#shoutout to the mirror on my desk

[pokeberry5]

nobody told me that alvin draper has a nose ring!! and earrings!! does this mean tim has a nose piercing?? 

(related doodles under the cut, feat. dick:)

[gawdlysims]

Hello Kitty Vanity

Details:

Mirror (8 Swatches)

Desk (8 Swatches)

Chair (13 Swatches)

Credits:

Sims4Studio

100% Original Mesh

Blender 3.3

Terms Of Use:

Do Not Share My Content (Always Free After 2-3 Weeks)

Recolors Allowed (Personal while Early Access.)

Don't take ownership of anything that I create.

Only include my things in your download if it is already free; otherwise, do not feel the need to link back to me unless it's just a nice shoutout because you like my creations and would like to bring awareness! AGAIN, this is only if my creations are already free. If it is still under Early Access, then please link back to me for people to download.

Download Here (Public 4.25.24)

[greenorangevioletgrass]

fever pitch (b.b.) - part three

previous part | series masterlist

soundtrack: don't blame me - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: you and bradley spend the night, but the road to heaven is full of obstacles; some are external, others are self-inflicted. warnings: language, public scrutiny (will be a recurring theme in this fic ha!), bradley is a stand-up guy all round, fluff, smut (d/s elements, praise kink, bit of a bratty side?, fingering, oral [f receiving], dirty talk, size kink, bradley is PACKING, protected sex) notes: i'm back! life has been crazy since i posted the previous chapter, but i just wanna say thank you so so much for your patience and your kind words about the fic so far! big shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse and @teacupsandtopgun for being absolutely GEMS in brainstorming ideas-- this wouldn't have happened if it weren't for y'all <3 happy reading!

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The Langham, Sterling Suite. Ask for Holly Golightly ;)

Bradley smiles at your text, and the cheeky “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” reference. He shoots up a quick reply as he makes his way out to the lobby, fighting hard not to be grinning like an idiot to any unassuming passersby, until—

Click-click-click-click! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

“Hey, it’s Bradley Bradshaw!”

“Oi, Bradley! Give us a smile, mate!”

“Bradley, did you get to meet Y/N inside?”

“Did the boss let you out on a school night, Bradley?”

”How are you feeling about the Sunderland game this weekend?”

It’s a meager distance from the steps of Annabel’s to the curb where the valet has brought out his car, but holy shit. It doesn’t usually get nearly as crazy as this. He’s partied here with Harry Styles, and nobody bat an eye when the guy stumbled out drunk with his left tit out. But maybe it’s because Harry lives in London sometimes, or maybe because he was on a break… unlike Miss Americana on her world tour right now. It makes him pause and rethink how careful he needs to be.

Bradley gets into his car and drives off, trying to tread between the fine line of quick and careful. He can’t help but look over the rearview mirror more often than normal. Fuck, is this how you feel like all the time? He’s no stranger to the spotlight, but rather than the occasional run-ins, nobody has ever been interested in where he went to dinner on a random Tuesday night.

The Langham is barely a mile away, but Bradley sees photographers parked across the hotel with their long-lens cameras and disgusting disposition, and he keeps on driving. Thinking. Restrategizing. Hoping that his vintage aubergine Ferrari isn’t causing suspicion for driving by the second and third time.

He finds a basement parking lot behind the building and pulls up, hoping it’s the right entrance to the hotel. The attendant looks starstruck as he nods and points the way, sending him off with an eager ‘Come on you Gunners!’. And just like that, he makes it into the lobby out of the pap’s sight.

Be cool, he reminds himself, you’re only as suspicious as you seem to be. He comes up to the reception desk, and the girl behind it greets him warmly.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Langham. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Ms. Golightly at the Sterling Suite,” Bradley says smoothly. “Holly Golightly.”

“And who am I speaking with, sir?” The girl looks at him like he seems familiar, but can’t quite place him. 

“...Paul Varjak,” he states, unable to bite back the smile. Oh, the thrill of giving out a fake name with the very real possibility of getting called out on his shit. 

But she nods and grabs the telephone, dialing into your room. Blissfully ignorant of the pseudonym he just gave her. 

Good. 

Let this inside joke be the two of yours alone.

The elevator ride up is peaceful—too peaceful that he can hear his heart beating and his palms sweating. Even the carpet mutes his footsteps towards the double door. Before he even presses the bell, a bodyguard opens the door for him.

“Mr. Bradshaw,” he nods curtly. It’s one of the guys from the restaurant earlier. Middle-aged, stout and rather short, sporting a permanent scowl and a vibe that indicates he’s seen some shit.

“Hi. Sorry, I haven’t got your name…?”

“Guy,” he deadpans.

Bradley wonders if that’s his real name or he’s just saying it so Bradley would get off his case, but smiles anyway. “Nice to meet you, Guy.”

Guy hums gruffly and ushers him into the foyer, an identical hallway of the hotel, with a room on each side. “Through here,” he leads him towards another set of double doors at the end of the hallway.

Meanwhile, you are full-on freaking out in your living room. Should you get changed? You’ve taken off your heels, but getting everything off feels so premeditated… You don’t even know if he wants things to go that far. Maybe you can break your little rule and bring out the wine for liquid courage? Gosh, nothing feels right. And it’s been so long since you’ve last done this that you’ve actually gone rusty.

And before you get to decide—in the long, wasteful twenty minutes or so you’ve been pacing, you hear a knock on your door.

“Coming!”

You rush over to get the door and there he is, coming out victorious through the hurdles, smiling at you.

“Thanks, Guy. I’ll take it from here,” you dismiss your security a little too quickly, nodding over Bradley’s shoulder. You’re sure Guy is rolling his eyes all the way back to his room over your lovestruck teenager behavior.

But it hardly matters when this man before you is looking at you like the sun.

“Hey, you.” Bradley beams at you from his spot. As if afraid to invade your space somehow.

And so are you. This feels like that night in the garden all over again. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t some pocket of a park you stumbled into; this is your hotel room. 

Quiet. 

Private. 

Safe.

“Come on in.” You let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him the warm foyer light cast golden upon his face. You’re not sure if it’s the fact that you’ve ditched your six-inch heels, or that there’s no one else, but Bradley looks even taller than you remember him. Broader. More… imposing.

“I’m sorry for taking so long. There’s cameras everywhere and I had to—”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him. It feels rude to ask if he got caught on camera, but at this point, you had to ask. “Did you… Did they…?” 

Bradley quickly shakes his head. “No, I took the basement entrance, out of sight. We’re good.”

”I’m, uh… sorry for the fuss.”

”Hey, it’s no trouble at all… Ms. Golightly,” he tilts his head, grinning at your chosen pseudonym.

”Yeah, it changes every time. My last stop in Tennessee, I was Clarice Starling,” you admit, making him laugh. “Although I’m glad you got the reference… Mr. Varjak.”

He simpers, very proud of himself. And with that, he takes a step closer to you. Towering over you. Crowding you with his smile, his scent, his body heat… and neither of you makes the first touch. You’re painfully aware of how his gaze keeps dropping to your lips. Bodies drawn towards each other but tied in place for some reason. It seems like despite all the flirting you did at the restaurant, everything goes out the window once you’re alone.

You’re just two strangers, caught in a thrilling game of push and pull. Too scared to tip over and just… fall.

“Can I kiss you…?” Bradley breathes out. He feels foolish for asking, but it’s the only way to make sure he’s not ruining the entire evening.

But you sigh in relief and nod your head yes, and it gives you the push you need to close the distance from him. You don’t know which one happened first; touching his lips with yours, grasping his arms for balance, or standing on your tiptoes on his shoes. He keeps you there, his strong hands securing your waist.

“You’re making me feel like a kid…” It makes you giggle into the kiss, and he can’t not possibly fall in love with the sound of that—with the feel of your lips pulled up right against his.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing…” Bradley runs his hands down your sides gently. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“All night? You mean you’ve been thinking about making out with me while I tell you my life story?” you gasp, feigning shock and offense.

He laughs again. “Maybe for a moment or two there, I’ll admit.”

“I thought you were a gentleman!” you give him a playful smack on his behind, and there’s a flash of… something in his eyes. A spark, or a darkening. You’re not sure what it is yet, but it sends butterflies into your stomach yet again.

Bradley tucks some loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “I’m still a gentleman.”

“Really? I don’t believe that…” you sway his hips lightly, “I think you’re very… very bad,” you purr out, your lips barely touching.

He meets you halfway, and it feels like less of a shock this time. You gladly lose yourself in him, knowing you’ve crossed the line now. You finally notice how his mustache scratches your skin in a nice way, how he holds you flush against him, how he just melts into you in the kiss… enshrouding you in his warmth and lighting you on fire at the same time. 

Bradley pulls away, barely just. His forehead is still pressed against yours, your noses are bumping, and his breath melding with yours. He licks his lips and you swear you can almost taste it. “You’re making it really hard for me to be a gentleman, kid…”

You can’t help but chuckle at the nickname. It’s not one you expect, but it sounds right somehow. “I didn’t invite you all the way here to be a gentleman.”

The twinkle in his eyes darken. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. “Is that right?” Bradley’s hands slide down your hips, finding the swell of your ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

The air catches in your throat, and you swallow lightly. “Mm-hm.”

Instead, you lead him into the bedroom. Bradley is right behind you, barely a step behind. His hands have found a home on your hips and he seems adamant to stay there for a moment. Insisting to hold onto you because he worries he’ll get ahead of himself before you’re ready. But gosh, you’ve been ready all night and you’re practically twisting your arms around trying to reach the zipper on the back of your dress.

“Come here, I got you,” he rasps, his heart skipping as he drags the zipper down your back. He’s not sure which one he loves more; the dip of your spine that he wants to trace with your tongue, or the way the dress falls to the floor and reveals what’s underneath that prim and proper pink dress.

A tiny scrap of lace held by a black strap on either side of your hips, framing the swell of your ass perfectly.

And he swears, for a split second, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

“Fuck…” he breathes out.

You can’t turn around fast enough. It might be a good ‘fuck’, but what if it’s a bad one? “What’s wrong?”

Bradley just blinks at you, for no other reason than how your nipples are poking out the side of the skimpy triangle of your bra. And that your lipstick is smeared on the edges from kissing him.

But of course, your mind is already racing from the lack of response and you’re already thinking, oh no this was a bad idea I shouldn’t have worn this—

“Hey, hey…” he sees your face fall and your arms come up to cover your chest and he immediately steps in. Holding you close, hoping to give you comfort. “Is this all for me?”

Oh, shit. Maybe if you close your eyes tight enough, you would melt to the floor. “I know, it’s a little much—”

“No, that’s not what I asked…” Bradley tilts your chin up, making you look him in the eye. “I said… Did you put these on for me?”

Your breath comes up short, and you nod ever so slightly. You don’t even trust your own voice not to betray how much you want him to like it. How much you want him.

“It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.” He smiles into your lips, kissing you there. Spelling out how he feels with his hands on your ass, his mouth on yours. “Such a good girl…”

That flips a switch in your brain and he can see it. Your eyes go wide, your posture changes, and all of a sudden, you look so… small in his arms. So vulnerable, so beautiful. So perfect. 

Suddenly, he’s holding the world in his arms. The sexy little thing you call panties is a pesky little nuisance now, and he can’t wait to get it off of you. His broad shoulders are keeping your legs open, his nose nuzzling your pubic bone as he looks up at you.

Bradley lowers you down on the side of the bed, settling on his knees before you. Committing every inch to memory by touch, from your ankle to your knee, up the inside of your thighs. When he reaches the scrap of fabric at your core, he feels it slick. He smirks. “What do we have here?”

Your face heats up. How the fuck are you supposed to answer that? No words are coming to your head—not when he’s drawing patterns over your pussy, making the lace glisten all over. And when your panties are positively ruined, he draws his hand back and licks the offending fingers in earnest.

And all it takes is a taste to send him into a frenzy. 

“Fuck honey, need to taste you…” he murmurs between feverish kisses all over your legs. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, feeling like he’s got you under a spell.

“Use your words, kid.” He grins, playfully biting the inside of your thigh.

The sharp sensation makes you yelp, and you grip his hair in reflex. “Yes, want your mouth on me, please…”

“Good girl, asking so nicely…” he chuckles, satisfied with your response. Then, he pulls you to the edge of the bed. That dainty scrap of lace you call panties is a pesky nuisance now, and he couldn’t wait any longer to get it off of you. With your legs hiked up on his broad shoulders, he dives into you. 

A taste, as it turns out, is an understatement because what Bradley does is devour. 

“Oh, fuck…” you gasp sharply at the contact.

With one hand pinning your thigh open, he laps you up in earnest, figuring out the many ways he can make you squirm. Time ceases to exist because it feels like he makes you come in no time, but also he’s been down there forever. But he goes on and on and on until his name comes out in a desperate chant of lust and need. 

“Bradley Bradley Bradley…” she grinds shamelessly into his mustache now, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation on your part. “Please, I’m gonna…”

“I know, honey. I got you. It’s okay.” It’s an oddly wholesome thing to say in a moment like this, but maybe you’re a hopeless romantic at heart, because sweet nothings get you off.

Your orgasm strikes like a thunderbolt, and you find yourself arching into his mouth. The more you take, the more he gives—or is it the other way around?— It seems like he takes as much pleasure in it as you do. Maybe even more, as he holds onto you as you squirm away overstimulated.

“Bradley… wait.” You grab a handful of his hair, trembling breathlessly.

His mustache glistens when he comes up for air, and he finally (finally!) takes off his suit jacket as he stands up. He eases up on the throttle and lets you breathe for a second. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, watching you spread out like a feast for him. Legs open, bra askew, hair fanned out on the pillow… God, he’s so lucky.

When he returns on top of you, you’re eager to pull him by his belt buckle, but he brushes your hand away. You frown in protest. “But I wanna touch you—”

“It’s not your turn yet, honey,” he chides you teasingly.

“You just had your turn!”

He shrugs, nosing your cheek. “Well, it’s still my turn, so…” Bradley closes the gap again and kisses you openly.

The taste of your arousal on his tongue makes you dizzy, but it can’t distract you from the buzz of his fingers rubbing your devoured pussy, sending shivers down your spine. It’s entirely too much, and you keel over from the contact.

“Somebody’s a little sensitive, huh?” He grins, easing the throttle a little.

“Fuck you…”

“Well, if you say so.” He slides his middle finger in.

“Ohhh… Bradley…” you buck up your hips and moan. But in comes another finger, and you swear it feels like all of him. 

He’s wound differently this time, like a man on a mission. With his fingers crooking and stroking your silky walls, beckoning you to come closer, while you grip his shoulders, willing yourself to hold on. But his teeth yanks the edge of your bra to set your nipple free, and his sly tongue finally gets a taste… all resolve goes out the window.

“Come on, honey. I know you got another one in you…” he breathes out, undoing the front clasp of your bra so he can suck your tits with all his might, willing you to come.

And frankly, who are you to say no?

The burst of pleasure hits you from your core to your fingertips. If he wasn’t pinning you down on top of you, you would have probably floated away. But you’re firmly laid on the mattress and feeling everything. Your eyes blink back into focus as you come down from your high.

You pant, staring at him in disbelief. Nobody has ever put that much attention on you in bed before even taking off his clothes. “You got a baseball bat in there or something?”

“Something like that.” He rolls his eyes playfully. Jokingly, you assume.

You take his arm, kissing his wrist, “Can I touch you now?” sticking your tongue out to lick his digits clean of you. Putting on a show as you suck his fingers. “Please?”

He throws his head back and groans. “Fuck.” He can’t resist that doe-eyed look you’re putting on, nor can he resist you undoing his shirt buttons. He can play dominant all he wants, but he knows that the truth of the matter is, he’s all wrapped up around your little finger. “Okay, okay. You win.”

It’s a mess of unbuckling pants, kicking off shoes, and tossing clothes to the floor. Your hand reaches out to trace his gleaming skin, every ridge of his abdomen. You’ve seen the Calvin Klein campaigns and the Men’s Health covers— and gosh, he looks like a dream. But when that thing just springs up to his stomach when he pushes his boxers down…

You didn’t expect him to manifest straight out of your wet dream.

“Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding about your baseball bat,” you breathe out, head tilted as you stare at his thick cock. The vein that runs along the side, the way it curves slightly to the right, the length that makes you clench at the mere thought of it… Fuck, it’s pretty.

Bradley chuckles sheepishly. He knows how big it is, he’s heard all the jokes in the locker room, but hearing it from you hits different. “You scared?”

You should be, a little. But without flinching, you bite your lip and look him in the eye. “Nah, I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

Gosh, he loves you. He’ll have to remember not to blurt that out too early. “Okay, big girl,” he chuckles, kissing you one last time before rolling off of the bed.

His sudden disappearance out of sight makes you frown. “Where are you—” you prop yourself up on your elbow, seeing him fish out a packet of condom from his trousers pocket, “Right. Safety first.”

Bradley nods, tearing the packet open with his teeth and rolling it on. There’s something so hot about how a man looks just before he fucks someone. “Mm-hm. Gotta make sure we’re both covered.”

“Do I need goggles and a helmet, too?”

He pauses as he straddles your hips. “Maybe next round,” he cheekily quips back. The idea of you wearing nothing but a helmet and safety goggles weirdly makes his cock stir, too. But you’re already lying naked under him, and he doubts that much will deter his hard-on.

Bradley pushes himself into you a little, and your eyes water as you whimper out in a blur of pain and pleasure. And here you thought two of his fingers felt full…

He stops in his tracks, trying to gauge your reaction. He nearly lost his mind over how tightly you’re clenched around him, but he doesn’t want to presume. “Too much?” He asks softly, stroking your cheek. 

Your breaths run ragged as you look up at him, almost in awe. “You’re just… so big…”

He laughs breathlessly. He hates to brag, but it’s true. And as much as he’s enjoying the way you flutter under him, he has to ask, “Want me to pull out?” Please say no, please say no, I don’t think I can handle it…

“N-no…” you wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging to him for dear life. “But I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

Bradley smiles at what has to be the most adorable look he’s ever seen from you. He kisses your forehead in reassurance. “I’ll go nice and slow, okay? I promise.”

Feeling this small and vulnerable so soon after meeting someone would usually set all kinds of alarms in your head. You never know how a guy would take it. But in this moment, nestled in the crook of his neck, among the mix of his perfume and aftershave and his natural musk… all you want to do is stay. “Okay,” you nod softly.

