m sorry for the 3th time,i’m not used to write them so i tried really hard to get their personality!

-Chakie

#bnha imagines #bnha #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #bnha x reader #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x reader #shinso x y/n #shinso x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijiro imagine #shinsou hitoshi #boku no hero x reader #my hero acadamy

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captainrexforever · 4 years

Text

Trials and Tribulations 2/2

Rating: T

Word count: ~6k

Summary: The reader discovers that she has formed a force bond with her Mandalorian companion. This has some unforeseen complications during the events at the Imperial refinery on Morak.

Warnings: angst, fluff, canon typical violence, more Dad! Fett, awkward! Din, use of in-universe curse words

Note: Part 2 at last! There are quite a few pov. changes, so I hope that they don’t interrupt the flow of the story too much. Happy reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Pt. 1

After settling into the cockpit alongside Fett, the only thing you can do is wait for Fennec’s signal, but that doesn’t mean you have to be bored.

“Is it too much to ask for a tour of the flight controls?”

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” He speaks honestly.

You can only chuckle in response and shrug. “What can I say, I’m not used to holding a conversation with my crewmate.”

“I take it Mando doesn’t talk much.”

His eyes search your face, and although you attempt to hold his gaze, your eyes fall to the floor as you answer. “No, he doesn’t.”

Fett only nods in response, and you have a sudden urge to change the subject. “So, I noticed that you wear your helmet while flying, even though all the screens are displayed on the console.”

He must note the change in topic, but he doesn’t bring it up. “Yes, I tied all the tracking technology into the visor of my helmet. That way if I have to aim at something while in flight, I can observe it through the viewport and follow the object with my eyes, as if aiming a real blaster.”

“Woah, that’s really cool.”

“Indeed. It’s an idea my father often shared with me, although he didn’t get the chance to implement the changes. I was finally able to make the alterations myself.” There’s a little bit of nostalgia in his voice, and you wonder if you should feel bad for bringing up a potentially sensitive topic. “Perhaps I can let you try it on the retrieval run.” Boba continues.

“Oh, no, no, no, maybe later, thank you. I don’t want to jeopardize the mission with my novice flying skills.”

“Is that so? You project the aura of a competent pilot.”

“Yes, but it’s been a while since I’ve sat behind the controls of a ship.”

Fett raises a hand to his chin, as if stroking a non-existent beard. “So you didn’t fly Mando’s ship?” It’s definitely a question, but it comes off more like a statement.

“Well, I...I usually left that to Mando, I felt like it was almost a form of relaxation for him and I didn’t want to take that away.”

“Can I give you some advice?”

That throws you off a little.

“Sure.”

“A Mandalorian’s ship is a precious possession, not as important to them as beskar or their code, but still. A ship represents a Mandalorian’s freedom and individuality. If you were allowed to live within that ship for what I estimate to be several months, there was something else going on.”

It feels like someone lodged their fist into your chest and squeezed all the air out of your lungs. Surely he couldn’t mean...“What, what do you mean? Are you saying he was desperate for help no matter the cost?”

Fett wants to bang his head on the console, then bang it against your head to knock some sense into you. No wonder you and the Mandalorian get along so well, you’re both absolutely clueless.

“Do you know that he carried you up the ramp of this ship last week when you were on death’s door, demanding medical attention from me?” Your eyes widen in response. “When we eventually realized you were losing too much blood, his first instinct was to infiltrate a medical station to obtain the necessary blood samples for a transfusion. Lucky for him, I had some sequencing instruments aboard, and we were able to identify your blood type. By some miracle, you and he happen to possess the same blood.” The atmosphere is becoming more tense by the second, and you can only sit there as Fett recounts the events surrounding your recent injuries. “He stayed by your side during the entire two day flight to Nevarro, refusing to eat or sleep. With the amount of time he spent providing blood to the transfusion system, I was sure he would pass out from blood loss before we arrived.” A choked sound leaves your throat. “The second we landed, he was on his feet, clutching onto your body as he carried you to the Marshal’s office.”

He lets his words sink in for a moment as he pins you underneath his gaze once again. “I have fought countless battles, lost many comrades, and seen fellow warriors suffer horrible injuries. But I have never seen a man so stricken with grief and despair at the thought of losing a fellow comrade-in-arms. It’s obvious you mean much more to him than either of you realize.”

