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bbyseok · 1 year

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meadow afterglow

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

cw: fluff everyone !! pro hero bakugou, gender neutral reader, reader is a florist and owns a flower shop, reader loves flowers/plants/nature, swearing ofc, brief violence (attempted assault on reader from some strangers), awkward katsuki hours incoming- he’s super whipped but helpless, i switch povs from bakugou to reader often, tiny bit of angst.. some misunderstanding—both bakugou and reader are idiots that can’t communicate

wc: 5.2k words

analysis: bakugou fucking hates flowers—they’re too fragrant, too cliché, too romantic. and yet, he finds himself always coming back to the same flower shop once his shift ends.

———

bakugou katsuki doesn’t like flowers. hates them, despises them—loathes them even! flowers just aren’t his thing.

when they came along with prizes (where he won first place of course), he’d always snort and throw them away in some trashcan once he could.

when kids back in his middle and high school days were brave enough to make a move on him, he’d send a spark from his palm and ultimately burn their flowers (and hopes) away.

he does the exact same thing to this day with his fans if they were perhaps lucky enough to encounter him during his patrols. (it looks bad when the press covers it obviously and that’s only one problem his pr team deals with.)

so yeah, in conclusion: bakugou isn’t particularly fond of flowers. it’s one of his many supposedly unpleasant traits—not that he really cares. now, he’s changed in these past years, truly, but he’s still maintained some of the roughness of his personality.

‘cause when you think of pro hero dynamight, number two on the hero charts (interchangeably with number one pro hero deku), you don’t think of flowers.

but… here he is. it’s just around thirty minutes past six in the evening, the ropes of dusk in the sky evident as the city prepares for nightlife. his shift had ended a while ago, but everyday, on the way home, he makes sure to stop by a small shop. a flower shop of all places. and bakugou katsuki hates flo- yeah, you get the point.

he doesn’t even know why he hesitates going entering the shop—he’s pretty damn sure you can spot him from outside. his visits are expected. the sound of the dainty bell ringing reaches his ears as he walks in.

“back so soon, dynamight?”

he grunts and turns his head away, sharply avoiding your gaze so you miss the squinting of his red eyes. you’re behind the counter as usual, fixing the arrangement of some daisies in their pots.

his cheeks burn but he’s lingering by the entrance, feigning his attention on the shelves decked with plants so you don’t see any blush. “yeah, yeah.. jus’ give me some damn flowers already,” he demands gruffly.

the sound of you briefly laughing has his head whipping back to you almost instantly. he catches the sight of you lightly shaking your head in amusement.

“anything like usual then, dynamight?”

fuck, he can’t help but wonder what his actual name would sound like off your tongue. it’s always been dynamight this, dynamight that—and while he certainly doesn’t mind, he just can’t help but wonder. when you tilt your head at him, he realizes he had been staring. he clears his throat. “yeah, whatever.”

finally, he walks toward the counter, moving around the small display tables topped with a pretty arrangement of succulents as you beam at him.

“alrighty then!” you clasp your head together, nodding for a bit. “i hope you don’t mind tulips then. we got a fresh new batch so they should just do fine!”

he nods in acknowledgement. “yeah, that’s fine f’me,” he huffs. and as you send him another smile and you dismiss yourself to the back to fetch said tulips, he can’t help but think about your first meeting.

it had been a week or two ago. a usual day of kicking ass was over and he was just on the way home until longtime friend kirishima eijiro called in a favor—he had practically begged bakugou to grab him some flowers for his date with mina since he was running late.

begrudgingly, katsuki had agreed, insisting only because the redhead was being so damn annoying. and so he pulled in to the first flower shop he saw—yours. he had stormed in and just demanded for a bouquet and the rest was history.

he found himself coming back even though he didn’t even need fucking flowers. (at first, he tells himself it’s because he’s got nothing better to do. and then he convinces himself it’s just to ensure the safety of another civilian, since you close nearing nighttime and walk home. and then he can’t lie to himself anymore that he finds you a tad bit.. cute.)

when you return, he breaks out of his reminiscing and looks back to you, blinking expectantly. “here you go!” you chirp, presenting the tucked tulips in some wrapper.

he’s grabbing his wallet from his pocket with a huff. “right.” he can feel your gaze on him patiently and he almost fumbles with his hands. (how embarrassing—he’s done this so many times too.)

and when you exchange the amount of money for the flowers, the briefest of touches from your hands makes him stutter in his movements just subtly. once the flowers are with him, he can smell its scent and he wants to sneeze.

he brushes it off and raises a brow at you. he wants to say something, maybe tell you how endearing it is to see how your name tag is lopsided on your shirt or how your wrinkled work apron has some clear stains of dirt from the flower pots on it. but instead, he says- “go home, dumbass.”

he knows you’re used to his rather blunt comments and words, but he swears he can feel the tips of his ears burn with a scorch as you snort and giggle in amusement. “i could tell you the same thing, dynamight,” you say back.

the flowers shift in his hold and he eyes the counter for two seconds to regain himself as he clears his throat and scoffs. “i meant- it gets dark faster nowadays, ‘kay? go home.”

you salute him playfully. “of course. you know i don’t close up the shop until you leave. you’re my last customer, dynamight.” (he knows.) “drive safe!”