“Let’s try again then, hm?” He kisses your temple and whispers in your ear, “Open up, love.”

With a deep breath, you bite back a whimper as you take him deeper, still not quite all the way in. “Hurts…”

Bradley stops again, his concern fully taking over now. “You sure you want me to keep going…?”

“Yes!” You surprise yourself with how quick and desperate you answered him. Your eyes shut, trying to offset the warmth setting over your cheeks, as you make the dirty admission, “I… I like it when it hurts.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bradley has to remind himself not to come on the spot, because holy shit. He wouldn’t go this hard on a woman so early in the game, but… his head is dizzy from how innocently you said it. He takes a breath to pull himself together. “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?”

The air is heavy. The room is silent. You can hear the shift in the tension as you smirk, “Yessir.”

There you are, you little devil. Bradley simply grabs you by the hips and bottoms out inside you. Your face goes slack while your cunt tightens around his cock, and it blows his mind.

He starts out slow, torturously so. Stuffing himself inside your crevice and dragging himself out, willing you to feel every inch. Every ridge. Until your body loosens up and twists around in the throes of passion. Your mouth falls open, your little gasps and moans coming and going as he pleases.

The unhurried pace is nice for a few minutes, when you’re still adjusting to his size. But now that he’s snug inside you, you’re simply aching for more. Your hips arch up into him halfway, a little more urgent, disrupting the rhythm with a pleasant stutter.

He notices this and smiles. “So eager… what’s the rush, hm?”

You answer with a groan. He has a penchant for asking you questions you can’t answer, this man. “You feel so good, baby…” you murmur headily, hands desperately grasping on him—his arms, his shoulders, his back…

”You feel even better.” He nips at your pert nipple, relishing in your angelic little filthy cry. Fuck, he can feel the exact motion of your pussy tightening for him. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that…”

”Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker onto yours immediately. You’re gonna be the death of him, he swears…

You grab his hair by the fistful, keeping his gaze. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

”Oh fuck—” he doesn’t stand a chance. His body reacts faster than his brain could compute, and he holds your hips flush against his as he buries himself as deep as he can. Every twitch of his cock sends you reeling, and your pussy clenches and unwinds in your climax, following him down from his high to yours.

Free falling, hand in hand.

Bradley rolls off of you and you would complain, if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you into his chest. Thank fuck. You’re not quite ready to untangle from him yet. Not when your breaths still run a bit ragged, as if accidentally catching each other’s. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and it feels unlike your regular out-of-town hookup. No, this one’s different. But not a word is said between you on that for different reasons— each of you holding your cards close to your chest, as close as you’re holding each other.

[brenbofen]

Poly Jingren HCs ♥︎

Jing Yuan x Blade x Reader

Broadcaster Message - my bbay girls, i love them so much. Shoutout to one of my irl friends that is followign this account now, pretending your not here.

Notes 🗒️ - NSFW Headcanons, Sub Jing Yuan, Reader is written to have a dick in some Headcanons but can be interpreted as a strap, Mention of Breeding and Pregnancy, Feminization?, Masochism/Violence, Sub Blade, Blood, Possessiveness on Blades side, Collars, Mirror sex, Semi-Public sex, Degradation, Let me Know if I missed anything, theres a lot..

✦ Jing Yuan is the most submissive man I’ve seen in my life, make that man WHIMPER.

✦ Have him pressed between you and Blade while you two tease him relentlessly. Imagine Jing Yuan in a mating press, Blade shoving his dick down Jy’s throat as you fuck him, both of you giving him mix of praise and degradation.

✦ Have his head in your lap as you run your fingers in his hair, cooing at his pretty fucked out face. Blade pounding into him from behind, Jing Yuan crying at your words and the feeling of Blade in him, his hands clawing at your hips and thighs.

✦ Another position is Blade sucking his dick with you sat behind Jing Yuan, pulling and pinching his nipples. Bite down on his neck and cover him with bite marks, Blade already covering his thighs in claw marks and hickeys. Jing Yuan throwing his head back as he cries, he feels so good, it’s all just so much he can’t take it.

✦ PLEASEE fuck him in his office, or anywhere that is semi-public. Loves the thrill of having sex in a place anyone could walk into, seeing the General of the Xianzhou being fucked silly. Public restrooms, an alleyway, giving him head under his desk, literally anywhere, he loves it so much.

✦ This man will maul your back. I imagine he has these decently long pretty nails that will just dig into your back. He also bites, no argument. Sinking his teeth into your neck to muffle his whines and moans, biting so hard he draws blood. Will feel so sorry afterwards and will insist on cleaning any wounds he made.

✦ Jing Yuan has a MASSIVE breeding kink and no one can change my mind. He’s just pounding into you, begging to let him cum in you. Even if you can’t get pregnant he doesn’t care, he just wants to fill you up so bad, see you carrying his kids, the idea drives him mad.

✦ Or fuck him, telling him how pretty he’d look carrying your kids, you both know he can’t get pregnant, but the idea has him drooling. He’s crying, saying he’d be your pretty house wife, quit his job as General just to have your kids.

✦ If you’re shorter than Jing Yuan he will be so careful with you, but just can’t help himself when you give him head and he sees a large lump form in your throat from his dick, how you need to stand on your toes to fuck him when hes bent over a desk. He loves it so much, he finds you so cute.

✦ If you’re taller lift him up and pin him against a wall, let his feet dangle in the air. He loves feeling your large hands travel his body, squeezing his thighs and hips. Loves being completely lifted up while you fuck him, supported by only you.

✦ Blade would be a switch leaning on the dominant side.

✦ Masochist. This man will hand you a knife and beg you to carve your name into his skin, let it scar, let there be a constant reminder he belongs to you. Dig your nails into his skin, bite down till he’s bleeding, kick him, slap him, do whatever you like with him.

✦ If you don’t like the idea of hurting Blade he’ll understand, be a bit disappointed, but understand nonetheless.

✦ Overstimulate him. The only time you’ll see him cry is when you do. Have him on his knees in front of you, face pressed against your leg as he cries and cries. As much as he begs you to stop he loves it, loves the pain that shoots trough his body as you continuously play with him.

✦ Will gladly wear a collar, let you tug on it, attach a leash to it. On the topic of tugging on him, pull his hair. Fucking him from behind, pulling his head up so he can see himself in a mirror, watching you thrust in and out of him.

✦ Very possessive of you, if he even feels slightly jealous when in public will pull you to the side and fuck you. Even better if you take control and fuck Blade, degrade him and tell how much of a whore he is while you fuck him.

✦ If you’re shorter than Blade you topping him is even more thrilling. Seeing a lump im your stomach form as you ride him, watching you struggling to hold him down as you fuck him, he loves it.

✦ If your taller than him he loves fighting back, being a massive brat while you hold him down. Feeling your large hands squeeze around his neck or wrists, pinning him to the bed as best you can.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

being gorgeous

HAHA SORRY I'M A LITTLE LATE TO THE 2.0 REVEAL THIRST PARTY i passed out while writing this yesterday and it shows. and then i've done nothing else today except for write, eat a donut, write, reheat some pork chops, write, join an online meeting, and write. it's 8:23 am. bonus points if you can pinpoint the exact moment i dropped my phone and fell asleep last night. and also the point where it turned morning here and i started getting goofy. literally no matter what happens all roads lead to Oh My God Why Is Shu So Beautiful

funny story while i was writing this: i wrote p much all of this on my pc and i have all of the noctyx puppets around my desk area but taichou is the only one that's actually on the desk and when i was starting out for the day i couldn't concentrate because he was just staring at me like ._. so i turned him around to face the wall and somehow that was what kicked off 3631 words???

shoutout to 🍰 anon for making soooo many of my neurons activate. we have a mutualistic symbiotic relationship and i think i'm going to go insane. i've spent the better part of the last 24 hours just writing this and nothing else i think i've actually lost it.

tags: established relationship, suggestive content, making out, 2.0 outfit, praise kink, humiliation kink, hurt/comfort, self-image positivity ig?, soft dom reader, gender neutral reader, sex references under the read more but there's no actual sex lol

⚠ suggestive/sexual content, praise kink, and humiliation kink under read more. content under read more is not intended for minors

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

All that muscle, and still Shu finds himself between a wall and a hard place. He wanted to try on something new, and naturally you were the first to check him out.

And, God, you checked him out. He wore a loose black robe covered in the skeletons and bones you were so used to seeing on a daily basis. The robe nearly grazed the floor of the changing room, and as he shuffled his feet, the fabric wrapped around the outline of Shu’s strong calves before returning to rest. A plume of fur adorned one shoulder while the other bore a moon pauldron that only drew your eye to the broad shoulders underneath. He tied his long hair up into a ponytail, the dark interrupted by streaks of pink and blond by his bangs, and purple hair fell down his back and caught the gleam of his bright eyes.

Though those bright eyes were cloudier with the shyness of being the center of your attention. He resolved himself to confront it. He cleared his throat and met your gaze, and asked, “Do you like it?”

“Shu, look at yourself.” You grasped him by the shoulders and turned him around to face the mirror. “Of course I do. You’re beautiful.”

He tried to keep a straight face, but there was no way he’d be able to hide his red ears with his hair tied up. “How do you just say things like that so easily?”

“Because it’s true,” you said. You rested your chin on his shoulder, right next to the armor, and watched the mirror as his face turned to roses the same shade as the marking on his forehead.

You get comfortable. “You’ve always been so handsome no matter what you do.” Your hands hold him by his waist, but it doesn’t take you long before one roams upwards. His waistline slopes out to his chest, and you feel Shu’s body shift as your hand slides under the fabric and cups one side of his chest. The mirror serves as a reminder that you were practically on top of him. “But honestly, Shu, you look so hot I can’t believe it.”

“I- I do?”

You mutter in agreement before you kiss his neck, languid and low where it meets his collarbone.

Shu gasps in surprise as it turns passionate, traces of your teeth along skin usually hidden by his hair. He softens into you as you fondle him, and when you circle his nipple he knows he’s doomed.

Teeth sink into his skin, and his breath hitches at the sudden pain. It quiets as your tongue soothes the mark, and goes blinding as you flick his nipple in time with a long lick. Shu can’t help but moan at that. His shoulder rises as nervous energy drips down his body from where your lips cling to his neck, and he knows you can feel him tremble as you toy with his nipple.

The kisses rise higher on his neck, a line of desperation even though you know you have all the time in the world. It’s more like you need to make him know he’s cherished. You weren’t kidding when you complimented him earlier; he’s always been good-looking, and you’ve never been shy about that. But trying a different look made him just as tense as he was excited, so you’re here to shoo all those insecurities away. After all, you’d be lying if you said his new look didn’t turn you on.

You take a glance at the mirror's reflection. Shu's eyes are shut. His long lashes flutter between his makeup, and his lips are parted as he takes all the sensations in. Meanwhile, you look sly and calculated as you cast a sideways glance to your reflection. A bit of your tongue pokes out of your mouth and along your latest attack.

Using the mirror, you take Shu's head in your hands as your lips run over his ear. His eyes snap open into lovely crystal, stunned and sparkling.

“I don’t think I can resist you,” you whisper. "Look at yourself."

He averts his eyes. "I mean, I'm not all that."

"Oh, you are." You turn him to the mirror as your fingers glaze along his chin. Your nails lightly scratch at his jawline, and he can't help but stare at the movement in the mirror.

Out of the corner of his vision, he catches his expression and nearly kicks himself. Was he really that out of control? His horrors are realized when he notices the bead of saliva at the corner of his mouth. He swats the back of his gloved hand over it.

But you catch Shu's hand before he can even wipe it away. "Don't."

"But..."

"Stay still."

Following your command wasn't so hard. He was frozen in place anyways.

It takes everything he has to not react as you drag your tongue up his jawline between the fingernail scrapes. His heart hammers as your lick curls perfectly around his lip to catch the saliva before sliding it back into place inside his mouth.

He follows what feels natural, and when his tongue meets yours, fire runs in your blood. Outside it, too. Sorcerous flames kick alive around his head, then fade just as quickly as they appeared. He's a light show even in his invisible unconscious, and sparks course in your open-mouthed kiss in jolts of hot heaviness.

The hand that caught his earlier leads him as he takes a step back, then another, and his third ends flush against the wall. Shu's ponytail swirls around from the movement, and brushes along your body as you pin him to the wall of the changing room.

There's a loud smack as you end the kiss, breathless and heated. Shu's lashes blur over his enchanted purple eyes, and a few strands of black and gold-blond hair get in the way of his face.

"So handsome," you say, and move his head back to the mirror. "You can still see yourself?"

He barely rustles out a yes, but you feel his head nod slowly between the nails on his jaw and tangled in his hair.

"Good. I'm glad you get to see how handsome you really are." Your grasp crawls up to his cheek. "Watch yourself, and don't dare to look away. I want you to see yourself become a beautiful mess. Can you do that for me?"

Another nod, slower this time.

"Say it."

Shu swallows, and struggles to put the words together. He didn't think he was ugly per se, but he always thought of himself as just plain average. One of the many so-so faces out there in the world. All your praise breaks through those thoughts like an arrow smack-dab in the center of a target, however, and he's abashed at how easily you can say something he's never considered himself as.

It's unfamiliar. A new feeling, really, and likely the one he was dreading when he decided to wear something new for a change. Shu doesn't consider himself a head-turner—that's usually reserved for one of his friends, and he's used to watching them in the limelight from his own comfortable corner of darkness—so now that he's the one against the wall with eyes on him and nowhere to run, hot shame tempers his blush. The mirror only intensifies the feeling.

He looks back at himself. His hair's already messed up from the hand against his scalp, and one side of his neck peppered with the indentation of fangs along the soft skin. Not to mention his decidedly uncute face, with hands far prettier than his own around his jawline, murky eyes crinkled from his perverted pleasure, and yet another string of saliva down from his swollen-red lips. It was probably left over from the kiss. He thinks he should call it disgusting.

Your face rests along his in the mirror, and he can feel your breath on his cheek as you massage his flustered face. You're way more attractive than he is, and he has to wonder: does such an average-looking guy like him really deserve to have such a beautiful person dote over him like this?

"It's okay to indulge yourself, you know," you suggest. Your voice is golden caramel and rich chocolate. "You really are gorgeous. Even if you don't believe it."

Gorgeous. The word bounces around his head. He's never been called gorgeous before, and he nearly turns away on instinct.

The new feeling, he decides, is being gorgeous.

You smooth over one of the long locks of hair along his chest, where you teased him earlier. It feels like silk through your fingers, and as you reach higher Shu's eyes widen just a little more. Then you see the glassiness between the color, and you realize there's more going on in his head than you thought.

"I'll take care of you, if you want me to." You put your agenda on hold just to make sure you aren't about to overwhelm Shu. "Do you want me to?"

"Reader, do you really think..." Shu lowers his head as he fights to form the sentence. "You really think I'm... that?"

"I do."

"And you're not just saying that?"

"You are, I swear. Here, let's take a break real fast." You step away and give Shu some space, but he keeps his back against the wall. He exhales, and the color drains from his face. “Stop me if you need me to. But when we met, I thought you were really pretty. I really liked your sense of style, and the colors in your hair, and I liked to sneak looks at your biceps." You laugh a little at that. "I love your eyes a lot. They're really bright, and whenever you smile, they always squint a little.

"That's one of the other things I really love about you, whenever you smile. You like to laugh. So you smile often, and it's always because they're something to be happy about, and that makes me happy too. Sometimes because it affects me too, and sometimes, just because I love whenever my partner gets to enjoy himself."

You scratch the back of your head. "And, um, I came off a little strong when I saw you, so I'm sorry if I scared you. I didn't mean to do that at all. It's just that I got used to seeing your usual outfit, so now that you're trying something new..." You laugh again, but this time it's a gentle giggle, and without lust fueling you, you feel a bit embarrassed. "I mean, I really did think you were beautiful before, especially once we got closer, and I got to explore you more. But this is a whole other level. You've really outdone yourself. Like, I couldn't even hold back when I saw you, I was just so attracted to you that I didn’t even think. I really should have, though. I didn’t mean to cross a boundary.”

Shu’s eyebrows raise. “What? You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just that…”

He trails off. He slumps over and slides down the wall with a sigh as he sits. His ponytail rests along the floor and along one of his sleeves. "I know you compliment me often, but I never thought you seriously meant it. No one's ever said things like that to me before."

"Really?" You sit next to him. "Should I stop?"

"No! No, you're fine. I mean. I think... It's not like I didn't like it." Shu buries his face into his hands and groans. "I really liked it, actually. I think it was just too new, and it's second nature for me to deny how good it feels, and—" He cuts himself off to muster up his courage. He lowers his hands just enough to peek out, but his fingers thread through each other and hide his face. "I've never been called gorgeous before."

"Was that okay?"

"It was perfect," he admits. His eyebrows relax, and his eyes squint. You don't need to see the rest of his face to know his lips curved up. But he dilutes his swoon with another sigh, and you can tell he's disappointed in himself as he drops his hands to his side. "I wish I wasn't in my head when you said it. Sorry for ruining a good moment."

"You didn't ruin anything, Shu, what are you talking about?" You reach to hold his hand, but hesitate, unsure if he wants to be touched. But he turns his palm over to met yours, and you connect. "I'm glad we're talking about it, and I'm hoping that it's helping you work through it, too. I'd hate to do or say anything to you that you couldn't handle."

"Thank you. That's really sweet of you." You take in how he wraps his fingers around yours and squeezes. "I'm going to calm down for a moment."

You sit together for a moment. His face is a slideshow between thoughts, and you rub circles along his hand with your thumb as he recomposes himself. You trust him.

You send comfort through your fingertips on the changing room floor, and his deep breathing turns to silence as a minute passes by. Then Shu turns to you, and lifts your hand in his. "Do you want to try again?"

"You're up for it?"

He nods, and this time it's with all his energy. "I was really looking forward to it. Can we?"

"Of course, Shu, anything for you." Already you're starting to feel warm. You get up to your feet, and bring Shu with you.

You're not so sure if Shu is aware of this, but even in his weakest moments, he moves elegantly. Not so much that it looks practiced, but he rises nimble like the shadows he channels his sorcery through. His long hair rests on his sleeves, then slips behind his back airily as the leathery wing along his torso flares with the motion.

He doesn't let go of your hand, even as he steps back and rests against the wall.

"You're okay with this?" You ask.

"It felt nice."