He notices that you’re in shock after taking in all of that information, and he opens his mouth to say one last thing. “If you want to take a seat in the hold and let yourself process all of that, I’ll let you know when I receive the cue to take off.”

The sentence is uttered with kindness, and you can only nod, thankful for his understanding. In a second you’re slipping down the ladder to the main hold of the ship.

Kriff.

Tears bite at the corners of your eyes as you suppress a sniffle with your forearm. That damned Mandalorian has been holding out on you. It all makes sense now. The affection you sensed earlier, the brief moments where you often notice his gaze linger for a millisecond too long. He cares about you. The thought has you releasing a muffled sob into your palms, why has he never told you? You would have welcomed his affection and returned it a thousand fold, if he had ever offered you the chance.

A spike of fear races up your spine suddenly, and you tense in response. There is a familiar tickling sensation in the back of your mind, and you realize that Din is unintentionally projecting on you. After what happened earlier, you’re sure that you are the last person he wants to communicate with. His fear washes over you again, this time accompanied by panic, and you know that something has gone terribly wrong. Feelings be damned, you need to know what is going on down there. A firm nudge against his thought process grants your mind access to his, and the singular pulsing thought that envelops your brain gives you an immediate headache.

“This is for the kid. The kid needs me, I can do this for him. I can do this for the kid.”

“Din, what’s going on?”

“You need to leave right now.”

“Din, what’s going on, let me help.”

There is no response. You’re so frustrated right now that you want to punch him, and you must be projecting because he allows you to see one more thought.

You gasp in disbelief and shock.

“Din...no. You can’t take your helmet off.”

“This is for the kid, Y/n. There is no other way.”

“Your creed, your way. What will you do after you take it off?”

“I...I don’t know. This is the only way I can save him.”

A tear rolls down your cheek.

“I understand.” Then you pull yourself from his mind.

Even faced with death, while you cried over his limp body, he had refused to remove his helmet.

No, you don’t understand at all.

By the time Mayfeld and Mando board the ship, you’re seated in the cockpit once again, desperately trying to keep a firm hold on your emotions. The ship rocks with the force of an explosion as Boba makes a hasty retreat.

“We got company. Hang on.” He announces.

The ship swerves to the side as he maneuvers away from the blasts of two tie fighters, and you watch in fascination as the scope on his helmet automatically drops into place in front of his visor.

“These Imperial pilots can’t hit a damn thing.” He complains to you.

“Isn’t that a good thing for us?” You ask.

“I suppose. It isn’t much fun though.”

Wow. Maybe he and Din aren’t so different after all, or perhaps all Mandalorians are just crazy.

“You wanted to learn about the controls, right? Flip that gold switch I’m pointing to.” He requests.

After grasping a hold of the pilot seat to keep yourself upright, you reach for the control panel and flip the switch.

“Excellent, now take my helmet.” He removes it and holds it out to you. “Let me know when the two fighters are within 80 meters of each other.”

You take the helmet eagerly, desperate for some type of combat action to block out your overwhelming emotions. The visor remains dark until the helmet thunks into place around your head, then it bursts into life. There are so many readings on the display that you are overwhelmed for a moment.

“Look at the top right corner of the HUD, it’ll show you the close-range scans and a distance measurement for the two targets.”

“Got it. The display measures the distance at 100 meters.”

“Alright, just wait a second. Standard flight path protocol will have them grouping up soon.”

Sure enough, the number plunges down to 90, then 85, then 82. Just a little bit closer…“Now!”

A light flashes somewhere on the HUD as a click filters through the helmet’s speakers. A glance at the top right corner of the display reveals a projectile moving towards the two tie fighters, and you grin at the resulting explosion. There is still a satisfied smile on your face when you hand the helmet back to Fett.

“Nice shot. And thank you.” You hope that he understands your referring both to the advice he shared earlier, as well as his recent actions.

He nods. “Any time, vod.”

“Vod?”

“It’s Mando’a, the closest term in Basic is ‘comrade’.”

That spikes your interest and there is a burning question on the tip of your tongue, but you leave it for later.

“I’m gonna set the ship down, you might want to take a seat.” Fett breaks the silence.