“mhm.” he grunts and decides to take his leave before he makes a fool of himself. you wave him goodbye enthusiastically as he exits your shop and gets back into his car.

and when he returns to his apartment, he places his tulips with the rest of the flowers safely.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

the morning is just creeping into the starting hours of noon—it gets a bit busier around this time with people in the city. peak business hour because sometimes, there’s always that one person who’s looking for some flowers or the perfect plant.

but right now, your shop is empty. the wafting scent of roses newly perched on the side counter fills the air but you don’t mind it as you sweep some fallen leaves from the floor.

you had turned on the small tv hooked up in the corner of the ceiling for some background noise, humming to yourself to pass time, but its current broadcast catches your attention.

“pro hero dynamight is on the scene of the ongoing shionosu bank robbery with the help of some sidekicks and-”

you abandon your sweeping to watch the small, short-lived clips of the robbery the news station has to offer, but seeing the familiar red-eyed blonde on screen has you feeling all fluttery.

you fingers tighten around the broomstick and you shake your head to yourself. you had somewhat gotten attached to the explosive hero throughout his daily visits—his honest and brash presentation may be off putting to others but you don’t mind. he’s like a literal explosion in your little life. you like to think that your plants enjoy his company.

besides, it’s sort of cute knowing that such an aggressive man had the time to stop by your shop nearly every single day to buy some flowers. and then you shake your head again—he was buying flowers, most likely for someone he was seeing.

you can still remember your first meeting with him like it was yesterday. man had strutted into your shop like he owned it and ordered you to give him some flowers. something along the lines of “oi! you still open? get me some shit for a date or something!” and that’s how it happened.

you wouldn’t change whatever this.. relationship you had with the pro hero for the world but it did hurt a little, knowing he was coming to your shop for your flowers only to give them to someone else. why else did he buy them?

the sound of his voice from the tv has you perking up and you’re quite embarrassed of yourself by the the effect he has on you, even on a damn screen.

“hah? just some fuckin’ d-list criminals who chose the wrong day to rob a bank,” he barks at the reporter, “you really think i couldn’t handle those shits?” of course, his words are poorly censored and you can’t help but laugh.

yeah, you’re okay with what you have. you’re happy that you can somewhat see another side of dynamight through your little exchanges.

the bell ringing then diverts your attention away from the tv and you politely greet an elderly lady walking in. you place aside the broom and head back behind the counter, content with knowing that you’ll see him later today.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou comes in during his usual time, casual clothes only slightly rumpled since he had been in a hurry to make sure to make it before you closed up the shop.

and there you are as always, behind the counter with a sweet smile. “good evening, dynamight!”

he sighs quietly, taking in the calm and scenery of your shop. it’s a welcomed contrast after the hectic events of today—annoying criminals thinking they could take him down and even more annoying reporters with nosy questions.

“hey.” he grunts, then asks curiously, “how was your day?” he decides to ignore how pleasant surprise flicks over your face by roaming through the shelves on the side.

“it was pretty good,” you hum in reply. there’s a pause and then you add, “i saw you on tv today. a robbery, huh?”

the realization that you saw him in action on screen makes his cheeks heat up for some reason but he plays it cool, peering at you from behind one of the shelves. “oh, yeah,” he chuffs, “impressed?”

you giggle to yourself, crossing your arms as you observe him. “impressed by how they somehow managed to censor you, that’s for sure.”

katsuki winces only subtly and rolls his eyes as he comes out from behind the shelving to approach the counter. “yeah, yeah. pretty sure my pr team is gonna try ‘n whoop my ass again for that.” he barks out a rough laugh. “as if they could.”

you tilt your head back as you laugh with him, and fuck, he thinks he can watch you laugh all day. it’s music to his ears. “right,” you snort, “they can try, huh?”

he straightens his shirt somewhat, noticing the obvious wrinkles on them. “oh, yeah. you watch me the whole time?” he’s teasing.