Your hand lets go of his, but it doesn't break away from his glassy-clear skin, and instead takes in the shape of his arm. His inner wrist is so soft, but the skin gets pleasantly rougher as you continue upwards into the plush of his forearm, and by the time you reach the peak of his biggest muscles, the plush turns firm.

The other holds him by his hips right under the sash of his robes. You can wrap yourself so easily around his waistline, and the urge to snatch him up is stifling.

But you're on a mission, and Shu's straight nose is dusted with pink, and when your hands both squeeze his body, a short gleam of fire spirals out behind him, and yet, his vivid, royal eyes are what captivate you the most.

You're so lost in his long lashes and the flecks of galaxy that you feel helpless, even with him pinned underneath you. "Shu, can I kiss—"

You get your answer before you even finish the question.

It's like you never paused in the first place. He enters your mouth first, and you match his movements, crossing along his tongue as if it was your lifeblood. It probably is. Shu has a tendency to unlock hunger like you've never known it before.

His arms unconsciously flex at the contact. Aroused, you drive forward and force him further against the wall, and when you hear the rumble of a moan between your connected lips, your fingers clutch harder at his waist.

Your bodies are flush against one another, and as you lean forward, you feel the telltale silkiness of his hair. You don't dare to open your eyes as you fumble around for a tuft to tangle your hands in. Shu pulses in your mouth as you take hold, and parts just enough to aim for your bottom lip as he returns the favor and bites. You hear a lewd, liquidy smack as he hurriedly glosses over the nip, then back to your parted lips. Every time there's even the slightest tension between his hair and your fingers, you notice, he rushes to kiss you harder.

So when he goes in for another round, you move your mouth away. His eyes flutter open in confusion, then shocks into surprise as you drag him in front of you. The mirror reflects his surprise right back at him.

Your head perches on Shu's shoulder. "You up for this, baby? You want to see?"

The heat returns. His reflection is another reminder of how he's totally at your mercy, and all the shame that comes with being so whipped that he already looks this ruined.

But you called him beautiful earlier. Gorgeous.

He kind of likes the shame.

"Yeah," Shu says, breathless. "Y-yeah, I do."

"Good boy," you coo, and that washes a whole new set of feelings over him that he files away for later. He tucks his chin away, embarrassed at the name, but he's still focused on the reflection as your reach to the top of his head and the beginnings of his ponytail.

Shu grew his hair out long, and you comb through the ponytail as it loosens down his back. "Pretty boy," you say. Your voice is tempting so close to his ear, especially as you gather his hair together. "Pretty boy with pretty hair. You take good care of it."

He lets out a hum deep in his throat as you smooth through it, only for it to turn into a startled choke as you grab at the base of his head. He chides himself for not seeing through your plan, but not enough to stifle how the choke turns into a moan as you pull. His neck jerks back. Then your lips make contact with his nape like a vampire to prey, and the moan turns into an even more humiliating yelp. The mirror proudly displays his neediness, but the high pitch is yours alone to keep.

"Didn't mark this side earlier." You mutter as you blow cool air over your latest kiss, and bask in how he shivers storms. "You like that?"

"Mmm, feels good," he says, voice wavering.

"Sounded like it, too. I liked hearing it. Gives me a chance to keep playing around with you."

His common sense tells him to protest, but he's too enthralled by the rough kisses and pulls. You tug on his hair to move him instead of asking him, and the way that you can command him without even using words both impresses and mortifies him.

It's the bites that send him over the edge, though. His nape is your territory. The first hickeys have already darkened on the other side, and when he sees you ravenous over his elongated neck, it's dirty and starved and lovely.

You press a kiss under Shu's ear and he jolts at the pleasure. When you suck, he inhales shakily, and lolls his head to the side. He had no idea that he just put himself in the perfect position. "Just like that, stay still. That's perfect." You weave your fingers through an open seam in his outfit, and when you leave your next mark, it's with your hands over his chest underneath the fabric. You grope his cleavage. "Perfect, perfect, perfect."

"H-how did you even— nngh, ah!"

His nipples were already hard enough, but then you just had to go and twist the damn thing like it wouldn't send him so far down to hell that he'd come back up in heaven.

"Just like that, Shu, baby, you're doing so well!" A flick on the bud here, a pull on his ponytail there, your words barely able to ring out as you frenzy between the kisses and the licks.

Whatever noise hangs in the air, it's downright pornographic, and it's only when Shu sees his open mouth in the mirror that he realizes that's his voice. It wobbles between a cry and a huff. Pink and purple dances around his hazy reflection, but as aroused as he is, he recognizes them as his harmless fire. He didn't even know he did that.

The fire trails behind his head as everything goes hot. He can barely think straight, but the only thing coursing through his mind is that he's never been able to feel delight like this before.

Where you stand behind him, Shu rolls his hips, his neck still held back against your body. You've been doing such a good job of keeping yourself together, but the slow coursing is a death sentence. You welcome it wholeheartedly.

"Mm, Shu...!" That elegance is seriously biting you in the ass right now. Even when he's horny, he's graceful, but you ache for more.

And even when he's submissive, he's strong. You tend to forget that those biceps aren't just for show.

Shu practically plucks you out of the embrace and to his side. His voice is husky but whiny. "Mirror or not, I'm not about to go down on you standing up."

"Let's get you a bed," you negotiate. The sooner you can get all you love out of your system, the better. "Lead the way, gorgeous."

He doesn't waste any time at all. He holds his arm out along the small of your back and rests his hand against where your hips connect with your thighs, and as you shuffle out of the changing room he keeps you close to his, brushing up against you all the while. You'd almost think he was preening.

"Gorgeous," you utter. Hopefully he learns how one day.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

[stanchett]

Hi, don’t mind me, I’m just here, on my knees, quietly begging for chapter 3 of Nervous...

And here it is, just for you anon!! I hope you enjoy it :)

HUGE shoutout to my new pals @zephyr-is-tired and @pro-weems-places for editing this chapter as well as the last!! Thank you so so much <3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 AO3 link

Nervous, Chapter 3

2.2k+ words

Bolting from Larissa’s office, you power-walked until you reached the courtyard of the school, your only company a handful of students with a free period who were chatting away at the fountain. You lowered yourself from shaky legs onto a bench, dropping your head into your hands with a sigh. “This woman will be the death of me,” you whispered to yourself, cheeks heating beneath your palms. 

“Hey Ms. Y/L/N… Are you okay?” The gentle voice came from one of your students, the frightened young girl, Margo, you remembered, from yesterday. Your head popped up in surprise, a gentle smile easing over your features. She sat down across from you, placing her things on the table.

“Oh yes, I’m alright. Just a little stressed about the day is all. Nothing to worry yourself with,” you revealed simply, dismissing any concern with a wave of your hand. You were certainly stressed, but weren’t ready to share why with anyone, particularly not a student. 

“Alright, I just thought I’d ask. By the way, do you have a sec? I wanted to ask you something.” She looked down with a frown; it seemed she had a lot on her mind as well. “Do you think I could see you after class a little later? I had some trouble on our last exam and was wondering if we could go over it together. I know I mix up a lot of dates. They all sort of blend together for me.” She let out an anxious laugh at her own words, rubbing the back of her neck. You felt bad for her, but you were more eager to help. 

“Of course, you can always come to me with any questions you have. You’ll have to excuse me though, I’m a bit scatter-brained today. Let me find a spot to write it down-” You cut yourself off, realizing you almost mirrored the words Larissa had spoken earlier, and shuffled through your bag to find your day planner and take note of your upcoming meeting. 

When you failed to find it, you emptied the contents of your bag onto the table before you. Several books cascaded from the canvas tote, none of them the one you were in search of. “That’s weird, I must’ve left it at home…” You almost felt lost without the small book. You were so used to planning everything out on its pages. You settled for inputting a reminder on your phone, hoping that would do the trick.

“Alright Margo, I’ll see you after class!” You were thrilled to have your first opportunity to help one of your students, pride swelling in your chest. The young girl hopped up from her spot across from you, a look of relief painting her expression. 

“Thank you SO much Ms. Y/L/N, I really appreciate it!!” 

She jogged back over to rejoin her friends in conversation, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. You checked your watch and groaned internally upon realizing you still had an hour and a half before your class began. Scooping your books and papers back into your bag, you got up to head to your classroom, grateful it would be empty this early. Your head felt much clearer now given the fresh air, and you walked leisurely down the halls of the prestigious school. 

—-------

Back in her office, Larissa typed away at her laptop, the seemingly endless stream of emails starting to grate on her last nerve. Deciding to take a break, she shut its screen, standing from her desk with a short stretch, raising her arms above her head. She strode to the window, placing her hands on her hips in thought whilst gazing out into the distance. She wondered how long it would take you to notice that something so vital to your day-to-day life was missing from your possession. Taking a step back toward her desk, she picked up the small book, running a hand over its smooth cover. She wasn’t normally the nosy type, but occasionally her curiosity got the better of her. Especially when it came to someone as intriguing as you. She found your nervousness in her presence adorable, and could only imagine the look on your face upon finding out she had read the contents of something so personal.

She opened the cover carefully, as though the book would fall apart in her fingers. Flipping through its filled pages, she admired your handwriting, surprisingly delicate for someone who was so clumsy. She came to a halt on the layout for the present week, reading all of your little notes before coming to rest on today’s date. Scrawled in perfect cursive was Larissa’s own name with a small heart in punctuation, ‘8am sharp’ in parentheses beside it. The principal smiled to herself, shutting the book and placing it in the top drawer of her desk, satisfied with what she had found inside. With that, Larissa sat at her desk once again, now excitedly typing out a short email to send your way.

—-------

You were just wrapping up your first class of the day when you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. After quickly noting the homework assignment on the whiteboard, you capped your marker and headed toward your desk, your students’ chattering rising in volume as the bell rang out. You pulled your phone from your pocket, rolling your eyes at the red “1” notification hanging above your email app. 

Cracking open your laptop, you opened a browser window to view its contents. Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes reading over the message’s sender a few times before being interrupted by someone clearing their throat at your desk. It was Margo. You had almost completely forgotten about meeting with her to discuss her exam results. 

“Ms. Y/L/N? If you’re busy I can come back later…” Your head snapped up at her words. You briefly shook it  in reply. 

“No that’s alright, let’s begin!” came your response, refusing to let her believe you were anything but eager to address her work. 

You leafed through the exams in a folder on your desk, a handful of them still ungraded to be returned at the start of the next class. Pulling hers from the stack, you shut the folder and placed it on top. A defeated sigh sounded next to you. 

“I got a C? But I studied the textbook for days beforehand…” Her sagging shoulders broke your heart. You wanted to do everything you could to help her. Just then, an idea struck you. You reached behind your desk and grabbed a plain sheet of printer paper and a pen sitting nearby. 

“I’ll show you what used to help me memorize all the names and dates. Think of this like a study guide.” You drew a horizontal line across the width of the paper, making small vertical marks evenly across it to form a timeline. Copying the dates from Margo’s test before you, you put them all down in numerical order. “Fill out the names, study it that way, and I’ll allow you to retake the exam in a few days. Sometimes the visualization helps in absorbing the information.” 

Margo smiled from ear to ear, “Really Ms. Y/L/N? You’ll let me give it another shot?” You nodded reassuringly in response. “Thank you so much! I know I’ll do better this time!” She snatched the sheet and practically skipped out of the room.

You brought your attention back to your computer screen. Holding your breath, you opened Larissa’s message and your eyes grew wide for a moment. You cursed under your breath as you read the message over a few times, hoping beyond hope that this was just another one of your dreams. 

Ms. Y/L/N,

It appears you left something in my office upon departing in such a hurry after our last meeting. If you have the time, please see me before the end of the day to pick it up. And do try to keep better track of your belongings, Darling. 

Regards,

Larissa Weems

You felt a sense of humiliation seep into your bones. You knew she thought you scatter-brained, but now you were sure it was glaringly obvious to her.

Wait a second... Your eyes caught on the last word of her message. 

“Darling.”

Your cheeks tinged pink at the pet name. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was toying with you. Had she caught on to your crush? Panic settled over you. Regardless, you couldn’t face her again today. You had only just processed your meeting that morning. Hands shaking, you typed out a reply against your better judgment. 

Principal Weems,

I’ll have to stop by your office in the morning as this afternoon won’t work for me. Thank you for hanging onto it for me. See you then. 

Sincerely,

Y/N 

You wondered what the item could be, shutting your laptop and sliding it into your bag with the rest of your things. Darling. The word echoed in your mind; you could practically hear it in her voice. You got up to leave for lunch, dreading the confrontation tomorrow morning would bring. 

—-------

You sat alone in the teacher’s lounge, grateful to finally have some relative peace and quiet, aside from the low hum of the refrigerator in the corner of the room or the occasional gurgling of coffee dripping through its percolator. 

Sandwich in hand, you turned to the bookmarked page of your current novel, shifting your thoughts away from Larissa and that damned email. She didn’t respond to your reply, so you hoped it was acceptable to her. 

Darling. 

The word was branded in your brain as if she pressed it in herself with a searing iron stamp. 

You were just delving back into the story when you heard voices outside the door. One of them was unmistakable. Larissa. There was a lull in the conversation for a moment, then both parties erupted in laughter. Even in your short time at the school, you had never heard the principal laugh. It was loud and boisterous; such a contrast from her elegant speaking voice and accompanying demeanor. It made you fall even further for her. Maybe, one day you could be the one to make her laugh. 

Just as the thought crossed your mind, a set of heels clicked against the wood of the floor, and you almost looked around for a place to hide before realizing what a ridiculous notion that was. The door swung open and in walked Larissa, ever the image of confidence and regality. 

You looked up from your book, and given her lack of a reaction to you, you guessed she didn’t notice you were already in the room. Perhaps you could pretend to be invisible and she wouldn’t notice you at all. You did, however, take the opportunity to ogle at her openly, your eyes roving over her body as she walked in the direction of the coffeemaker. 

You watched her long digits take a paper cup from the stack, holding it carefully while she poured the hot beverage into it. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes falling to her perfect behind and you thanked god for whoever it was that designed the dress she was wearing. 

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you were staring at me.” 

Her words shook you from your trance, thrusting you back into reality as your face turned beet-red. How did she know…?

Larissa stalked toward you, around the large, oval-shaped table, staring you down in return the whole way. Coming to a stop on your left, she noticed the book in your now faintly-trembling hand. 

“And what have we here?” She placed her cup on the table, flattening her palm against its smooth surface as she leaned down to be eye-level with you in your seated position. 

She looked past you though, feigning interest in your choice of reading material. Her face was inches from yours, but you dared not turn your head. You quickly found yourself overwhelmed at the scent of her perfume, its sweet notes invading your nose and making you dizzy. You couldn’t handle her closeness, and feared you might faint right where you sat. 

Taking in the title atop the page, she hummed to herself, a deep yet gentle rumbling in her throat beside your ear. You tried to swallow your nerves but everything she did made it more difficult to seem normal in her presence. 

“The Price of Salt… Quite an enjoyable read, if I do say so myself. Highsmith was certainly an interesting character, wasn’t she?” She turned her gaze to you after posing the question, her eyes holding an innocent expression. 

You chanced meeting them with your own, your gaze accidentally landing on her red lips on their journey upward. You desperately willed back a whimper, practically forcing your throat to close to avoid it. Your faces were only inches apart. 

Realizing it might be seen as rude to not answer her question, you nodded in reply, quickly adding, “Yes, she was. I-I really enjoy her writing,” before Larissa rose from her lowered position beside you. Your eyes followed her upward as she removed her cup from the table and took a step back, smirking in your direction before turning toward the door. 

“Enjoy your break Ms. Y/L/N, I’ll be seeing you!” she said upon leaving the lounge, tossing a short wave with a twirl of her fingers over her shoulder. 

Once the door shut behind her, the book fell from your grasp, and you dropped your head into your crossed arms in front of you with an exasperated sigh. 

What was this woman doing to you?

tags: @alder-saan @enchantressb @larissaoftarthweems @weemssapphic @brienneswife @readingtheentrails @sapphire-moment @idontlikepexple @alienstookourstars

[sloanerisette]

Digimon 02 Countdown Day 2 - Jogress: What You Are To Me

Happy 02 Countdown! Big shoutouts to @zuzsenpai for putting @digimon02countdown together, and I'm really happy I had a chance to finish this for it! I'm not exactly the happiest with it (am I ever with any of my work) but I got the Miyakari itch and really wanted to do something and this idea came to mind quickly. It's a bit of drama, a bit of longing, and a lot of yuri between the girls. I hope you all enjoy!

Summary: With Yolei so busy studying around the world, Kari has had fewer and fewer chances to spend time with her DNA Digivolution partner. When she finally has the chance to stop by India, though, she has to deal with the fact that her precious time with Yolei is going to be split with her new roommate, too. Kari's not sure how she feels, but she knows she doesn't feel great about it.

I'll post the whole thing here, but you can also read it on AO3 here!

---

“Are you finally ready to go? You’ve spent the last forty minutes figuring out what you want to wear and what you want to bring and we still have to go through the Digital World!”

Kari smoothed out the skirt she had just put on, unable to help but frown as she looked at herself in the mirror. It felt like no matter what outfit she put on, nothing looked as nice as she wanted, and each time she put something on she took it off just as quickly in hopes of finding something better.

She wasn’t even entirely sure why she was feeling like this in the first place. She was just visiting Yolei. Sure, they hadn’t had a chance to hang out in person in a month and a half now, but that didn’t mean she had to dress to impress by any means. Gatomon waited with bated breath, waiting from her spot curled up on the bed as Kari stared at herself in silence.

“Just let me try one more outfit,” Kari finally said before she scurried off to the closet, footsteps padding gently against the wood floor. Gatomon sighed and shook her head as Kari disappeared into her small closet, but thankfully it wasn’t long until she popped out. Kari was now wearing a grey shirt with a cute pink cat design on it and some faded jeans. As Kari walked to the mirror, her stomach churned with discomfort.

She still wasn’t entirely happy with it, not by any means, but it would have to do. She had already taken far too long, and even if Yolei wouldn’t mind if she was a little late, the time difference was still enough that Kari didn’t want to risk losing out on what precious little time she’d have with her DNA Digivolution partner and her best girl friend.

“I’m ready,” Kari said to her Digimon partner, voice cracking slightly. She couldn’t lie, her nerves were getting to her a bit, for a reason she wished she could identify. She tried to swallow down that anxiety, if only so Gatomon wouldn’t get worried. And hopefully she would be relaxed enough by the time they met up with Yolei.