You scramble to follow his advice, and once the landing cycle is complete he rises from his chair. “Just a moment.” He elaborates, as he descends down the ladder.

His absence leaves you with a quiet moment to reflect, and you hold your fisted hands out so you can list some facts and organize your frazzled thoughts. Ok, you tell yourself as you take a deep breath.

One, Din cares about you.

Two, you care about Din.

Three, he cares for the child like a son.

Four...what’s another fact? Dank farrik!

Four, you repeat as you rack your brain. Ah yes, Din’s Creed forbids him from revealing his face to another being.

Five, Din obviously knew he had no choice but to risk breaking his code. The choice was to either reveal his face, or abandon the child to a fate that could be worse than death.

Six. Well, now that you think about it, you are being a little bit petty. You would also be willing to risk anything, if it was the only way to save the kid. Now that you’ve gone and said it, you feel a little ashamed. Poor Din doesn’t deserve to deal with the loss of his child and your foul mood at the same time.

You decide to continue your list.

Seven, Boba Fett’s ship is cool as hell.

Eight, Din is kinda hot. Wait, what?! Hold on a second.

Eight, Din is...alright fine. He’s pretty hot.

Nine, He does have very nice thighs.

Ten, He’s really attractive when he’s fighting.

Eleven, He’s...Wait, you only have ten fingers!

You really need to get yourself under control, this is completely out of line.

“Let’s hold tight up here for a moment, Mando’s putting on his kit.”

You let out an undignified squeak, caught entirely by surprise. What you said earlier was becoming more and more true by the second, Mando and Boba weren’t so different after all.

Meanwhile in the small fresher, Mando is in the process of attaching his beskar chestplate when you start projectingly very loudly. A blush rises to his cheeks as you approach the end of your mental list. He has always hoped that you felt some semblance of affection towards him, but the thoughts you are currently entertaining are on a whole new level.

After the events in the refinery, he’s still a little shaken, but he feels he owes you an explanation for his recent behavior. Once the last piece of Beskar is attached to his figure, he prepares to ascend the ladder to the cockpit. But, when he approaches, he can distinctly make out your voice, as well as Fett’s.

“There are two words that I sometimes hear Mando use, and I think that they are from Mando’a. Would you mind translating them?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I did once. He didn’t answer.”

“What are they?”

“‘Verd’ and ‘ika’.”

“Interesting.” He strokes at his chin again. “It’s actually one word, verd’ika.” (Little warrior)

“Oh. What does it mean?”

“It means…”

Oh no, Din thinks. I need to break this up right now.

“What’s the status on Cara and Fennec?” He blurts out. Affection and amusement fill him when he notices you jump slightly in your seat at his sudden appearance.

“They should be approaching our position at any moment now.”

Din nods. He realizes he’s awkwardly lingering at the base of the ladder now, but he can’t let Fett share that translation with you. Not yet. Not until he is able to explain himself.

“Fett, could you provide me with the materials to replace the cooling core in my blaster? All my spare parts and tools were on my ship.”

Boba stares him down. He knows exactly what Din is trying to do. Din sighs, he is far too fatigued, mentally and emotionally, to deal with this right now. He’s just about to give up when Fett gives him a sharp nod, plops his helmet over his head, and rises from his chair before descending into the hull. Din notices him shoot you an apologetic look, which you respond to with a tight-lipped smile.

Now that at least one disaster has been avoided, Din turns to follow through with his made-up task. A voice crackles through the speakers in his helmet, and he startles when he recognizes Fett’s voice. He hasn’t heard a fellow Mandalorian’s voice transmit through his helmet’s audio channel since the destruction of the covert.

“I know what you did back there.” Fett states.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I meant in the refinery.” Fett clarifies.

Din tenses in response and whirls around to face Fett again. How could he know?

“I was monitoring all Imperial communications from inside the refinery as a precaution, just in case there was a complication. The Imperial terminal in the base uploaded a facial scan that wasn’t registered to the computer’s database right after you two arrived.”

Din’s hands clench into fists, if Fett saw the scan…

“Don’t worry Mando, I never saw the image. But, I did have to perform a fair bit of technological jargon to approve the scan. And, I made sure the image was deleted from the Imperial database immediately after the files were downloaded.”