“you wish,” you banter back, now uncrossing your arms to drum your fingers on the table absentmindedly. “this woman came in for some flowers. she was so kind- i gave her some delphiniums!”

he tilts his head, brows furrowing. “delphi-what now?” he huffs, leaning against the counter as he watches you brighten up. (damn, are you cute. but he’s not gonna say that out loud.)

“delphiniums are pretty.” you sigh and then start to ramble, “i gave her some royal larkspurs. pretty easy to take care of at the start! they usually symbolize dignity and grace, amongst some other things like sincerity, dedication- oh, i’m talking too much, aren’t i?” you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “you’re just here for some flowers, sorry. uh, just anything like usual?”

bakugou blinks and chuckles softly. “nah, don’ worry. like hearing you talk.” shit, did he really say that? he straightens his posture and clears his throat, trying to act all nonchalant. “and uh, actually- i’ll take the larkspurs or whatever.”

you gaze is wide before you nod with a bright smile. “larkspurs it is.”

later that night, he adds those beautiful arching flowers of blue with his growing collection, another reminder of you.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

god, how bakugou hates commission meetings with a passion. what he hates even more is waiting for them to actually start. ‘cause that means he actually has to socialize with his fellow colleagues.

like fucking deku here.

most of the heroes are lingering around the long table, and here’s his childhood friend, rambling on with the familiar faces of half ‘n half bastard and round cheeks, and they’re entirely invested with his current dilemma. “i just don’t know what to get her! i’m overthinking this, right? just a simple gift or some flowers could do, right?”

ochako pats midoriya’s shoulder reassuringly, saying, “you shouldn’t worry about it too much, deku. i’m sure your mom would love anything you get her!”

deku shakes his head as he continues mumbling in thought. even after all these years, the nerd never lost some of his annoying traits, much to bakugou’s irritation. old habits die hard, he supposes. (however, when you ramble, he finds that he doesn’t want you to stop.)

some of the others are joining in on the conversation to pass time—there’s fucking both dunce face and soy sauce face and he’s pretty sure he’s one second away from blowing the shit out of all of ‘em. how the hell did he tolerate them in high school?

before icyhot can open his mouth and surely say something idiotic, bakugou groans and turns in his chair to face them, dragging a hand over his face. “oh, for the love of- can you shut your trap already? jus’ get her some larkspurs or some shit.”

fuckin’ nerd looks at him all curious and interested, and he’s got the attention of the others now as well. “larkspurs, kacchan?” deku questions.

“yeah,” he huffs, turning his gaze away. he recites their meaning he had learned from you instinctively, crossing his arms and kicking his feet up onto the table.

denki then speaks up, “woah, kacchan. since when were you a flower expert?” the electric hero grins and leans forward and the others are obviously interested too.

“fuck off!” katsuki snaps roughly, “i ain’t no expert on some damn flowers. hate those fuckin’ things.”

he grumbles when the others laugh and continue to tease him whilst deku thanks him profusely. yeah—he’s still a damn nerd.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

it’s another day of business. still midday, with the sun taking its place in the high in the sky. the afternoons aren’t as hot anymore, and you know you should start to move some of the display plants outside back inside but you’ll get to that later.

a lovely couple had left earlier with their desired flowers for their upcoming wedding and you had happily aided them. once they had left, you decided to take a small break, slouching on the counter.

you can’t help but let your thoughts drift back to a certain blonde. judging how he really didn’t care what flowers he got—other than the time he had asked for the larkspurs—you guessed his partner really didn’t mind the type of flowers they received either.

and as if your thoughts had summoned him, the bell rings and the door opens to reveal the man plaguing your mind, fully decked out in his hero costume.

“d-dynamight?” you yelp in surprise, immediately fixing your posture as you stare at him. he only comes at the end of the day, after his work is over and yours is nearly done—what the hell is he doing here? in the afternoon?

“ya busy?” bakugou grunts, making his way in without any further words.

he looks so out of place here—brandished armor and combat duty boots sounding heavy on the floor. you’re pretty sure he almost knocked over the shelves with how big his gauntlets are. he looks made for battle but here he is, standing expectantly, surrounded by dainty flowers and plants.

“um- um, no?” you then shake your head. “what’re you doing here? not that i mind! it’s just.. you’ve never come in the middle of the day before! what if someone sees you?”

he makes sure his grenadier bracers don’t actually knock down your hard work of arrangements, looking to you. “s’why i’m gonna be quick, idiot. can’t come later tonight so ‘m here now.”

“o-oh! of course.” you rush around the counter to pick something simple to offer to him, since he doesn’t seem to care again on what he’ll receive. you’re aware of his eyes following you as you grab some false indigos for a bundle.