Gatomon opened one eye, looking her partner up and down.

“If you get another cat shirt, I should be on it,” the Digimon said. That was enough to make Kari giggle.

“Well, I can see. Do you have any merchandise I don’t know about?” Kari teased gently. She reached over to her desk and grabbed her smartphone before picking up her bag from the floor. Gatomon gracefully leapt onto Kari’s shoulder as Kari leaned down to get the Digital Gate set up on her computer.

“You excited to see Hawkmon again?” Kari asked as she tapped the enter key.

“Yeah! So let’s go!” Gatomon cheered. Kari held up her phone, and in a literal flash, the two were gone.

Thankfully, the trip through the Digital World to the gate they had to get to was simple enough, and the walk along the plains with a gentle breeze blowing past her served to help her calm down.

As she arrived at the old CRT in question, she pulled out her phone to text Yolei.

[Kamiya Kari]: We’re here!

[Inoue Yolei]: Awesome! I’ll open up the gate for you!

Kari smiled to herself, unable to help but bounce on the balls of her feet. The last time they hung out one on one they had only barely finished lunch before they had to handle a Digimon that made its way into the real world. Taking it down had been a pain and after that, she got called in because a coworker called in sick. But now there would be nothing interrupting their hangout time. She held out her smartphone, and in a flash, she was gone.

“You’re here!”

As the bright light finally faded, there was Yolei, latching onto her with the tightest hug imaginable. Kari choked and laughed, returning the hug. Gatomon barely managed to jump off her partner’s shoulder just before Yolei collided with her.

“I missed you I missed you I missed youuuuuuuuuu!” Yolei cried out, burying her face into the crook of Kari’s neck. Warmth spread throughout Kari, her stomach doing a flip at the sudden, intense show of affection. Kari gently patted Yolei’s back.

“I missed you too,” she said quietly. She missed her so much that just saying she missed her didn’t feel like enough. The embrace held for another minute, before Yolei shook her a bit and let go. She bounced back a step and held her arms in the air.

“Welcome to India!” she shouted. Kari couldn’t help but laugh at the bright smile on her friend’s face, and her infectious energy had the weird anxiety slowly melting away.

“Thanks for inviting me!”

“Of course! And it’s so great to see you, Gatomon!”

“It’s great to see you, too,” Gatomon smiled.

“Is that our guests I hear?” Hawkmon asked from down the hall. He rounded the corner and upon seeing the two, was just as ecstatic as Yolei was. “Oh! I’m so happy to see you two! We’ve been waiting all week for this,” Hawkmon cried out. He flapped over to their guests, landing in front of Gatomon and offering her a hug.

“It’s great to see you too, Hawkmon,” Gatomon said, barely able to stop herself from being bowled over, then hugged her DNA Digivolution partner back. She patted her ears, making sure there was no fur out of place.

“So, what do you wanna do?” Kari asked. “Any big plans you’ve been scheming?” If there was one thing she knew about Yolei, it was the fact that she could (and would) go to any length to come up with something extravagant to do. It had always been something to be wary of in high school— there were a small handful of times Yolei had texted Kari to come over that led to her dragging her to a party— but a part of Kari had missed it, just a little bit.

But a part of her also hoped that Yolei didn’t find any parties to crash…

“I mean, I’ve had a few ideas,” she grinned in that oh so classic Yolei fashion.

“Hopefully non-dangerous ideas?” Kari teased. Yolei took on a look of faux offense, placing her hand on her chest.

“Me? Pitch a dangerous idea? Why, I would never!”

Kari playfully rolled her eyes, doing her hardest to hold back laughter which was currently threatening to erupt from her. However, she couldn’t stay strong for too long, before she nearly doubled over with laughter. Yolei followed suit as soon as she saw just how hard her best friend was laughing. Their Digimon watched on in amusement as the two young women slowly started to recover, gasping for breath and wiping tears from their eyes.

As happy as Kari was for Yolei to be enjoying her university years studying around the world and meeting so many people, she still couldn’t wait for her to hopefully one day come back to Japan so they could be able to spend more time together just like this.

“So, what’s the big plan for today then? It’s not like I have to be back for work or class until tomorrow,” Kari smiled.

“Oh! Well there’s this killer restaurant that we have to go to! Have you ever had Indian food before?” Yolei asked.

“Well, uh… I had some little microwave meal from a convenience store once…” Kari admitted sheepishly. Yolei’s jaw dropped and her eyes went wide.

“Kari!” she shouted, clapping her hands on her shoulders, “That doesn’t even remotely count! Oh my god! We have to fix this!”

Yolei put the back of her hand on her forehead as she let out a long, drawn out sigh, in utter disbelief at her friend’s words.

“You make it sound like I’ve committed a crime not having real Indian food!” Kari laughed.

“Because it is! Seriously, it is going to change. Your. Life,” Yolei assured her while she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Ok, ok, let’s go then!” Kari said.

“We can’t go yet. We have to wait for Mina!”

“Mina?”

She hadn’t meant to say it, it had just come out. Tumbled off her tongue without realizing it. Yolei let out a chuckle.

“Mina? My roommate? You were the one who met her back in 2002.” she said. Kari blinked.

“No, no, I know who she is,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat up. She just… hadn’t expected her to come along on what was supposed to be their day. She wasn’t sure why it threw her off so much, or why she felt so weird over being thrown off over it. Realizing she had said nothing, she playfully stuck her tongue out at Yolei, who returned the gesture.

However, she still hadn’t said anything, and her neurons were firing trying to piece the right words together for what she wanted to say.

“I just… didn’t think she’d be coming, is all,” she finally finished, trailing off weakly as she glanced away.

“She’s been looking forward to it too!” Yolei told her.

Kari swallowed, forcing a tight smile onto her face.

“Can’t wait.”

It didn’t take long for the door knob to turn, and when it did, Yolei just about launched from her seat, running over as Mina and Meramon walked through the doorway.

“You’re back!” Yolei shouted, causing the bag of groceries to nearly spill from her arms at the loud surprise.

“I told you it wouldn’t be that long— oh, Kari!” Mina smiled brightly, “I didn’t realize you got here already! We’ll just put these away quick and we can get going!”

“Oh, no need to rush on my account,” Kari assured her with a small wave.

“Oh, it’s no big deal, it’ll be quick,” Mina said before she forced two bags into Yolei’s arms.

“Hey!”

“I know your friend just got here but you can help me put stuff away!” Mina chided teasingly. Yolei let out a dramatic sigh to Kari before she stomped over to the kitchen. Kari kept that same smile on her face as her stomach rolled again.

She had no doubt Mina was going to be fun to hang out with, but…

She shook her head to try and shake that thought away so she could focus on a good day with Yolei.

As the two girls went into the kitchen, talking and giggling to themselves, Kari stared at them from the other room, unable to help but start to wring her hands together.

“Hey Gatomon, do you think—”

Yolei would prefer to have Mina as her DNA Digivolution partner?

“—They’ll have something to eat that won’t be too spicy for me?”

Gatomon squinted up at her partner curiously, then her ears flicked, “Well, you can probably get your own pitcher of water just in case,” Gatomon said.

That was enough to cause a genuine chuckle to bubble from Kari’s lips.

“Thanks, Gatomon.”

“You ready to go?” Yolei asked loudly as she hopped over to Kari. Mina shook her head as she walked over.

“She’s always got so much energy. I don’t know how you’re able to handle it,” Mina teased gently, dusting her hands off and folding her arms as she gave her roommate an amused, teasing look. Yolei rolled her eyes and waved her off.

“Psh, you love it. You wouldn’t be having nearly as much fun without me around,” Yolei said as she bumped Mina’s hip. The two laughed together, and Kari couldn’t help but feel so… awkward as she just stood there. “Anyways, let’s go! I’m starving!”

“You’re always starving,” Mina said as Yolei looped arms with the two others and quickly burst out the front door with them in tow.

The restaurant Yolei chose was packed, and the three girls were sat at a tiny table in a corner, huddled together both for space and to be able to easily hear each other. Kari was taking a drink of water while Yolei and Mina began to laugh.

“I still can’t believe you did that! Seriously, Kari, you should’ve been there for that,” Mina said as she finally calmed down.

“Oh, come on, you’re making me sound bad!” Yolei gasped, “So I snuck in late one time! You can’t even talk because you helped!”

Kari sat there quietly, feeling like she was sitting at another table overhearing a conversation, not actually invited along to lunch.

“Well, if you do it again, I’m only doing it if you pay for dinner,” Mina said.

“Oh, believe me, I have the money for it. You’re stuck,” Yolei told her, raising an eyebrow and smirking as if to challenge Mina for a response.

Kari wracked her brain, wanting to bring up some story about her and Yolei to bring up, or even just thinking of something to interject with to join the conversation easier, but she couldn’t think of anything. Plus, with Yolei’s energy, getting a word in at all wasn’t always easy.

However, she was saved by the arrival of their food, with plates and many, many pieces of naan being set on the table. Kari had to stop herself from outwardly drooling at how delicious it looked and smelled. “Oh… I can’t wait to try this,” Kari said with a sigh.

“Butter chicken is the perfect place to start,” Mina smiled, “Make sure you eat it with the naan, though!”

Mina ripped off a piece of naan and dunked it into her own food, then took a bite. Yolei followed suit.

“I need to see your first bite. I need to see your face,” she said while she chewed. Kari flushed slightly as Yolei focused on her. But she did as Yolei insisted, tearing off a piece of delicious smelling naan and dunking it in her butter chicken and scooping some up, glancing up and then back down a few times as she was about to take a bite. She finally did, though, and her eyes went wide. Her jaw dropped, and she couldn’t help but laugh gently once she swallowed.

“This is…”

“Yeah?” Yolei asked, voice full of excitement.

Kari couldn’t help herself, and she went to take another bite, covering her mouth as she chewed.

“This is so good.”

“Yes! I knew you’d love it! I told you that it would change your life!” Yolei grinned. Kari nodded.

“You were right!” she laughed. It was delicious, and she was glad to have Yolei there for such a “major moment.”

“I’m glad you like it! This is one of our favorite places to go to, so Yolei figured it was the obvious place to take you,” Mina told her.

It wasn’t just the food that filled her with warmth, but the fact that Yolei wanted to take her there.

But then she froze.

It was one of their favorite places to go. Kari was just coming along with them.

She tried to push past it, but even as she ate such a delicious meal and shared laughs with the two, she couldn’t help but replay those words over and over in her head. Even as badly as she didn’t want to.

By the time the meal was done, Kari still had a decent portion left, both due to the massive size and the fact that eventually the stress left her with no appetite.

“Hey, Kari, you mind if I take the rest of your food? I could go for lunch tomorrow,” she said with a big grin that Kari wasn’t sure if Yolei realized just how charming it was.

“Sure,” she smiled, passing her plate over to her so Yolei could put it in a takeout container along with what little remained of her own meal.

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to leave?” Mina asked, nodding to the container Yolei was tapping her fingers on.

“What else are Digital Gates for? Trust me, I’ll be back so much,” she grinned.

“You should come visit Japan sometime. I’m sure there’s some great places we could take you to,” Kari said.

“Oh, I’d love that. That would be a ton of fun,” Mina smiled.

Yolei leaned back in her seat, “So, what do you guys wanna do next? It’s still early! And it’s even earlier for Kari! We can hit up a club or a bar or something?” Yolei suggested. Now that was the Yolei she knew. Kari laughed weakly.

“I dunno if I’m up for all of that,” she said. Yolei let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Ok, ok. Do you wanna just hang back at our place?” she asked.

“Please,” Kari said. Frankly that was all she could’ve asked for after a good meal.

“One day I’ll get you two to get out there and party some more,” Yolei teased.

Thankfully, Yolei had desisted, and the group of them went back to Mina and Yolei’s place to relax. The next few hours were filled with watching TV and talking, although Kari was still on the quiet side. It was something that Gatomon noticed, but said nothing about, instead enjoying time sitting with Kari and receiving some scratches behind the ears. It was hard for Kari to stay focused on what was on the TV with how much was on her mind, and every so often her eyes flitted over towards Yolei, who would get caught up in laughing over some tech thing being completely wrong.

A few hours later, and the sun was slowly starting to set, casting orange light on all three girls and their Digimon. Kari couldn’t help but stare just a bit at the way Yolei seemed to glow. She looked away once Hawkmon looked her way and cleared her throat.

“I… think I’m gonna go— I need to go. I have a few things I need to get ready for tomorrow…” she said sheepishly. Yolei’s jaw dropped.

“Aww, noooo! C’mon! Can you stay a little longer? Pleeeeeease?” Yolei begged.

“I’m sorry, I really should get going… it’s an early day tomorrow,” Kari sighed.

“I’d suggest staying for dinner but I think we all ate too much to even think about dinner,” Mina laughed. Kari couldn’t help but chuckle weakly.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for inviting me, though. I had a lot of fun.”

“You’re welcome here anytime you want,” Mina said.

“Yeah! Seriously, our home is your home,” Yolei told her.

“Thanks,” Kari said simply, getting up to give both of them a hug, itching to get out of there and give herself some time to sit with herself and think. Yolei’s frown was deep as she got up to open the Digital Gate on her computer.

“We gotta make plans to hang out again soon, ok? Promise?” Yolei asked as she held up her phone to open up the gate.

“Of course. You know I love spending time with you,” Kari said, then looked over at the gate. Yolei wrapped her arms around her in one last, tight hug, before Kari and Gatomon disappeared into the Digital World.

As the two walked along the bright, grassy plains of the Digital World, Gatomon looked up at Kari.

“You didn’t have a good time today, did you?” she asked with a frown. Kari’s eyes went wide.

“No, I did! It’s just…” she sighed and shook her head, “I don’t know. I just miss when we would hang out, I guess,” she shrugged. Gatomon frowned and gently patted Kari’s leg.

“You two will have more time to hang out once she’s back,” her Digimon assured her.

Kari wanted to believe that, but with how excited Yolei was to be out there— even if she had invited her to come back— she wasn’t sure she could believe that they’d be spending as much time together.

“Thanks Gatomon,” Kari said. As the two continued on, Gatomon’s ears twitched as she heard the sound of blades of grass crunching against footsteps behind them, quickly approaching. Gatomon turned to look behind her, a smile on her face.

“Heeeeeeeeeey! Kariiiiiiiiii!”

Kari whipped around, jaw dropped as she saw Yolei barreling towards her. The lavender-haired woman tried to skid to a stop, but bowled into Kari, who was barely able to catch her and keep them both standing. She wrapped her arms around her best friend to steady her, unable to stop the swarm of butterflies that started flapping around again at how close they were to each other. Kari took a step back, separating the two of them, as she looked at Yolei.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked.

“I was just kind of worried… you seemed kind of off today. Are you ok?” she asked.

“I-I’m not— I wasn’t—” she stammered, stopping when Yolei placed a hand on her shoulder.

“C’mon, I’m your DNA Digivolution partner. Maybe I can’t ‘hear your heartbeat’ like Ken and Davis can do with each other, but I know when something’s wrong,” she said, offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Oh, well…” Kari trailed off, unsure of what to say. What could she say without sounding bad.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” she paused, “Did I do something wrong?” Yolei bit her lip as she tried to get a hint at what was wrong by examining her face very carefully.

“No! No, it’s not you, I just…”

She had to be honest. She was scared— terrified, even— to be honest, but it would be for the best. She just had to be brave enough. It was Yolei, even, who both inspired and taught her how to better speak up for herself and how she felt.

“I just hope it doesn’t backfire now of all times…” she thought, swallowing down a lump in her throat.

“I wish that we spent more time together today. Just the two of us,” Kari said slowly, unable to help but cringe. She felt so childish admitting it, but at the same time, getting it off her chest was a small relief.

“I mean, I wasn’t just going to ignore Mina or not invite her or anything,” Yolei frowned as she folded her arms. Kari felt her face heat up and her stomach dropped. This was exactly what she feared.

“No! No no no, I didn’t mean not invite her! It’s just that… well, before you were in Spain, and then you went to India right after. Now we’re both so busy and with the time difference we don’t have nearly as many chances to talk or hang out,” she said, “And I just… miss you. A lot.”

Tears started to well up at the corners of Yolei’s eyes and she tried to blink them away. Kari saw, but didn’t say anything.

“I guess I just hoped that today would be a day for the two of us. Like when we were back in high school.”

Sleepovers, running to the convenience store for snacks after school, long text conversations when one of them was bored with schoolwork, or fun trips to the Digital World. All of the things Kari missed, even though she knew that things wouldn’t just be able to stay like that forever.

“I didn’t realize… I’m sorry, Kari. I wish you said something,” Yolei said. She wasted no time in holding onto Kari again. Kari held her back as her own tears started to spill down her face. She could hear Yolei sniffle, too, the waterworks undoubtedly pouring on her end, too.

“Maybe it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t want us to grow apart,” Kari told her, her voice muffled by the way her face was buried into her shoulder.

“That does sound ridiculous,” Yolei laughed weakly between sniffles, pulling back just enough to look at Kari.

“You’re sure?” Kari asked, her voice shaking, “You don’t wish you had a different DNA Digivolution partner or whatever?”

Yolei scoffed and shook her head, “Someone other than you? Never. There’s no one I could want as a partner more than you.”

Kari’s stomach did a flip at that simple statement, wanting nothing more than to hear it again.

“There’s no one I want as a partner more than you, either,” Kari whispered. Everything felt startlingly still and silent as the two looked into each other’s eyes, and Kari could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“Can I…” Kari whispered.

“Kiss me?” Yolei asked, “Please.”

“How did you…”

“Know? I dunno, maybe it was just our connection as partners,” she smiled. The two leaned in and kissed, something soft, sweet, and simple. It was perfect, and all Kari could’ve asked for. When the two pulled away, Kari was bright red.

“That was… I liked that,” she giggled.

“Me too,” Yolei grinned.

“I’m… sorry. About everything. I should’ve said something sooner,” Kari sighed. Yolei poked her gently in the cheek.

“You should have. But it’s ok. I get it. I mean, look who I am. Next time we make plans, we’ll make them for just us then, how about that?” she suggested. Kari nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” she smiled. The two continued to look at each other with goofy smiles on their faces.

“Text me when you get back, ok?” Yolei asked, finally breaking the serene silence.

“But it’s not a long trip? Or dangerous?” Kari said, tilting her head in confusion.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna talk to you. Especially after that,” Yolei winked. Her smile grew when she saw Kari blush again.