Din’s figure visibly relaxes, those were just two more favors he owed Fett.

“You know, you owe your companion a lot of explanations. Or should I say, gar verd’ika.” (Your little warrior)

If Din didn’t feel so exhausted he would put up a bigger fight, but he can’t help the way he immediately gives in to Fett’s unspoken inquiry.

“She is...important to me, I just don’t know how to tell her.”

“Well you’re going to have to do better than that. Think about it, then come talk to me. We will figure it out, as brothers.”

Din nods his approval.

“Are you two done staring into each other’s eyes? Because you’re kind of freaking me out.”

Mayfeld.

“Shut up Mayfeld.” Boba and Din huff in unison as they shoot him two identical helmeted glares.

Later, after Mayfeld is relieved from the crew, Boba and Din agree that they should fly to the nearest friendly planet so that they can restock their food stores and ammunition. While the ship is in hyperspace, Din takes a seat to prepare the message he plans to transmit to Moff Gideon. It only takes him a moment to agree on the wording. He decides to repeat the same lines that Moff Gideon arrogantly delivered on Nevarro several months ago, with a couple key differences. The message will serve as a warning, an omen of what is to come.

The last line of the speech suddenly gives him an idea. Perhaps he knows what to say to you after all.

Now that Mayfeld is gone, (you don’t even bother to ask why you are leaving him behind) you are free to sit down in the hold once again. But, after spending so much time in the cockpit, you find yourself wanting to stay. Boba Fett still sits in the pilot seat, wearing his helmet as he pilots the ship. Mando sits in the furthest corner of the hold, facing the clear viewport, as he and Cara discuss their next steps towards retrieving the child. You assume that Fennec is also down below, most likely passing the time by polishing her beloved rifle.

Fett breaks the comfortable silence that reigns over the cockpit. “As I recall, I promised you a chance to fly. Even though we’re in hyperspace right now, it’s good practice to just sit in front of the controls and familiarize yourself.”

“Are you sure?” You’re secretly jumping up and down with excitement, but you don’t want to annoy Fett right as he’s offering you the opportunity to fly his ship.

“I’m quite certain.” He stands up, offering you the seat.

You sit down immediately, running your fingers lovingly over the controls. It’s been a long time since you’ve been behind the console of a ship as unique as this one. After you’re done gawking, you look over to Fett, only to notice that he’s staring off into space. At least, you assume he’s staring off into space, you can’t really tell while he is wearing the helmet. He looks over to you after a second and removes his helmet, offering it to you for the second time that day.

“Are you sure I need the helmet?” Please say yes.

“Go ahead, you might as well be familiar with all the aspects of the in-flight instruments.”

You offer him a beaming smile before settling the beskar over your head. “I’ll be right back.” You hear him say, along with the sounds of him descending the ladder. Odd, you think, he seemed to be in quite a hurry.

As Din discusses his plan with Cara, he hears Fett’s voice crackle through the speaker in his helmet. “You ready to have that discussion? Your companion just announced she’s heading to the fresher, so we have time for a brief chat in the cockpit.”

“I’ll be there shortly.” Din responds.

Din continues his conversation with Cara, and when he notices a blur make its way down the ladder from the cockpit, he politely excuses himself.

He makes his way towards the ladder, the echo of his feet meeting the rungs causing nerves to bubble to life in his chest. One foot meets the durasteel flooring of the cockpit, then the other follows. He stands there awkwardly for a second, the back of the pilot chair and Fett’s helmet in clear view, then abruptly spills his thoughts.

“I know what to say.” He clears his throat as his voice cracks a little.

Fennec stands from her seat, affectionately patting her rifle as she props it against the side of the chair. As she passes by the supply closet on her way to the refresher, she notices Fett warily peering out from the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

Boba Fett, the famed Boba Fett, actually jumps at her words, hushing her as he continues to peer in the direction of the cockpit. She wrinkles her brow in confusion and glances towards the cockpit as well, wondering what exactly she should be watching for.

A few moments later, Cara notices that there is not a soul in sight, and she rises to her feet, determined to figure out where everyone has disappeared to. A quick sweep of the hull doesn’t reveal a sign of Mando or Fennec, so she decides to check the hallway on the other side of the hold. As she rounds the corner she notices both Fennec and Fett peering out of the doorway of what appears to be a supply closet.

Her eyes narrow as she stares them down. “What---”

Both Fennec and Fett shush her immediately, their gaze fixed upon the cockpit. Thoroughly bewildered, she too looks towards the cockpit, worried that something has gone awry.

Meanwhile, you are sitting in the cockpit, trying to scrape your jaw off of the floor as you examine each of the control panels. This really is one unique ship. Just as you are taking a closer look at the targeting instruments, a voice breaks through your thoughts.

“I know what to say to her now, Fett. I will tell her that she means everything to me, that she means more to me than I can ever put into words.”

You are completely dumbfounded. Does Mando know who he just said that to?

Fett...that sneaky little bastard...he set you two up, didn’t he.

Well, you are not one to look a gift taun-taun in the mouth, so you take off the helmet, stand up, turn around, and level your gaze with Mando’s.

“The feeling’s mutual, vod.” (Comrade)

He panics, because one second he’s standing in the cockpit, and the next he’s disappeared from sight. The clang of beskar meeting durasteel, along with a grunt of pain, echoes through the hold as you drop the helmet and scramble into motion.

You rush to the top of the ladder, staring down at Din’s splayed out form in shock. A snicker breaks the silence and your gaze flies to the hallway where your other three companions are smothering laughter into the palms of their hands. You can’t help yourself, the ridiculous sight has you falling into a fit of giggles as well.

“This is not funny!” Din’s voice echoes through your head.

The abruptness of his statement startles you, and one second you’re standing on firm durasteel, the next you’re falling through the air as you too plummet towards the flooring at the base of the ladder. Except you don’t hit the floor. You hit two warm arms that absorb most of your fall, then a beskar-clad chest.

A pained grunt escapes Din’s helmet.

“You’re heavy.”

“Yeah? Well you are busted, Mando.”

“Busted?” It sounds like he is still straining for breath.

“Busted.”

More laughter peals through the recycled air of the hold, and you and Din turn simultaneously to fix all three of your crewmates with a glare.

“You see what you’ve done.”

“It’s not my fault you're clumsy, Din.”

“Clumsy? You’re the one who fell on top of me!”

“You shouldn’t scare me all the time!”

“Are you two gonna get up, or are you just gonna lay there on the floor?”

“Cara!” You exclaim, your cheeks bursting into flames.

“I can’t wait till this mission is over, you all need some serious help.” Fennec grumbles, but she’s hiding a grin as she stomps to her chair, retrieves her rifle-just a precaution, she mumbles-then enters the fresher.

As for Fett, he has a shit-eating grin on his face, and you can’t help but notice that he looks like a proud father.

“Well, Mando, I think we solved your problem.” His grin falters a little. “Or, at least, one of your problems.”

Fett shoots you a wink as he steps over your prone form and ascends the ladder. “Good luck with that one, you’re gonna need it.”

Cara also walks past your sprawled out bodies, taking a seat as she pointedly looks away from you and out the viewport.

You look down at Mando, a soft smile overcoming your features when you notice he’s been staring at you. One of the hands that was used to brace your fall is now settled on the small of your back and it holds you firmly to his chest. The other hovers in the air beside your left ear, hesitating, and you give it a glance out of the corner of your eye. You so desperately want him to touch you with that hand, just like you’ve always imagined. So you give him a little nudge.

“Could you brush that piece of hair out of my eye for me?” It’s practically a whisper as you refrain from shattering this tender moment.

A shaky exhale rattles from beneath his helmet, and then his hand moves slowly to fulfill your request. Seconds drag by like hours...and then his touch finally greets your skin. With a tenderness that is so shocking it hurts (has he thought about this too?) the tips of four fingers meet your forehead, sliding down your temple oh so slowly until they glide through your hair, finally curling around the shell of your ear as any stray strands are tucked away.

You shut your eyes for a moment, every nerve ending fizzling out in complete bliss as you bask in the warmth of his touch. Neither of you move for a long while, and you would think he’d fallen asleep if not for the incessant chatter that hums through your mind.

“You’re smiling.” His voice surfaces through the haze of thoughts.

“I know. I can feel you, your voice, your thoughts...I thought you shut me out.”