“Yeah, ok, I will,” she said, nodding repeatedly. They waved goodbye to each other, and Yolei turned to head back to the gate that she came from. Once she disappeared, Kari and Gatomon went on their way back to the gate that would take them home.

“So, are you feeling better now?” Gatomon asked. Kari let out a content sigh.

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

“And at least I won’t have to find someone else to DNA Digivolve with,” Gatomon joked.

“You’ll still have Hawkmon and I’ll still have Yolei,” Kari hummed.

“I guess maybe we aren’t *just* DNA Digivolution partners now.”

[blackbloodredpepper]

Bob’s Burgers bedrooms

I downloaded Toca Life World and made the Belcher’s bedrooms with my own little twists to them. I reimagined some of it and I hope you guys like it!

Starting off with Tina:

Some classic horse paraphernalia (I imagine the brown horse is Chariot from the equestranauts)

I put walkie talkies in all the Belcher kids’ bedrooms because I like to imagine that they communicate with each other past their bedtime

Tina would 100% have those glow in the dark stars on her walls all throughout high school. Change my mind

I think she would have bought into that vines on the walls trend that was all over Tik tok for a while. She thinks they look classy

I also added a lil cameo of the cat treats that Tina and Gene eat in that one episode lol I headcannon that they still snack on them from time to time

There’s also a box of chocolates and a little teddy bear holding a heart, I just think that she either received them from someone (Zeke, J-Ju, whoever you want) or she’s saving them to give to someone else

Shoutout to the composition notebook on her desk for her erotic friendfiction

And because this is a headcannon for teenaged Tina’s bedroom, I gave her a mirror and some fancy looking moisturizer. I don’t think she wears much makeup (if any at all) but I do think she takes skincare VERY seriously

Gene:

Gene’s room is MESSY

Like I love him but he’s a total slob

I think that he would have some of those LED lights, but only because Louise wanted them first but her room was too small for the whole roll

Like in Tina’s room, I gave him the cat food to snack on

I also think that Gene is a sweaty boy and therefore has a fan on 24/7

Burger and ketchup plushies!

So. Many. Snacks.

I gave him a kiddie radio and a regular boombox as well as a synthesizer (I couldn’t find any keyboards that’s my bad)

He also has a walkie talkie so he can “walkie and talkie with his favourite sisters”

I also added a music score!

The posters are kinda miscellaneous, they didn’t have any music based ones but I think that “bulko” character would be one that Gene is rlly into

Ofc I added a baseball in there as well. I think that even though he never excelled at the sport and isn’t a sport person in general, he still just likes to have the ball around. Maybe as a stim toy maybe not who knows

Louise:

Louise was my favourite room to put together! I just find that she and I have/had similar rooms growing up and I just relate to her on that level

I gave her the loft bed with the desk underneath because obviously. She has one. But I chose this one specifically because I think that it’s very her.

I think she added the caution tape because it’s “the next best thing besides barbed wire”

And ofc the stickers to add some ✨personality✨

Louise got really into the LED craze of 2020 and hence, got some for Christmas or something like that

But her room *cough* closet *cough* is too teeny tiny for the full roll so she had to share the rest of it with Gene

I added horror movie posters next to her bed because there are SO many instances in the show where she just talks about horror films and I think she gets REALLY into them when she gets older

She still uses crayons. Sue her

Ofc I also gave her a walkie talkie. She’s literally the reason the Belcher kids have them in the first place

The one poster in a frame reminds me of that one onion poster she has in her room in the show. I still don’t understand the significance of the poster but I think it deserves to be added

The green frog on her bed is supposed to represent Kuchi Kopi

And all the other weird looking toys are her collectables!

And I have to address the lady bug in the room. I think that she got that as a lil baby and just grew so emotionally attached to it that she can’t bear to get rid of it. She rides it around the apartment when she’s bored

I also tried to imitate her spiral carpet and even though there is no spiral I think the colour is spot on

Bob and Linda:

Linda 100% made all of the design choices in their bedroom

Ik that canonically they don’t have a window but shhhhhh

I think that they would have two carpets because Linda always complains that her feet get cold when she’s getting ready in the mornings

And she let Bob pick the colour of it (the red one)

Linda found that tapestry at a flea market and “Isn’t it just DARLING Bobby”

BUT it smelled like cigarettes for sooooo long she almost got rid of it

Almost.

Linda is a candle gurly. If she goes to the store and sees a candle she HAS to have it, especially if it smells good

She also got rlly into the holistic medicine industry for a while, hence the salt lamp

She thinks it looks fancy and rustic at the same time

Bob picked out the framed picture and he’s so proud of himself

“Did you know that IM the one that picked that? And now it’s hanging in our room”

They have white sheets because Linda likes to feel like she’s in a hotel

Bob actually is an avid reader. Well, mostly.

He reads but he doesn’t really READ, you know?

But he always tries to read a little before bed so he keeps his current books on his nightstand (at least since the events of the episode where he and Linda sleep apart)

Those are my headcannons for the Blecher bedrooms! I’m thinking of doing an MLP version too but we’ll see. I’ve also been thinking of doing a Mr. Frond and Gayle bedroom because in my mind they stay together forever lol who knows

[ineffible-chaos]

Between Shades of Grey II

part two!! shoutout to @howaboutcastiel for the kind comment on p1 that made my whole day 🥹❤️ I might make this into a mini series with maybe five parts?? idk, we'll see!

Steven awoke slowly, his whole body feeling numb and wrong. It ached in a way he’d never felt before, almost as if his body was caving in on itself like a dying star. The ceiling gave no answer as to why he was on the floor or why his nose wrinkled at the putrid stench of old beer and liquor that seemed to soak into everything. 

With a groan, he forced himself into a sitting position despite the screaming protest his body gave him. The clothes on him weren’t his own, he knew without looking that they were Marc's (the fabric was different) but something felt wrong. They were loose on him, big enough to fit another body in it. Marc, as much as he’d protest and say he didn’t, always made sure his clothes were fitted to his body. He’d once told Steven it was how he’d caught Layla’s attention in the first place, his body luring her in. Layla, red in the face, would smack him across the shoulder whenever he'd bring it up, something that had always amused Steven to no end. Purely because it was nice to see Marc smile without it being sarcastic or forced; it was a rare sight to see him happy.

Steven frowned as he thought of his counterpart. He was still mad after their fight, the anger was bitter in his throat as he swallowed. It was a dumb fight when he thought of it now, Steven knew that he really didn’t have any place to fight Marc on his personal decisions despite their shared body. Marc had still wanted to sign the divorce papers, his own guilt and trauma pushing Layla further away after they left Egypt. They had parted from Khonshu and defeated Harrow and Steven felt like he was on top of the world. His own feelings towards Marc’s wife shadowed how Marc felt and.. They fought. Violently. 

As violently as you could with your own body, Steven thought to himself. He knew he was throwing a tantrum, refusing to be in control or talk to Marc for as long as he did but he couldn’t just forget about his own feelings. Steven stumbled to his feet, thankful he knew the flat by memory as it was too dark to see anything in front of him. He staggered his way to the door, tripping over things as he turned on the light. 

He didn’t expect the chaos before him. Bottles and sand covered everything except the bookshelves and his desk, which were seemingly untouched by the chaos everywhere else; Steven didn't want to think about how Marc had cared enough to leave his things be during his desctuctive path over the few months they hadn't talked. Tears pricked in the corner of his eyes at one of his books thrown open almost as if Marc had taken the time to read it so he forced his eyes away from his books.

The few mirrors around the flat were smashed, dried blood caked around the shattered edges of glass. The blankets were off the bed, hung above one of the larger windows and he suspected it might've been broken by another angry fist. Steven felt his breath stall in his chest, he knew that Marc didn’t do well on his own but he hadn’t realized how bad it was. Guilt gnawed at him as he stumbled to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror, but nothing could prepare him for the sight before him. 

He looked dead. 

He looked like someone ripped out everything alive, everything hopeful and seeping with life. No, no, he didn’t look like that. 

Marc looked like that. 

His whole face was gaunt, bones jutting out angrily against pale skin and his eyes, their eyes, looked empty and hollow, the usual honey brown had turned muddied and dull. Steven hesitantly pulled the shirt off of their body and felt his knees go weak, the sink barely holding him up as he grasped it. Despite Steven’s own vegan diet and whatever Marc wanted to put into their body despite Steven’s chastising, he’d never seen their own ribs protrude so sharply against cold skin. 

“Bloody hell, Marc.” Steven whispered, weak fingers roaming a body that didn’t feel like his, like theirs. “What happened to you?”

The mirror didn’t respond but he didn’t need it to, he already knew what happened. 

Steven happened. 

His legs gave out, knees sharply slamming into cold tile and he cried. He cried for Marc and the suffering he’d gone through because of him. He cried for his own stupidity, for not listening to the things Marc had so desperately been trying to tell him during their fight. He cried until his chest burned and his throat ached; they had finally started to act like one, act almost like brothers, relying on each other and Steven tore all of that down without thinking, his selfish desires burning away the olive branch they’d finally shared. 

“Marc?” Steven whispered and his ears strained for an answer. “Marc? Mate, you there?” 

The silence had never been so loud. 

 He didn't know how long he laid there on the cold tile before he peeled himself off of the floor and stumbled to the kitchen. He couldn’t be of any help to Marc if their body was about to give out to malnourishment. He opened the fridge and winced at the bright light before sighing at the empty shelves. When had Marc eaten last? Not for a while, he thought grimly, their stomach too small to even grumble in response. He stumbled around for his phone, the battery charged enough to order something random to put something in their body that wasn’t alcoholic. 

So, he did what anyone does in a time of crisis: he made tea. There was something comforting in the action, it calmed his mind enough to focus on the situation at hand. He would drink his tea, throttle a god for answers as to how in the bloody hell he could let this happen (that bird-brained god was going to get an earful), hesitantly tell Layla about what was happening, and focus on Marc. The tea felt warm against his raw throat and he prayed that his stomach would be kind and keep it down. He knew that there was a lot of recovery to go through and he’d be damned if Marc was going to go through it alone. 

He didn’t know why he was pushed to the front so fast, if Marc was too tired to keep fronting and Steven was pushed through instead or if it was Marc’s way of reaching out for help. 

The knock on his door startled him and he glanced down at his phone, the food was delivered outside. He made sure the person was gone before slowly creaking the door open and snagging the food before anyone could see him. The bag was warm against his cold hands and he nearly sagged into it; he wondered if Marc had gone through this before when he was younger, his body falling into ruin like his mind often did in their parents home. The guilt gnawed its way through him when he thought of Marc going through it alone with no one to save him from himself. 

Steven shuttered and nearly dropped the bag of food before he shook his thoughts away. “Steven, you moron, you’re not the focus right now. Marc needs us.” 

He sat on the edge of the messed up bed, opening up the bag. Frazzoni’s had always been a comfort to Steven (and eventually Marc, which pleased Steven endlessly). The warm smell of bread and soup calmed his mind and he ate slowly, his body rejecting it at first as he hurtled himself towards the toilet. 

But he adjusted and he managed to eat nearly half of it before it felt like his stomach was going to burst. He checked food off of his list and prepared himself for the immortal pain in his ass he was about to deal with. He breathed in deeply, solidifying  his resolve. 

“Khonshu, you bloody pigeon, we need to talk.”

[captorcorp]

wanna get used to taking more pictures of myself so here's me fucking around in norman cos (with my wig unstyled despite only putting it on to style it shdksg) and an owl plush i have ^^

[a-shy-blueberry]

We’ll Be Watching You

A/N This was a request for my 300 Follower’s Event for the prompt Dom! Tamaki Amajiki x Exhibitionism, I strayed a little bit from that in my excitement but nevertheless, I think it turned out super well! Thank you to the anon that requested this! To @touyas-peach​, @katonshoko​, and @eikatslut​ for literally contributing so many ideas for this you. And an extra special shoutout again to @katonshoko​ for betaing! Literally saved my ass. And lastly thank you to the windstorm that knocked out my power and cell signal for 24 hours right when I started writing this so it was the only thing fun to do

Pairing: Amajiki Tamaki x F! Reader; Denki Kaminari x F! Reader; Bakugou Katsuki x F! Reader; Kirishima Eijirou x F! Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: It isn’t often that your boyfriend Amajiki gets truly jealous but when Kaminari, Bakugou, and Kirishima can’t stop making comments about you, he makes a plan to show them just why you’re his.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, AGELESS BLIGS DNI, Aged Up Characters, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, M! Masturbation, Unsafe Sex, Public (ish) Sex, Creampie, Marking, Mirror Sex, Dom! Tamaki, Non Consensual Voyeurism.

Word Count: 2k

Part 2

It wasn’t often that you visited Tamaki at work, the shy hero was easily flustered by all the extra attention you brought with you, but it was always something that you enjoyed. You’d make an occasion out of it, dressing extra cute and watching as you drew the eyes of his coworkers, knowing fully well that your boyfriend caught every hungry glance directed at you and would make you pay for it later.

So of course, you thought nothing of it when you passed Dynamight, Chargebolt, and Red Riot, their eyes trailing to follow the way the edge of your sundress just barely covered your ass. Only flicking upwards to the tight bodice that accentuated your breasts. Their eyes watching you as you walked towards Tamaki. Watching as you gave him his lunch, kissing him on the cheek before sitting on his desk. Watching as you crossed your legs so your dress rose a little higher, chatting amiably with your boyfriend as you pretended not to notice the onlookers. Tamaki watched too. Noting the near-constant attention they were giving you, glaring at you every once and a while in warning as you adjusted your dress to reveal more of your thighs. But you’d just smile, patting him on the arm to assure him before wiggling to let the front of your dress fall just a little bit more. You could barely contain your excitement for how he’d treat you later. When you left, you kissed him deeply and pressed the length of your body against his, noting a certain bulge that had made an appearance before turning away. You were fighting a grin as you left, however, it was when you overheard Chargebolt, your composure nearly cracked. 

“How did Amajiki senpai end up with her?”

Amajiki knew what you were doing, it had become a game of sorts to you, practically flashing his coworkers to rile him up. Normally he didn’t even mind, he knew you were gorgeous, it made sense that others saw it too. Plus the confidence boost, the comments gave you, was the sexiest thing to see; but this, this was driving him up the wall.

“Did you see her tits, please tell me you noticed?” Kaminari said. A play-by-play commentary of nearly every single body part of yours had been running out of his mouth since the moment you left.

“How the fuck did he land that piece of ass?” Bakugou added… For the fourth time 

Truly, it was becoming exhausting to listen to. But they were so loud that Tamaki could scarcely ignore them. 

At least Kirishima was better. Trying and failing to switch the subject.

“Really, she’s very sweet, and it’s so clear that they love each other a lot, so can we focus now.”

They had been going at this for an hour and Tamaki was on his last nerve. If they wanted to know why you were with him, then for damn sure they were gonna find out. There was also a bonus of giving you, exactly what you were aiming for earlier today. His mind was already formulating a plan. 

Things were set in motion after he had texted you to come to the office after work. Of course, it was something you eagerly responded to. When you arrived he guided you into one of the integration rooms, all the while he had also coincidentally scheduled Bakugou, Kaminari, and Kirishima to sit in the corresponding observation room. They were not expecting to see you walk in, giggling as you dragged Amajiki in behind you. Quickly pulling your dress up, leaving you in just your underwear. You shed your bra soon after, before working on Tamaki. Getting his shirt off before he stopped you.

Bakugou and Kaminari could hardly believe their eyes, here you were undressing right in front of them, Kirishima shielded his eyes at first, trying to turn the others away but he went still when he heard Tamaki.

“It seems like my bunny likes being a little slut.” Tamaki said, leaning against the table grabbing you by your hips and pulling you in between his legs. “Did you have fun riling everyone up?”

All three of the men stepped closer to the class, breaths heavy with anticipation.

 “No~,” you shook your head, jutting out your bottom lip to pout at him.

“I think you're lying,” Tamaki said. Dipping his fingers into your panties, swiping them down your slit before pulling them back out, popping them into his mouth.

Bakugou craned his neck to see you better, your eyes kept flashing to the mirror, surely you didn’t know they were here.

“You’re so wet bunny, you must’ve liked the way they looked at you, didn’t you?”

Your legs felt weak, Tamaki guiding his fingers back to your clit, circling the tender bud as he continued to question you. Your head was swirling, hips jerking at his every touch, and you could scarcely comprehend what you were even answering. Your head came to rest on Tamaki’s shoulder as he continued his ministrations.

“I think as your punishment, I’m going to fuck you like the dirty slut you want to be,” he said. Guiding you to turn around, before standing himself, his arms coming around you. 

“I want you to keep your eyes on the mirror,” he instructed. His hands came up to cup your breasts, you watched as he swiped his thumbs over the stiff peaks, rolling the buds in his fingers before pinching them to earn a yelp out of your mouth.

Kaminari could feel his dick throbbing in response to your voice. The scene before him was like straight out of a porno, your innocent eyes looking straight towards him but not knowing he was there. All the while your boyfriend glowered behind you, playing with your tits, showing you off to them, and staking a claim. Denki palmed his growing length desperate for some kind of friction, he looked beside him. His compatriots similarly tried to adjust to their arousal.

“Eh fuck it,” he thought, unzipping his fly, lowering the waistband of his underwear to sit underneath his balls. Stroking his length, running his thumb over the tip as similarly as he could to Amajiki’s circles around your breasts. Kirishima glanced over, seeing Denki and freezing. This was wrong, you had no idea they were there, he couldn’t get off to this, but his dick was painfully hard, he finally snapped when Tamaki slipped a hand down to your cunt, fingering you at first through the thin fabric before sneaking inside. His other hand was still lavishing attention on your breast as he sucked on the skin of your throat, a budding bruise already forming. And yet his eyes never left the mirror, glaring straight through it.

Kiri looked at Bakugou and Kaminari again, both this time with hands wrapped around their cocks, stroking them steadily. He could scarcely believe the situation, sure he had seen instances where Tamaki took control and got over his shyness but he thought that was exclusive to hero work. Something like this seemed so unlike his shy friend, but the way he had complete control over you, looking straight at them was too erotic Kiri finally gave in, pulling his own dick out. The relief was immediate the second his fist closed around it.