“Never.”

You open your eyes and he is still in the same position as before. His hand curled behind your left ear, his visor staring up into your face, and the hand on your back still radiating the same warmth. After another shaky breath, he drags his hand down the side of your face, curls it around the back of your neck, then slides it upward over the base of your skull. Each movement is drawn out, as if he’s moving in slow motion. You both know that he’s only trying to prolong this moment, along with each gesture, for as long as he possibly can.

It’s your turn to sigh when he bends your head down, closing the distance between your faces so that your forehead rests against the top of his helmet. Your palms, that had previously been supporting your weight, abandon the floor to splay themselves over Din’s beskar chestplate instead. The closeness is suffocating in the most beautiful way, and you’re sure that if he wasn’t wearing a helmet you would be begging for a kiss by now.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

His voice has you blushing, but you can’t bring yourself to feel ashamed.

“I can’t help it. You’re just too damn hot to handle.” It’s meant to tease him, but the response you receive is the complete opposite of what you expect.

“Yeah, especially when I’m fighting, am I right?”

There is a dramatic pause while your brain stalls to a grinding halt. “Were you listening earlier, Din? Why the nerve--”

He backpedals immediately, trying to reconcile his previous statement before you decide to jump up and clock him in the head. “Do you know that we’ve been kissing this whole time.”

Huh? Kissing? Your lips haven’t even touched! He must have hit his head harder than you thought.

“Are you coherent right now?”

He chuckles fondly, the sound echoing through your mind, and you’re sure it's the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. “This gesture, our foreheads touching...it’s called a keldabe kiss. Since my people do not remove their helmets, that is how we show affection to our loved ones.”

“Oh.” You can feel his nerves pulsing through your mind. “It’s perfect.” A searing warmth blossoms throughout your whole body, and you know it is the result of his happiness. “Will you tell me--”

Fennec emerges from the fresher and shocks you two out of your stupor. “Are you two going to stop gazing into each other’s eyes and take a seat?”

Fennec and Cara both share a chuckle at the way you and Din jump at the sudden intrusion. You are too immersed in your lovey-dovey emotions to even glare at them so you just huff in response. A glance towards Din’s helmet doesn’t reveal much about his current thought process, so you rely on your bond and just let yourself feel.

The emotions he possesses are so powerful they are blinding, so you guide yourself to his loudest most current thoughts.

“...how’d I get so lucky? I wonder if she will let me kiss her again.”

You just shake your head fondly. “Come on Romeo, let’s go sit down.” You offer a hand once you are standing, and he grumbles, eventually taking it even though you both know he requires zero assistance to lift himself from the floor. He doesn’t release you though, even when he reaches his seat and settles into the chair. Just as you’re about to turn and return to your own seat, he tugs on that hand and sends you barreling into his lap. A wide-eyed look of shock is the only expression you can manage as you fumble to keep yourself on his lap without tumbling to the floor.

And now he’s laughing into your bond again...great.

“Stop laughing and help me, you buffoon!”

Din quells his chuckling and finally moves to help you right your figure. His hands attempt to settle you into his embrace, but he can’t help but notice that you still seem uncomfortable. He looks to Cara for help, only to realize that her gaze is still directed out the viewport. Instead, he looks to Fennec, and the gaze that she eventually gives him screams you’ve got to be kidding me. He glares at her from beneath the helmet, raising a hand in desperation as he gestures towards you. Fennec glares back, and then mimics the pose of a droid, with her arms out, legs limp, and an impassive gaze on her face. Then she gestures back towards him. He gets the hint immediately, blushing red beneath the helmet, and nods his thanks. She just waves him off and continues to polish her rifle.

For the first time in his adult life, the Mandalorian slouches in his seat. His spine rounds as he curls himself around your form, providing a protective shell around your body. Both hands guide you into a sideways position, similar to a wedding carry-he blushes even harder at that realization-and then he tucks your head into the crook between his helmet and chestplate, where his cloak will cushion your head. You give him a sleepy smile and snuggle closer to his armored chest, looping an arm around his neck as you get comfortable.

“So will you tell me what it means?” You attempt again.

“What does what mean?”

“Verd’ika.”

“It means ‘little warrior’.”

The smile that overtakes your face is almost blinding. You fall asleep with the echo of that thought in your head, and wake up to the gentle snores of a certain Mandalorian. There’s an incessant needling in the back of your sleep-addled brain. There’s no way Din would have fallen asleep with the rest of the crew watching. You blink your eyes open, and panic a little bit when you realize that hold is quite a bit darker than earlier. There are a couple blinking lights from the cockpit that shed some light on the room. And after a second, you scan the area only to realize that there is no one else in sight.

Abruptly, your back twitches in pain and you realize that Mando’s vambrace is digging into your back. You shift slightly, trying to adjust your position without leaving your warm perch. Din mumbles in his sleep, shifting a little bit at your movements, and it causes the hand you slung behind his neck earlier to thwack him rather violently in the back of the head. He shoots to a standing position immediately, and you squeak, clutching onto him like a koala as he nearly sends you hurtling towards the ground.

His blaster is drawn in a second, and your sluggish mind struggles to connect with him through your bond in order to calm his frantic motions. He must break out of his trance before you are able to form a connection, because he suddenly settles back down into the chair with a tired exhale.

“Sorry, you startled me.” He apologizes.

“It’s ok.”

He adjusts you into a more comfortable position, fussing as he tucks you back into his chest. You just hum against his neck, basking in the warmth that he produces. Surprisingly, the beskar itself is also warm, and you note that it must maintain the same temperature as his body.

“We landed a little while ago. The others left to enjoy a night on the town, they won’t be back for several hours.”

“Mmm.”

“Are you even awake?”

“Yes.” You respond as you peel an eye open. The adorable way Din is tilting his helmet to look at your face sends a wave of affection blossoming through your chest. But, as cute as he looks right now, you really want to be asleep.

“Since we have a moment, I want to talk about what happened today.”

That has your attention, and you’re fully awake in seconds.

“I know that we disagreed on a couple things today. And, we have both made implications about our feelings, but I want to lay everything out on the table so it is one hundred percent clear.”

You nod in agreement.

“You and the child will always be the first priority to me. No matter what. Mandalorians value their clan, their family, above all else. You and the kid are my family.” He cuts himself off, voice cracking a little as he tries to continue.

You rush to fill the silence, eager to reassure him of your own feelings. “You and the kid are my family too Din, and I would not have it any other way. I know that you didn’t give me the mission earlier because you were worried about me. And, I know that you had to remove your helmet because there was no other way to locate the little one. I am sorry I didn’t support your decisions. I was bitter and hurt, but I won’t make that mistake again.”

A sound, like that of a choked sob, escapes Din and your heart squeezes in pain. Before you can finish, he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) I am so sorry, I didn’t even think about how you would feel.”

“No! Don’t apologize, I am the one apologizing to you.”

You are both laughing through your tears, and you clutch at his hands with both of yours.

“I love you Din, I love you so much, and I will always support any decision you make.”

“Ner verd’ika, ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. (My little warrior, I love you) You hold my heart in your hands.”

At that admission, you feel a burning desire to kiss him, but you settle for resting your forehead against his helmet instead.

“I seem to recall that you promised to ‘kick my ass’ once we landed.”

“Stop it, you’re ruining the moment.” You rebuke him as you shove half-heartedly at his chest.

“I think you’re wimping out, ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) You don’t think you can beat me anymore?”

How dare he tease you. The nerve of this man.

“No, I’ll still kick your ass anyways. I hope you won’t be too embarrassed when I school you in front of everyone else tomorrow.” A smug smirk stretches across your face as you finish speaking.

“You’re quite feisty, my dear.”

“Shut up, you love it.”

He grumbles beneath the helmet, neither denying nor acknowledging your statement.

“I never realized you had such a dirty mouth.” The words are directed through your bond, and you can’t help but notice that the tone is a little suggestive. His words have your face erupting into flames.

Your Mandalorian has some real nerve.

Ending Notes: I am actually really happy with how this turned out. Multi-chapter stories are a little intimidating and I admire all of you writers that can juggle several multi-chapter stories at once. I hope that this did the whole un-masking/face reveal thing justice while still staying as true to Din’s character as possible. ALSO, if I messed up any of the Mandalorian culture/lore stuff, please let me know.

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