They all raptly watched as Tamaki dropped his pants and boxers, lowering your panties next. He sat on the table behind him, scooting so just his knees dangled off, his legs spread comfortably before guiding you back. Positioning your thighs to rest over his own, your hands onto the table behind you. He settled you onto his length, spreading you out as he pierced into you, so the audience could watch as you took every inch of his massive cock. Tamaki held onto your hips as the two of you worked together to bounce you on his cock. The angle forcing you to stretch out for him more. Tamaki glanced at the mirror, knowing full well what lay on the other side, the thought of it fueling him, showing you off, showing just how well he could fuck you as you called for his name over and over.

“Ahh~ Tamaki,” you moaned as his fingers came around to play with your clit, spreading them into a V shape to trace the way your cunt split open for him, he spread your legs wider.

“Look at the mirror bunny, don’t you see how pretty you look all stretched out for me? I want you to keep watching,” you lifted your head desperately trying to watch but the pleasure was too great, you rocked your head back onto Tamaki’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as you continued to impale yourself on his cock.

Tamaki merely chuckled, taking his hand off your hip to guide your head back.

“You have to watch, remember” he reminded you.

“S’too hard Tama,” you whimpered, your hips gyrating on his cock, taking him deeper into you before he helped you lift off again, pounding you back down onto his length. You were so close, Tamaki bringing a hand to pinch your tits, rolling the sensitive bud as his other hand played with your clit.

You looked at the mirror again, you knew no one was there but the thought of someone watching the two of you sent you over the edge as you came, soaking Tamaki’s cock with your essence as he kept fucking into you.

On the other side of the mirror, the three men were similarly thrilled, all hesitation towards watching long gone as they masturbated to the sight of you in all your glory; cock drunk and moaning on Tamaki’s length, begging for relief as he continued to torment you. Spreading you wide open for their viewing pleasure. Looking up to emphasize his claim as he slammed up into you again. Biting down hard on your shoulder. The sight was too erotic to handle. They could tell you were close, the subtle shake in your legs as you approached your orgasm. The way your begging grew more desperate, jerking into Tamaki’s hand when he circled your clit. His hand returned to your hip, gripping you so tight, it was certain you’d have bruises the next day.

You were in agony. Your second orgasm was so close already you could taste it, you caught Tamaki’s eyes in the mirror and sobbed, begging him to let you come as he continued to lightly tease your clit, working you up closer and closer to that precipice but he was brutal, removing his hand entirely, moving to join his other as he fucked up into you harder than before. His cockhead slamming into your cervix each time, his hands working in tandem with your hips as he used you to chase his pleasure.

“Fuck bunny your cunt feels so good. You’re so warm and tight,” he groaned out. His hips stuttered as his release grew close. His hand returned to your clit, rubbing circles around the pretty bud. You keened into his touch, your body chasing that pleasure that only he could provide.

“That’s it, cum for me,” Tamaki said, and you shuddered around him, your inner muscles seized up around him forcing him over the edge as well as he continued to play with your clit, both of you working each other through your orgasms.

Behind the glass, Kiri, Kaminari, and Bakugou were so close, Bakugou moaning as he watched the way your chest rose and fell, the way your pussy was leaking Tamaki’s cum, he was so close, he grabbed his t-shirt, pulling it into his mouth and moved his hand faster. He was so fucking close as he stroked one final time and groaned as he came, Kaminari and Kirishima joining in as cum coated their respective chests.

Your head snapped, looking straight at the mirror. You turned to look at Tamaki, a knowing look in his eyes before slipping off of his cock, and strolling towards the mirror. You knocked on the glass, cocking your head a smirk on your lips.

“Are you going to join or what?"

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[miekasa]

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!

[maybege]

Coffee Conversations - FBI Part 5

Summary: None of you get much sleep. (Part 5 of the FBI Series)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.7k | Rating: T

Warnings: … and there was only one bed, some angst, some major softness

Not much to say except I am still enjoying these unscheduled posts and I hope you are all doing well! I would love to know what you think of this chapter be it via comments or reblogs ❤ Also shoutout to @lilhawkeye3, my favourite menace!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

Emily had been kind enough to lend you a second set of pajamas she had in her go-bag for whatever reason. They were the standard-issue from the FBI Academy and you wondered if there was anything that they had not yet printed their little logo on.

Seriously, did they have a gift shop somewhere?

“Bathroom is through there,” Hotch motioned to the door on the right, “I suggest having the lights out as soon as possible. In case the UnSub comes back, we do not want him to know we are on to him.”

You nodded your understanding, tugging the jersey sleeves down to your wrist. “Thank you for letting me stay,” you murmured, “Really. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he replied, already busy searching for a change of clothes in his go bag, “You can have the bathroom first. I will change here.”

The mention triggered the mental image of him changing (undressing, more like) and you felt how heat shot into your face as you basically fled into the bathroom. It was small and tiled and the fluorescent light flickered over the mirror but at least there was a packaged toothbrush set aside that you could use.

The minty paste stung your tongue and you frowned, spitting it out and rinsing your mouth. You could hear Hotch move in the bedroom and decided not to waste much more time. Your body still felt like it was vibrating from the adrenaline pumping through your veins. How could you be expected to sleep after what had happened?

Hotch was sitting on the edge of his bed, a large pillow situated between the sides and he looked up from his phone as he heard you enter. “I would offer to sleep on the couch but …” he gestured to the small room, the only major furniture there being the double bed and a small desk and chair.

“It’s okay,” you shook your head, forcing yourself to smile, “I don’t mind sharing.”

It was not as if you would get any sleep now anyway.

You noticed that he had indeed changed during the time you had been in the bathroom. Instead of the black suit and tie, he was now wearing a dark grey shirt and black sweats that, under any other circumstances, would have made your heart pick up a pace. Now the only thing you felt was dread.

Hotch smiled at you, worry clear in his eyes as he motioned to the other side of the bed, the one further away from the door, “You can have this one.”

You nodded quietly, slipping under the covers without much fuss. The blanket was cool which you were grateful for and you pulled it over your shoulder and up to your chin. You felt awkward.

Hotch got up, making sure the room door was locked before switching off the lights until you could only guess the silhouettes illuminated by the streetlamps outside. That and the red digits of the alarm clock on your bedside table reading a ridiculous 02:42 am.

Great.

The bed dipped under your boss’s weight and you heard him sigh, the sheets rustling as he settled down. “Good night,” you whispered, your throat feeling strangely dry.

“Night,” he replied.

And silence followed.

You shifted, turning to lay on your side and trying to keep your breathing even. You could feel your heart pound in your chest and it just felt like you were breathing so loudly, it was a miracle that Hotch did not complain.

You tried to close your eyes, breathing in to the count of ten and breathing out to the count of ten, a tip you had gotten from the free trial of your meditation app and that you tried to remember in times like these.

Usually, it worked.

Today it didn’t.

You watched as the minutes trickled by eerily slow. 02:42 turned into 02:43 into 02:44 until it was 03:07 and you had enough.

“Tell me about something,” you asked quietly, ignoring how your breath trembled with pent up anxiety, “Anything. Please.”

Silence. Maybe he was asleep after all. You inwardly cursed yourself. The last thing you wanted was to rob him of his much-needed rest.

“I took Jack to a soccer game this weekend.”

You smiled into the dark, “Yeah?”

“Yes,” he sounded like he was smiling too, “He loves it. If you asked him to choose between Sunday cartoons and soccer practice, you would witness a meltdown only a seven-year-old can deliver.”

In the dark, you shifted on your side, facing the pillow wall and facing him. A smile tugged at your lips as you pictured Aaron Hotchner attending his son’s soccer games. You had heard in passing he coached the little league team and for some reason that just made him even more attractive to you.

“Sunday cartoons are pretty good,” you conceded, “The best cure against a weekend gone wrong is just dragging your bedding to the couch and eat takeout for breakfast and watch cartoons. It makes everything better.”

“That sounds like someone who has first-hand experience,” he commented and you wondered if you imagined the teasing undertone in his voice.

“Don’t profile me,” you joked, trying to ignore how your heart had sped up at the thought of him smiling.

“I’m not,” he replied calmly but you could feel him shift and the pillows too and was that his arm on top of one? Heat collected in your cheeks. “You worked with the team for eight months now. It is impossible not to notice things about you.”

You did not want him to know how flustered his statement had made you.

“I am thinking of asking Haley if I can take him on a vacation,” he said slowly.

“That sounds nice,” you mumbled, “Where to?”

“West Coast, maybe,” he mused, “I’m from Seattle, originally, and I’d love to spend a few days there with him. That or Disneyland.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh that crawled up your throat and if you were not mistaken you could hear a low chuckle from him as well. And when you both calmed down a bit, you were still smiling, your heart still racing, but you felt better. Much better.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “That helped a lot.”

“Anytime,” he mumbled, “Now try to get some rest. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

Busy not trying to get killed, your brain provided but you tried to follow his advice anyway.

You had just turned on to your side, your back to him, and tried to determine if you were just imagining that he shuffled closer to you, when there was a dull noise from the room next door. Your room.

There was a commotion on the other side of the wall, you could hear Morgan grunt with effort, and you immediately felt Hotch sit up. “Keep the lights off,” he instructed you and you did not need to see to know that he had grabbed the gun from the nightstand, “Stay here, we will get him.”

“Yes,” you breathed, pulling the blanket up to your chin. Before you could blink, he had opened the door, the light from the hallway streaming inside as footsteps pounded on the floor. You could hear the struggle, hear Emily shouting something when there was glass clirring.

Suddenly something was slammed against the window and you flinched, grabbing for your gun on the nightstand. Was he – was he trying to get inside?

You still left the lights off, not wanting to alert him to your presence but through the thin curtains with the streetlights from outside you saw him.

There was a man, plastered against your window and he looked … he looked crazy. Eyes were opened wide, teeth bared as he snarled. Your blood froze. You were sure he could not see you – the room was dark after all – but he had a knowing look in his eyes as if he knew you were there, knew you were looking at him.

He mouthed something you could not understand, too busy trying to cringe away from him, bumping into the bed behind you.

And then he was gone.

You heard Hotch and the others rush into the room. Where you had once been alone in the dark, now it was crowded, multiple silhouettes brightened by the light. JJ’s hand was on your arm, the blonde woman worriedly checking you over and you wanted to say that you were okay. Wanted to assure her that nothing could shake you up that easily.

But wow, had it shaken you up.

“You okay?” Hotch asked you, voice sounding like he was so put together and you tried to nod, smiling weakly at your colleagues who all looked just as serious as if they had found a body.

And, for the smidge of a second, you wondered if that small fear in the back of your head was right.

Were you going to be the next one they found?

“Let’s get to the PD,” Dave suggested, “No one will be able to sleep anyway.“

*

The few officers on duty (still very little for how the Sherriff had promised to upgrade the night patrols) looked more than surprised when the entire BAU team came pouring in the doors at no later than 3:40 am.

You had barely thrown on some jeans and a tunic, wanting to cover up as much as you could, before everyone had been ready to walk to the SUVs. As you sat in the back ,you could hear Morgan talking to Garcia on the phone, asking for security footage of outside the motel in order to try and trace the UnSub’s steps. Emily was next to you, stoically looking out of the window and you thought if she looked at you, you might break.

Though to be fair, if anyone would look at you, you would break.

You had never felt this tense, never felt this watched, even when no one dared to look at you. You swore for a moment you met Hotch’s eyes in the rearview mirror but then he looked away again, refusing to meet your gaze.

Now, you were all more or less awake in one of the tiny offices, trying to get a grip on what just happened.

“Why not just go for an easier victim?” Morgan posed the hypothetical question, leaned back in his chair, feet up on the table, “He knows you’re FBI, he knows you are surrounded by us. Why would he stick to her?”

“Because it is compulsive,” Reid piped up from the corner, “He chose her. She is next. He is not choosing another victim because he can’t.”

“Not unless he kills me first,” you nodded, “That and we already have his DNA from,” you swallowed, your heart racing as you thought back to the way you had found your clothes, “from the hotel. And now I have seen him. He is a disgusting piece of shit but he is not stupid. I know too much about him now.”

You were sitting between Emily and JJ; your friends having decided to keep you between them as if that would keep you safe. As if that would make it all go away. Truth be told, you wished for nothing more than a girls’ night out at the bar. Just you, Emily, JJ and Garcia rocking the drinks and having the time of your lives.

It would certainly be better than this.

“Do you remember anything about him?” Hotch asked. He was the only one, next to Reid, who was standing in the room. He had his arms crossed over his chest, looking stern as always, his brows furrowed in a constant frown.

You closed your eyes, trying to remember.

“He was white,” you recalled, “Light eyes – maybe blue or grey? – and I want to say average build. He did not look very tall but he was also crouching when he looked into the window so I cannot be sure about that. No visible tattoos or scars.”

“Okay so we are looking for an average white man without any identifying marks whose DNA could not be found in the system,” Morgan scoffed, “Great.”

Nobody said anything and you felt dread settle in your stomach at how … hopeless everything seemed to be. It was easier to keep it together when you were on the other side – the investigating side – instead of this limbo between the soon-to-be victim and a half-assed profiler.

Hotch threw a look at his watch. “It is getting late,” he mumbled, “Everybody take a break for 15, we will reconvene here. Get some food and rest while we can.”

Without protest, everyone got up.

*

You stood in the small kitchenette, pouring yourself a cup of tea when Hotch entered the room. You had been alone and with the space being tight a sit was you immediately felt your heart make a jump in your chest.

“Long night?” you asked him, meaning to sound teasing but defeated was more what it sounded like. Defeated and hopeless.

He hummed, his hand going for the coffee pot.

“Coffee tastes like shit,” you informed him.

“I know,” he said, voice low. Still, he grabbed one of the nondescript coffee mugs, pouring in a generous amount. You wondered how he could ever drink his coffee black.

Sensing that he was not in a mood to talk, you simply stirred the tea in your cup a little, watching the little hill of sugar at the bottom slowly dissolve and hopefully making your tea as sweet as you needed it to be.

Hotch kept moving next to you, grabbing his mug before standing in the middle of the room. You tried not to show how hyperaware you were to his movements around you, how you tensed when he was too close to you because your stomach kept hosting butterfly parties in his name.

“You know we won’t let anything happen to you, right?”

“Hotch,” you tried to smile, turning around to face him, “I have seen you get UnSubs with far less evidence. I know we will get him.”

“I just need you to know that,” he rumbled, “I won’t let this man take you. He won’t get to you. He will spend the rest of his life in a cell where he belongs.”

There it was. There was your breaking point.

“Can I hug you?”

There was surprise on his face, you could see that much. And maybe it was reckless and unprofessional and inappropriate. But hell, a serial killer was out to get you and you had not slept in what felt like forever.

Hotch did not say anything and you had half a mind to just turn around and walk away and pretend you had never betrayed your need for affection to your boss. But that would just make it worse, right?

“Never mind, sorry,” you whispered, shooting him an apologetic smile, “It’s just the exhaustion talking.”

With the mug in your hands, you made your way back to the others. But then a hand wrapped around your mug, another one around your wrist and you gasped as he pulled you back to face him. Your mug clattered on the counter but you could not care less as he pulled you flush against him. Hazel eyes met yours, not letting you go as his other arm carefully wrapped around your middle.

And then he hugged you.

And it was not one of those friendly colleague hugs you had seen around the ABU and that you had expected. No, this was a full two arms around your middle, a hand on your back and the other on your neck kind of hug. He was warm and sturdy underneath your hands and you did not hesitate to wrap your arms around him in turn. His chin was resting on your forehead and you buried your face in his chest, breathing him in.

Even this late in the night he smelled like his cologne and his shirt felt crisp under your fingertips. You had not even noticed that your hand had wandered under his jacket and over his back until your felt his muscles flex under your fingers as he pulled you even closer.

You were not sure who needed the hug more: you or him.

“Nothing will happen to you,” he repeated and you nodded¸ blinking away the tears in your eyes.

“I know,” you whispered hoarsely, “I’m still scared, though.”

He sighed underneath you, his whole body somehow going pliant and tensing at the same time.

“I know,” he replied quietly above you.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

So This Is Love: Part 10

Fandom: Marvel (College AU)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: Your friend and roommate, Bucky, is a bit of an annoying fuckboy. He sleeps around as well as tries to be as annoying to you as possible. But here’s the thing: you don’t mind any of it.

Warning: smut - p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving)

A/N: shoutout to @solarsystembitch for the wonderful idea. Also.. NO TAGLIST WILL BE AVAILABLE FOR THIS SERIES.

Series Masterlist

It's been a week since your heated making out turned dry humping session. You were off your period and all you kept thinking about was Bucky. You two had gotten a lot more handsy. Bucky's hands would slip under your shirt, fingers caressing your skin. Your hands gripping his thick thighs, moving closer to his crotch only to pull away.

You were bringing each other closer to the edge and you were both bound to snap soon.

No matter how hard you tried Bucky continued to restrain himself from going too far with you. He wanted your first time to be a good one. Did you care about that? Not really, but did you appreciate Bucky's consideration? Yes. But you've just been so goddamn horny lately you can't take it anymore! That's when you called up Nat and informed her of your situation. She came up with a brilliant plan.

________________

You looked at yourself in the mirror. The red garter set clung to you like a glove. The bra pushed your breasts up, the panties covered very little, and the garter kept the matching red stockings in place perfectly. Nat was right when she said this would look amazing on you. You're glad you asked for her help.

Bucky had gone out with Steve and Sam, which gave you the perfect opportunity to set your plan in motion.

When the time for Bucky's arrival grew closer, you wrapped yourself in a robe and waited on the couch for Bucky. Nine o'clock on the dot, he walks in. He immediately smiles when he sees you, "Hey! There's my Pretty Peach!"

You smile back at him, standing up, and undoing the robe. He's untying his shoes so he doesn't see the sight before him until he looks up.

"Holy-I'm-You-" he pauses and let's out a shaky breath, "You look-fuck."

You slowly walk over to him, hands going to the round of his belly and snaking up his torso to lock behind his back, "Bucky, baby?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"Bring me to bed?" you ask, lips hovering over his.

"Yeah, um, just-just gimme-" he steps out of your embrace and immediately goes to the kitchen, which wasn't the first place you expected him to go.

"Buck?" you call out to him amusingly, "What are you doing?" you watch as he starts to grab snacks from the pantry and water bottles from the fridge.

"Food means energy and energy means lots of sex!" he answers excitedly, which makes you laugh.

You go over to him, plucking different snacks out of his arms, "I don't think we need that much, honey." You leave the protein bars and water bottles, "I think those will do."

"Yeah. O-Okay. Sounds good."

You grab hold of the hem of his shirt and you start pulling him out of the kitchen and towards your room. Bucky follows you blindly until you're both in your room. You move onto your bed and Bucky remains just standing there.

You giggle, "Babe, you can set the stuff on my desk," you nod to the surface.

Bucky gulps, "Right." He moves to your desk, setting the protein bars and water down. He turns back to you and slowly sits himself at the edge of your bed.

He reaches out, fingers lightly playing with the garter strap, "This new?"

You nod, "Yeah. Nat helped me pick it out. Do you...Do you like it?"

"Do I-" he pauses and chuckles to himself, "Peaches, I fucking love it. You look-Fuck, you look so sexy. But...you didn't have to buy this for me."

You shrug, "It's fine. I-I like it. I like how I look and feel in it."

He clears his throat and then asks, "Can I touch you?"

"Yes, please."

His hand moves up your thigh and to your waist. His thumb stroking your skin to then drag up, playing with the bottom of your bra.

"Bucky," you whimper, "Please. I want you."

He hums, "You sound so pretty when you beg for me, Peaches."

He places his hand onto your chest, gently pushing you down so you're on your back. You lay still and watch as he discards his clothes, only leaving himself to his boxers. You now see the evident tent in the garment.

Bucky lightly nudges at your legs and you let them fall open for him. He kneels in-between them and then moves to hover his body over yours.

"Can I kiss you, Peaches?"

"You can do anything you want to me, Bucky."

He let's out a breathy laugh, "You might regret that, but I'll keep that in mind," he murmurs before pressing his lips to yours. You've kissed Bucky many times before. But this kiss, this moment is different. It's loving yet heated.

He continues to kiss you and you kiss him back. His hands dig into your waist as he begins to grind his hips down onto yours. You moan at the friction, of the feeling of Bucky's hardened erection moving against your clothed pussy.

"Bucky, touch me, please."

"I am touching you, sweetheart," he says with a smirk.

You whine, "Buckyyyy! You know what I mean!"

"So desperate, hm? I've been waiting for this for some time, sweetheart. Lemme take my time with you, hm?"

He moves back to his knees, hands on your thighs. He slides his hands up and hook his fingers under the thin band. He pauses and looks up at you, silently asking for your consent. When he receives a nod from you, he pulls them down and tosses them to the side.

"Fuck. So pretty," he murmurs. His thumb strokes your slit and you bite your lip.

"Gotta get you ready for me, sweetheart. Has anyone gone down on you before?"

"N-No. The guys before didn't want to," you mumble.

"Pft. Pathetic," he murmurs, "Is it okay if I go down on you? I'll start off slow."

"O-Okay," you answer nervously.

Bucky moves to lay on his stomach, his head in-between your legs. You feel his breath on you and then his tongue. It's an odd sensation, but a welcome one. You feel his tongue circling your clit and you grip onto your bedsheets, letting out a moan.

Bucky takes one of your hands and moves his to his hair. You look at him and all he does is wink before continuing. The more he tastes you, the wetter you become. With every lick and suck, your moans grow louder and Bucky feels even more motivated.

You feel Bucky's fingers start to tease your hole and you let out a rasped, "Go ahead. Please, Bucky. More."

He slowly inserts his middle finger into you and you let out another moan. Feeling your walls clench down on him and your moans, he keeps going. His finger pumping in and out of you, tongue playing with your nub. He groans into your pussy when you grip tight on his hair. Fuck, he feels so hard, he's grinding into your mattress for friction. He never thought he'd be so turned on just from eating someone else. But you're not just a someone...you're his Peach. His sweet Peach.

"Bucky, I'm close. Fuck," you gasp.

He pulls his mouth away from you, "Go on, baby. Cum for me."

Your back arches off the bed as Bucky continues to fuck you with his finger, his tongue tasting you once more. He feels your body shake when you cum. Your hold on his hair is so tight, he feels like you're about to rip his hair off and he doesn't mind. 'Cause fuck if this isn't the prettiest sight he's ever seen.

When you fall back onto the bed, you're panting, a sheen of sweat decorated onto your body.

Bucky presses a kiss to your mound before slowly pulling his finger out and moving off the bed. He grabs a water and unscrews the cap. He helps you sit up and has you drink some water. When half the bottle is gone, he pulls it away.

"How you feelin', sweetheart?"

You smile up at him, "I really liked it. Definitely want you to do that again. Ten out of ten." you hold up your hand for a high five.

Bucky laughed and high fived you, "You're so fucking cute," he kisses your head and puts the water bottle back, "Do you wanna keep going or-"

"Please."

You move onto your back like before and Bucky pushes down his boxers. His cock stands tall, tip already leaking with precum. He crawls in-between your legs again, his cock in his hand. He gives himself a few strokes and rips open the condom wrapper that you didn't even notice that he had. He rolls the rubber down his length until it's fully covered.

He scoots a little closer to you, teasing your hole with his tip, "You ready, Peaches?" When you nod, he slowly inserts himself in. He wants this to be as pleasurable for you as possible.

He's taken by surprise when your legs hook around him and pull him in, taking his entire length.

You moan at how well he feels, "You fill me up so well, Buck."

Your words shoot straight down to cock. He never expected to hear such a thing from you, his Precious Peach.

He chuckles and starts to give short thrusts, "You feel just as good, Peach. So snug against me, like you were made for me." He leans down and captures your lips with his. His body lays on top of you as he continues to fuck you. His hand moves up, cupping your breast. He then pulls down your bra and his lips attach onto your nipple. He sucks and pulls at the hardened nub, all the while his cock moves inside you.

"Oh my fuck, Bucky!" you cry out, arms wrapping around the large frame of your boyfriend.

Now that Bucky knows how you taste, knows you feel around him, he doesn't know if he'll ever get tired of this of you. You feel so fucking perfect.

"You like that, Peaches? Like how I feel fucking you?"

"So good, Bucky. Shit, you feel so good."

Bucky grunts as he moves to your other breast, sucking and nipping at it like a starved man, "So fucking perfect. My perfect little Peach," he murmurs into your skin and you feel yourself grow hotter with every word, every thrust.

He's pounding into you now. So much that the bed shakes with every snap of his hips. You're trying to keep it all together. You don't want things to end too soon.

"Goddamn, baby," Bucky groans, now nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. His heavy breathing in your ear, "Gonna be honest, I think I'm already close."

"Guess my pussy's just that good, huh?" you gasp and he laughs, "Guess so. You?"

"Yeah. I'm close."

Bucky pushes off you, going back onto his knees. He takes your legs and holds them up against his chest. Your ankles resting on his shoulders. He's pounding into you hard and your head flies back in pleasure. He's hitting you deep. Your hand goes down to play with your clit for added pleasure and you're bound to break now.

"Fuck, Bucky! Like that, baby! Harder!" you beg and Bucky, per usual, does what you ask of him. With every hard thrust, you and he grow closer to your climax.

"Shit. Shit, gonna cum, Peaches. Fuck!" he thrusts hard as he cums into the condom. He let's out a deep groan and you let out a whine as you cum too.

Bucky watches as your face scrunches up in pleasure. Eyes tightly shut and your mouth open. You let out quiet gasps, your chest heaving in pants. You grunt as your climax washes over you. You've orgasmed before, by your hand and the two toys that you have. But none of them have ever felt like this.

You let out a shaky breath as you fall limp onto the bed. Bucky remains still, waiting for a sign of what he should do next.

You slowly open your eyes and give him a tired smile, "Did you cum?"

He can't help but let out a laugh of disbelief. You, once again, are more concerned about him than yourself.

"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm gonna pull out now, okay? It'll be quick. I know you're sensitive right now."

"Okay," your voice cracks and then hitches when he pulls out.

He crawls off your bed and grabs the half empty water bottle and another. He hands them to you when you sit up, "Here, drink these. I'll be back."

You take the water bottles and chug them down. You watch Bucky head to your bathroom. You hear the soft slam of your under sink cabinet and then the running of your water. Bucky comes back out moments later, the condom on his dick discarded and a damp hand towel in his hand.

You keep drinking your water as Bucky wipes up your slick and sweat, "After this, you're gonna use the bathroom, okay? Don't want you to get a UTI or something." You only nod, finishing up your water.

You swing your legs around and wince. Bucky immediately asks, "Are you okay? What do you need?" you softly smile at his concern.

"I'm okay, Buck. Just a little bit of pain, but I can handle it."

"Can you stand? Should I accompany you to the bathroom?"

You laugh, "I'm fine, Bucky." you lean over and kiss his lips, "Thank you for the concern."

You stand and he has his arms out, ready to catch you in case you fall. When you walk with no problem, he puts his arms down.

While you're in the bathroom, Bucky pulls on his boxers and falls back into your bed. He stares up at your ceiling and a smile makes its way to your face. You two just had sex and it was perfect.

[dharma-divine]

Off Limits (Series?)

Part One

Welcome to my debut writing project! I wasn't planning for this to be a series when I started, but it definitely has the potential to be at least a few parts. Let me know if you guys would like more, and if you want to be added to the taglist! :)

Pairing: Sam x (Female) Reader

Summary: Working at a golf course, you struggle to keep the harmony between you and a vexing coworker, until a turn of events leads you to an unexpected friendship (or maybe something more?).

WARNINGS: Harassment/groping from creepy old men!!! Not too vulgar, but it leaves the reader feeling helpless and fearful so it definitely may be triggering to some. Also cursing, cigarette smoking, and the mentioning of drug use.

Shoutout @garbagevanfleet for helping me! <3

The afternoon sun shines bright as you pull into the golf course, the parking lot bustling with carts and guests with their clubs in tow. It’s expected to be busy today, the tee times almost completely booked the last time you had looked at the schedule. You check yourself in your rearview mirror, putting on a fresh coat of lip balm and a spritz of perfume, before stepping out of your car and into the heat.

Once inside, you realize that the clubhouse is even more packed than the parking lot, and you do a quick turn down a hallway and into the office before you have a chance to get stopped by any guests asking about cart rentals or where to order beer. The office is a quiet relief from the main lobby, and there you find Danny sitting at his desk, sporting his usual golf attire with his curly, long hair half tied up. He’s facing away from you, but you can tell that he is intently focused as he scrolls though an email that’s pulled up on the computer in front of him, the mouse clicking beneath his fingertips.

Danny is the sales manager at the course, and you can tell that he really loves his job. He’s always eager to show any newcomers around, and everyone there knows and adores him. He has a lively, bright personality that you could never get enough of, and not to mention he’s an excellent golfer. You can catch him hitting balls on the range any time of the day, and he often participates in local tournaments. You aren’t an excellent golfer yourself, but Danny is always down to play a round on his off days with you and teach you any tips and tricks that he can.

“Good afternoon, Daniel,” you chime, and the boy immediately swivels in his chair, possibly a bit startled by your sudden presence, but meets your gaze with a sweet smile.

“Y/N, hello!” he greets. “Ready for today? We’re booked, you should make great tips.”

“Let’s hope so,” you reply, walking to a closet at the far side of the room to retrieve your money bag and tablet.

“Have you seen Sam by chance? I need to ask him about this group that’s coming in at 2…” Danny asks as he continues to face the computer monitor. You tense at the mention of his name. Sam.

You fucking hate Sam. You don’t know why, but ever since Danny hired him on a few months ago, you two do nothing but bicker at each other. You’re normally not the type of person to hate someone, hate is such a strong word and rarely used in your vocabulary, but it really is how you feel about Sam. Anytime you ask him for a favor, usually something painless like getting you a roll of quarters from the register, or his keys to the storage room, Sam acts like it’s the end of the world. He always just rolls his eyes, tossing the requested items at you carelessly. He works in the pro shop, the main store where guests go to check-in and buy their necessary golf gear, which can be anything from clubs, to ball tees, to sportswear. When you question him about a new wedge they are selling, or the price of a shirt, he replies with such an attitude that it makes you feel stupid for even asking. He makes your blood boil, and you hate to admit it but he’d even nearly brought you to tears a few times. You just don’t know why he was so mean to you.

Danny doesn’t understand the dissonance between the two of you either; him and Sam are best friends, they apparently have been since they were little, which isn’t surprising by how they act together. After hours, you can catch them racing carts across the fairway, or using their golf clubs like baseball bats to hit empty beer cans back and forth. You remember how excited Danny was when he first told you that he had hired Sam and how that, in turn, made you excited, because you were sure that any friend of Danny’s was a friend of yours. Oh, how wrong you were.

You also remember the first day Sam came to work, and how the other cart girls giggled and whispered about him in the back of the kitchen because they thought he was cute.

Sure, you can agree that Sam is attractive. He has a tall, slender stature, and long brown hair that he sometimes pulls back into a bun or headband when it’s especially hot out. His hair frames his face nicely, complimenting his high cheekbones and rigid jawline that usually remains clenched, or at least it is whenever you’re around. His eyes are warm and kind when he helps guests, especially when the course hosts children’s lessons and he gives them free stickers, or helps them swing a club for the first time, but they harden to a cold glare whenever he sees you.

You have no idea why you elicit such a cruel response from Sam, but just the mention of his name can ruin your day. You don’t want to let that happen today, though. You really want to start trying to ignore him and his bullshit, since other than putting up with him, you genuinely enjoy this job.

“I haven’t, but I can let him know if I do,” you reply to Danny after a brief pause to reflect on your grievances. You raise your voice a few octaves to disguise your attitude.

“Great, thanks so much!” Danny returns, buying your facade, even though he definitely knows that you’re less than pleased. You sigh, immediately regretting offering to speak to Sam once you did ultimately see him.

You grab your things and say goodbye to Danny before heading outside toward the cart barn across the lot, unsure if you’ll be seeing him for the rest of the busy day.

Once you retrieve your cart and stock it up with plenty of beer, liquor and snacks for the guests, you make your way back to the clubhouse to fill the coolers up with ice. As you’re putting the cart in park, you look up to see a painfully familiar face walking out of the back kitchen door. It’s Sam, a cigarette already dangling from his mouth as he makes his way to the side of the building for his routine smoke break. It’s not long before he notices you as well, his face falling to a dull grimace before he looks back down to light the end of the cigarette.

“Danny needs to ask you about something, he’s in the office,” you inform him as you pass, a cloud of smoke puffing in your face. You waft it away.

“About what?” he asks flatly, another puff escaping his lips.

“Something about a group coming in at 2 o’clock,” you repeat Danny’s words, yanking open the heavy door to the kitchen.

“What the hell does that have to do with me?” he asks, still not sounding too bothered, but the question annoys you nonetheless. You pause before letting the door slam back shut, turning around to face him again.

“I don’t know? Maybe you should see Danny to find out,” you snap back, noticeably irritated.

Sam stares at you for a second, before letting out a defeated sigh. He shakes his head as he drops his barely lit cigarette to the ground and extinguishes it with his shoe. He begins to follow you back inside, and to your surprise, he reaches past you to open the door this time, letting you go first underneath his extended arm. It was quite the considerate act coming from him, and you almost saw it as a subtle apology for being so snappy with you. That couldn’t be though, you thought. He would never.

Sam walks out of the kitchen and presumably to the office as you fill up a few plastic buckets with ice for your cart, his small but kind gesture lingering in your mind for longer than you care to admit.

~

You make 2 rounds around the course before you have to head back to restock your coolers, the beer and liquor selling even quicker than you had anticipated. You pull into the cart barn and park, rummaging through your things to find the keys to the refrigerator where extra stock was held. As you’re opening the lock, you hear someone pull up beside you.

“Hey there,” a man’s voice calls out.

You turn around to find that it’s Robert, one of the marshals that drive around to monitor the flow of traffic throughout the course. You kindly greet him, even though you are confused as to why he is hanging around the barn during peak business. You don’t know Robert too well, only waving to him on the occasion you passed him on the cart paths, but you knew he was buddies with plenty of the other guys that worked there. He was an older gentleman, probably around 70, which seemed to be about the age of most of the other marshals you had met.

“Makin’ good money?” he asks, and you can’t help but notice him eyeing you a bit too excessively, leaning out of his cart towards you.

You did recall hearing about Robert being a little too friendly with the girls on the course before, but after getting scolded about it by previous management quite a few years ago, you didn’t expect to ever experience it firsthand.

“Yeah, not too bad” you reply, trying to ignore his looks, but your smile falters a bit as you begin to feel uncomfortable.

Your work uniform is by no means risqué: a grey golf shirt with a white skirt, that you admittedly pull up a little higher to show off your legs, but it still fully covered everything it needed to. Even so, the way Robert’s eyes rake you up and down makes you feel like you’re naked. To your dismay, Robert steps out of his cart and closer to you. You hold your breath.

“Your name tag is crooked,” he informs as he approaches you. “Here, I can fix it.”

Before you can decline, he reaches out to adjust the silver rectangle attached to your top. You can feel him pressing against your chest much firmer than necessary, fumbling with the pin on the back of the tag. You’re certain that it wasn’t even crooked to begin with, remembering that you had put it on in the mirror before leaving your apartment earlier. You want to tell him to back away and to stop touching you, but you realize no one else is around you, and you’re scared to do anything to upset him.

Your anxiety and need to please people is one of your least favorite traits about yourself. You obviously know that your personal space should be respected, especially by a man, but after hearing so many horror stories about men lashing out after being scolded or rejected by a woman, you are now terrified by the smallest possibility of causing conflict. This is ironic considering your issues with Sam, conflict proving to be unavoidable despite your utmost efforts with him. But you suppose that Sam not liking you in the first place avoids the possibility of him ever getting angry by your rejection, so you conclude that you don’t have much to worry about with him.

You freeze as the back of Robert’s hand lingers on your chest, and eventually falls to trail down your arm.

“You’re a beautiful girl, you know that?” he whispers, entirely too close to you. You could throw up.

Your heart is racing, and you’re so on edge that you jump when you hear the sound of something heavy smack against the concrete floor back towards the entrance of the barn. You turn around to see Sam standing where the noise sounded, stepping over the case of beer he had just dropped.

“What’s going on?” he asks, looking perturbed as he makes his way towards you and Robert. The question is obviously rhetorical, you can tell he already knew exactly what was happening.

“Hey there Sammy, how are ya?” Robert greets anyway, nervously extending a handshake in an attempt to disregard what he was just doing.

Except Sam doesn’t accept his greeting, and instead shoves his forearm into the man’s chest, making him back against the glass door of the refrigerator. Robert grunts at the impact, immediately putting his hands up in surrender.

“Hey man, I wasn’t doing anything. I was just fixing her name tag,” he pleads, but his excuse sounds less than convincing.

“Don’t touch her,” Sam orders without even considering his explanation, his arm still firmly pressed against him. “You touch her again and I’ll fucking snap your neck, alright?”

Robert frantically nods his head in agreement.

“Say it, tell me you won’t touch her,” Sam demands louder, grabbing Robert by the collar of his shirt and shoving him even harder against the fridge.

“I won’t, I-I promise,” Robert stutters, eyes wide. “Just let go of me, please.”

After a moment Sam does let him go, and the man stumbles back to his cart, slamming his foot on the gas and careening back onto the course without another word.

You’re frozen in the same position that Robert had first touched you in, and you’re sure you look completely bewildered. Your ears are ringing, and your heart is still racing when you turn towards Sam who remains by the fridge to your right, though you’re too scared to look at him just yet.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” he asks after a moment, speaking in the softest and kindest voice he’s ever spoken to you in. You swallow hard.

“I’m okay, I think,” you whisper, finally looking up to meet his gaze. His expression is just as solemn as his voice, his eyes the warm honey you’ve only caught glimpses of before.

Something overcomes all of your senses, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you lunge towards Sam and embrace him, lacing your arms under his and squeezing his slender torso.

You feel him tense up at first, obviously shocked by the sudden contact, but you eventually feel his hands on your back. Your head rests against his chest, and you can hear that his heartbeat is going just as fast as yours. His hands begin to make small circular motions against you, and the comforting gesture eventually causes your eyes to well up with hot tears. You stand there for a moment, quietly sobbing into Sam’s chest. You’re so grateful that he happened to be there, and helped despite his own animosity towards you. You shudder at the thought of what the man might’ve done to you if he hadn’t. You realize after a moment that your tears are beginning to bleed onto Sam’s shirt.

“Fuck, my bad,” you choke out a laugh, lifting yourself from him and doing your best to rub them away.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he insists. “Do you want to go back to the office? I can drive your cart,” he suggests.

You quietly nod in agreement, sniffling as you follow him. You hop into the passengers side as Sam hits the gas to unlock the breaks, and the two of you head back to the clubhouse. The thought of Danny’s impending presence instantly makes you feel better.

~

“I’m calling HR, and he’s being fired immediately,” Danny states, his reaction to the event being exactly what you had expected. He’s a very calm person, sure to not ever cause a scene, but you recall his sternness when he first told you and the other cart girls about his zero tolerance policy when it came to harassment and any form of sexual misconduct. You knew he would stick to his word, and you are grateful for that.

“Thank you, Danny,” you croak as you sit in one of the office chairs, squeezing the clump of tissues that you had used to clean the streaks of black mascara from your tear soaked face. Your voice is still a little hoarse from crying.

“Of course, and thank you Sam for defending her. I’m sure Y/N could’ve beat his ass herself, but I’m glad you were there to help,” he replies, earning a laugh from the both of you. Judging by your lack of self defense in the situation, you aren’t confident in your ability to beat anyone’s ass anymore, but you still appreciate Danny’s support.

You look over at Sam and he meets your gaze, his expression still soft and genuine. You both exchange polite smiles. This had changed things between the two of you, you thought. You know it did.

“Well,” Danny sighs, finally standing up from his chair. “You guys can go home for the day if you would like, I got you both covered.”

You’re relieved to hear this, unsure of how you would manage going about working the rest of the day with your ruined makeup and killed spirit. All you want is to crawl into bed and sleep this day into a distant memory.

As you’re leaving, you hear Danny call out to Sam.

“Hey, I’ll be over when I’m off later. Jake and Josh want to go out tonight if you want to join,” he offers, exiting the office with him.

“Yeah man, you know I’m always down,” Sam replies cheerfully, the both of them turning the corner back to pro shop. You smile at the thought of what the two of them possibly get into after a few drinks.

~

After cashing out your tips, you make your way back to your car and you notice that Sam happens to be walking to his also. You think for a moment about whether or not you want to speak to him, to perhaps have a bit of a followup on the past hour the both of you have endured. You are still so surprised by how quick he was to get physical with Robert, and the thought of him doing all of that for you gave you a funny pit in your stomach. You aren’t sure how to feel about him anymore.

“Hey,” you eventually call out, and he turns around. You pause, suddenly a little nervous. “Can we talk?”

“Sure, hop in,” he replies without hesitation, nodding to his front seat. Your heart skips a beat, but you oblige, making your way to the passenger side.

The inside of his car smells like cigarettes and leather. He gets into the driver’s side and turns on the engine, immediately blasting the A/C and plugging in his phone to an aux cord. You get excited when you hear a Clapton song begin to play quietly.

“Thank you for helping me,” you start after settling in, your fingers nervously twiddling in your lap. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t there. I was so scared, I was frozen still.” You meet his eyes before he drops his gaze to the steering wheel, giving a small smile.

“Of course, I’m glad I was there to stop him,” he replies. He then pauses for a moment, taking in a long breath. “And I’m sorry.”

“Sam, that wasn’t your fault, he’s just a creepy old-“ you start, but he politely puts up a hand to interject.

“I’m sorry about that too, of course, but that’s not what I meant.” He looks up at you and you can’t really read his expression. Sad? Or maybe nervous, but what could he be nervous about? He always acted so cocky and uptight around you, you had never seen him like this before. But then again, he’s been an entirely different person to you since confronting Robert. His eyebrows furrow slightly before continuing.

“I meant that I’m sorry for being such an asshole to you. I know I’ve given you a hard time since I’ve worked here, and that’s shitty of me. You don’t deserve it.”

You’re shocked by his words. Sam Kiszka, apologizing to you? You can’t believe it, and you’re sure your reaction is readable because Sam lets out a light cackle, another thing you had rarely witnessed him do around you. Your mouth is agape, but no words are coming out.

“Come on now, don’t act so struck. You’re really making me feel like a dick here,” he laughs, and this makes you roll your eyes.

“I mean, yeah, you are a dick to me. Like holy shit, do you know how many times you’ve almost made me cry?” you finally say, which causes Sam to stop laughing.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m sorry,” he responds, his demeanor immediately changing. For some reason, it amuses you.

You shrug before shoving his shoulder playfully.

“I never let you get to me, though. I just wrote you off as being jealous,” you laugh.

“Jealous of what, looking good in a skirt?” he asks, his cheeky smile returning. Your eyebrows raise at his comment.

“You think I look good in my skirt?” you repeat, your heart fluttering.

“Sure you do, my legs could never compare,” he laughs. You feel your cheeks getting hot, the thought of him in a skirt entirely too much.

“Well, you can look all you want, but don’t go touching me like that other bastard,” you warn, though you are obviously joking. You’ve always been the type to use humor as a coping mechanism.

“Oh, I would never,” Sam assures, and you can tell he really means it. “Absolutely fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck him” you agree, sighing as you slump into the seat. Neither of you say anything for a moment.

“Did you ever finish that cigarette?” you eventually ask, lifting your head towards him.

“No actually, Danny never let me get the chance,” he sighs. “And I was going to after running a few beer cases to the coolers for him, but I obviously became preoccupied.” The sound of the large case smacking against the floor earlier echoes back into your mind.

“Well, wanna split one?” you suggest, and his eyes light up.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he replies, promptly lifting from his seat to pull out the pack from his back pocket.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Kiszka,” you assure him.

“Oh, is that so?” he teases, lighting the cigarette and handing it to you, before opening a window to air out the smoke. You respond with a laugh.

You admittedly only smoke cigarettes when you’re drinking, but with the day you just had, you’re craving a relief. He hands the cigarette to you and you take a long drag, enjoying the slight burning sensation that it makes in your lungs. You also roll down your window, before releasing the smoke into the air.

You both sit quietly in the car for a few minutes as the cigarette begins to dwindle, enjoying each other’s presence for once as the music continues to play. You’re surprised at how similar your music tastes are, the sound of Jimi Hendrix’s weeping guitar sending you into a state of bliss. For a moment you wish the cigarette was a joint, knowing very well that Sam also partook by his cackle laugh and often heavy eyelids, but that obviously would not be smart to do in the parking lot of your workplace. You still can’t believe you’re sitting in his car.

“Hey, would you maybe want to come out with me and Danny tonight?” Sam asks after the song ends, his words once again taking you by utter surprise.

“Really?” you ask, maybe a little too excitedly.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. My brothers will be there too,” he adds, and you recall him and Danny discussing their plans for the night earlier. You had met Josh and Jake a few times when they had joined the other two for golf. You remember them being quite pleasant, though one time Josh nearly sent their cart into a creek after having a few too many tequila shots. You simply can’t pass up the opportunity to witness whatever was about to go down tonight.

“I would love to,” you reply through a blushed smile.

“Great,” Sam seems to mirror your excitement, informing you of the time and place to be. It’s a dive bar conveniently just a few blocks from your place, and you plan to meet them there at 8 o’clock.

Tossing the now dead cigarette butt out of the window, you open the door to Sam’s car.

“Well, thanks for the cig. See you at 8,” you call out, turning around to peer at him through the still open window as you walk away.

“See you,” he calls back, and your heart flutters once more.

You head towards your car across the lot, entranced in thought. You had really gone from hating Sam’s existence, to agreeing to go drinking with him, all in the span of a day. You laugh to yourself at the strange series of events, looking forward to whatever the night had to bring.

Next Chapter

[hercleverboy]

the year of goodbyes

spencer reid x gn!reader

masterlist

summary ↠ over the course of a year, Spencer says goodbye to three people— and hello to one.

category ↠ angst/fluff

warnings/includes ↠ takes place in s11, talk of Alzheimer’s,  

word count ↠ 1.8k

massive shoutout to my beloved @ellesgreenaway for beta reading and encouraging me to finish this piece— india you are my actual saving grace

“If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello.” — Paulo Coelho

People leaving wasn’t exactly a new concept for Spencer.

He knew it all too well, the familiar look that was cast over peoples features, how their eyes got glassy and lips twitched as they prepared to tell him that they were yet another person who would leave him behind— like so many had before.

But their choice of words was always different. He noticed a sort of pattern, when it came to people walking out of his life. They tended to dance around the words, never exactly saying ‘I’m leaving you.’

First, it was his father. He’d watched him pack a suitcase full of things, spit angry words at his mother and then turn to him, his son— placing his hand on his shoulder, mumbling a few cowardly words and that was that. Spencer no longer had a father.

(‘I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to look after you anymore.’)

Second was Gideon, who never actually said goodbye in person (and Spencer couldn’t decide whether that was better or worse.) Instead, he left, wrote words down on a page and then addressed it to him.

(‘Spencer, I knew you would be the one to come down here.’)

And again, with Alex. Not a goodbye, not in the formal sense, but Spencer’s heart ached with how he knew what this was— he recognised the look on her face and knew that once again, he would lose someone he loved.

(‘You know, Ethan would’ve been a lot like you.’)

Everyone in Spencer’s life started to feel temporary. There one minute, gone the next. He wished that meant that he cared any less for them, or that it hurt any less when they left.

Of course, that was never the case.

His mother’s mental state had been deteriorating rapidly, and nothing— not anything that Spencer’s big genius brain could think of — was helping her.

When he visited her, he saw the vacant look in her eyes. He recognised the look of confusion on her face when he’d enter the room, ignoring how his heart squeezed painfully upon realising that his own mother no longer remembered him.

It would take her a few minutes, but eventually the confusion would disappear and she would give him a smile, greeting him with open arms and warm words.

It was a different kind of leaving, but she was leaving him all the same. She wasn’t physically going anywhere, but, mentally?

He saw how she was deteriorating, he argued with countless doctors and medical professionals, exhausting every book and resource he could find— just hoping he could come up with something.

But, no.

He found it a little ironic. He was the boy wonder, the resident genius of the Bureau’s elite behavioural analysis unit, a smartass who had endless amounts of knowledge.

He always had the answer, always had the solution.

Ironic— because the man who was supposed to know it all, had no clue how to protect his mother from a disease that would inevitably take her from him.

It wasn’t something he would ever come to terms with, it was never something he would accept. He knew how it was going to go, the doctors told him as much.

The day would come that he would walk into his mother’s room, and those vacant eyes would never gain clarification. Her confusion wouldn’t pass, and she would no longer recognise him.

Spencer dreaded that day.

He feared it, even. 

Because the day he lost his mother would be the day he lost himself. 

*

When Catherine Adams’ file came across Spencer’s desk, he thrusted all of his agony over his mother into the case. It was why he decided that he would be the one to take her down in the restaurant, why he insisted that she wouldn’t perceive him as a threat. 

Oddly enough, Spencer found himself intrigued by her. Perhaps, he simply enjoyed being intellectually challenged in such a way.  Or perhaps, somewhere deep down in the darkest parts of himself, he liked the attention, got off on being able to outsmart her. 

He was smug when he managed to trick her into getting into the back of the police van, under the guise that he’d found her father. (After all, she was ‘just another girl with daddy issues’.) 

It was only when Cat gave him a grin, one that contrasted with the tears that slipped down her cheeks, that Spencer felt uneasy. 

He crouched down in front of her, whispered a small, “Goodbye, Cat,” before getting up and leaving the van, feeling a weight on his chest that made it difficult for him to breathe. 

Again, it was a different type of goodbye. One he was of course relieved about, because with it brought the promised safety of Penelope, now that Cat was behind bars. Although, alongside the relief, there was a sour aftertaste. 

It was what led him to take a moment, sitting down on the swings in the park, hands trembling slightly as they grabbed the chains, swinging gently in a slow rhythm that he hoped would calm him down. 

The last words Cat had said to him played over and over in his head. 

“In twenty years, you won’t remember my name. But I’ll remember yours.” 

At first, Spencer assumed she was referring to how after a while, Cat would simply blend into the sea of seemingly never-ending unsubs who all tried, and failed, to outsmart the team.

It was only later that Spencer realised she was instead insinuating that he would succumb to the same disease as his mother— forgetting not only those that he loved, but the ones he hated too.

*

Spencer’s best friend was going to be a father. 

The team were gathered in the waiting room, eagerly awaiting news, when Morgan came out with a smile on his face. “It’s a boy!” 

Pure, unbridled joy burst throughout the room, with Spencer lurching forward to wrap his arms around him, laughing and giving his congratulations. He swallowed the lump that began to form in his throat and pushed away the thoughts that swirled around his mind. Deep down, he knew what would inevitably happen, but that moment wasn’t the right time to think about it. 

It was late in the evening when Derek Morgan stopped by Spencer’s desk. Before he even looked up from his paperwork, he knew where this conversation was going to go. When he did look up, it all but confirmed it— he saw the sad smile on Morgan’s lips, and watched how his eyes glossed over.

He said nothing though. Instead, he smiled and chuckled as Morgan gushed over his newborn son. His smile got even bigger when Morgan handed over the birth announcement— Hank Spencer Morgan.

Although he knew what was coming, he knew what decision Morgan was going to make, he expected nothing less from his best friend. A man who had grown immensely in the years he’d known him, going from a real ladies man to someone who would give up his job in order to be there for his family.

Morgan placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, a sigh leaving his lips. “Kid, listen. Here’s the thing..”

“I know.” Spencer whimpered quietly, smiling sadly. “It’s okay. I know. And I understand.”

He watched Derek Morgan walk away, sniffling as he willed the tears to keep at bay. He watched his best friend, his brother, walk away. And it hurt, God it hurt. But he was so proud of the man that Morgan had become that he pushed aside the hurt, reminding himself of what he knew to be true.

Everyone left eventually. 

Spencer feared that one day, he would look around and find that he was truly and utterly alone.

*

It was a normal Tuesday morning, and Spencer was making his way through the FBI Headquarters, up to the BAU floor. He stepped into the elevator, his coffee mug in one hand, and his other resting over his satchel. Just before the door closed, he heard someone call out. 

“Hold the doors!” 

Spencer reached a hand out, pushing the doors back open. 

You scuttled into the elevator, looking over to the male next to you with a smile. “Thank you for holding the doors. I’m already running a little late for my first day.” You explained, reaching to press the button for the fifth floor, watching as the elevator doors closed again. 

“The fifth floor? The Sex Crimes Unit?” Spencer asked curiously. 

You nodded. 

“It’s your first day?” 

“Yeah, I moved here for the job a couple of weeks back. It was an incredible opportunity, I couldn’t pass it up.” You expressed, and Spencer gave you a tight lipped smile in return. “I’m presuming you work here as well?” 

He nodded. “I’m in the Behavioural Analysis Unit, a floor up from you.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear. At least I have one friend in the building, if it turns out my new team hate me.” You joked, glad when Spencer let out a little laugh. 

“I’m sure that won’t be the case. You seem very likeable.” 

You grinned up at him. “Thank you.”

The elevator dinged, the doors opening. You looked over at your new friend, flashing him a nervous smile. “Well, wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” He smiled back, raising his hand in a small wave as you left the elevator. 

After a long day of paperwork (and thinking of the pretty person he’d met in the elevator), Spencer gathered together his things before getting into the elevator. It stopped on the floor below, and when the doors opened, he smiled at the sight of you. 

You looked up from where you’d been looking down at your phone, mirroring his grin. “Hey! It’s you.” 

“Yes—yes, It is, me.” Spencer replied, cringing awkwardly at his nonsensical response. 

You only laughed quietly at it, entering the elevator. 

“How was your first day?” He asked, only to be polite. 

You seemed surprised that he’d asked, but answered nonetheless. “It was good! Turns out my team don’t hate me. Or at least, I don’t think they do?” Your voice raised in question, making Spencer laugh a little. 

“See? What did I tell you?” He grinned, and you rolled your eyes playfully. 

You leaned over, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” 

“Spencer.” 

“It’s lovely to meet you, Spencer. For the second time today.” 

Spencer smiled shyly, hands delving into his pockets as the elevator dinged. The two of you stepped out, looking at one another with timid expressions. 

“My car, it’s that way.” You pointed to the other end of the car park. 

“I take the subway.” Spencer responded, wishing he could find a way to make you stay a little longer.

“Well, have a good evening, Spencer.” You beamed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Yes!” He responded a little eagerly, sighing inwardly before clearing his throat. “I mean yeah, sure that- that’s cool.” 

You giggled quietly, waving goodbye before turning toward your car. 

Spencer blushed the whole way to the subway station, biting back the smile on his lips at the thought of you. 

People leaving wasn’t exactly a new concept for Spencer. 

But you? 

He had the feeling that you were going to be a very permanent part of his life, and he didn’t mind that in the slightest. 

*

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