“stay safe out there, dynamight,” you bid him, holding out the flowers for him to take. “i’ll see you some other time then?” you hate how hopeful you sound.

his red irises linger on you for a couple of seconds before he nods and pays up. “yeah, you will. you stay safe, idiot.“

his words make you feel warm—with the false indigos now with him, you simply smile. you won’t tell him that they symbolize protection; maybe he can learn that another day.

(later on, you see a media outlet that reads PRO HERO DYNAMIGHT SEEN WITH FLOWERS… HAS HE FOUND A PARTNER? and you hate how the title makes your stomach churn with jealousy—but seeing your flowers tucked delicately in his arms is worth it.)

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou actually doesn’t get to see you for a couple of days. there had been a change in his schedule and he had been assigned for some overnight shifts along with some other heroes in another district due to the rise of criminal activity there.

but he’s back now, thankfully, and he’s antsy to see you after all this time. (mind you, it’s only been three or four days. smitten, he is, for the attractive florist that supplies him with flowers even though he claims he hates them. on a side note, he hopes his assistant had taken good care of the false indigos he had placed in his office.)

so as he drives down the familiar street, katsuki can’t help but wonder if you still wait for him so you can close the shop. it has been a while since his last appearance that one early afternoon, so even though he wouldn’t be surprised that you don’t, he couldn’t lie and say that he wouldn’t be a bit disappointed.

but as he pulls in into the parking lot, he’s furious.

you had just closed the shop, not even a few feet away from the door as a gang of looming strangers crowd in towards you, all hunched and shady as you match their stares warily.

katsuki isn’t sure he’s moved faster than he has in his life—he’s scrambling out of the car to help you when you manage to land a sucker punch square into one of the asshole’s jaws. with your flank exposed, another one lunges for you and you scream.

“you fucker!” he snarls and he reaches you in record time, the one you had already knocked to the side being met with an accurately aimed kick to the gut from his boot before he sends an explosion that has the remaining three flying.

when bakugou sees that none of them are making an effort to get up, he slips out of his offensive stance and immediately turns to you in concern, eyes roaming for any injuries. “are you hurt? did they touch you?” he demands, brows furrowed. “i’m-”

he falters when you simply stare at him in awe. the silence between you two is deafening and he doesn’t know how to interpret it. he starts, worried, “hey, are you-”

you arms wrapping him around has him inhaling sharply. his arms linger, unsure of what to do but he accepts your embrace delicately. “thank you, dynamight,” you murmur after a moment, still holding him.

he breathes softly, and he’s all quiet when he speaks again. “..it’s bakugou to you,” he tells you gruffly, “got it?”

his words have caught you by surprise—he knows it by the way your eyes widen when you pull back to look at him. he meets your stare readily.

“thank you, bakugou,” you say gently, and his gaze softens. (hearing his name roll off your tongue is something he can get used to, he decides.)

he then chuckles, all fond. “remind me not to get you mad. that punch looked nasty.”

you laugh genuinely, and katsuki can’t help but think about how much he missed hearing it.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou drives you home every night from then on.

you had no problem before, as your apartment building isn’t that far off, perhaps a fifteen minute walk, pushing ten if you jogged a little, and that was something you could manage. until the incident a couple weeks ago.

you definitely feel safer with him escorting you, even when you did protest that he didn’t have to waste his time driving to your shop, waiting for you to close and then dropping you off at your apartment—but he insisted. like, almost put you in a headlock if your dumbass didn’t listen insisted. (he still buys flowers every time too.)

and as giddy as it made you to spend more time with the pro hero, the reminder that he was supposedly taken was enough for you to know your limits. he’s simply doing his job—protecting people, s’all.

but in moments like this, you think you can selfishly enjoy yourself.

he’s blasting his music—some sort of punk rock that you can’t deny is pretty catchy—with his newly acquired lilacs resting on the center console for him to take home. it’s a bit silly, hearing such vulgar lyrics in the background as the petals of the magenta flowers shake slightly.

“you’ll enjoy your new home with bakugou, won’t you?” you coo at the plant, brushing your fingers over it tenderly. “he’ll take good care of you, i’m sure.”

bakugou’s got one hand on the wheel and he casts you an amused glance. as the car approaches a red light, he turns down the music and snorts. “are you seriously talking to the fuckin’ flowers?”

you lightly glare at him, a smile quirking up on the corners of your lips. “it helps them grow when you talk to ‘em nicely!”

“oh, yeah?” he raises a brow, snorting again—but he’s got an amused smirk on his face now as he focuses back on driving. “i’ll keep that in mind then, idiot.”

you sneak subtle side glances at him the rest of the ride, admiring his beauty—so close yet so far.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

this is so fucking stupid, bakugou thinks. he should be buying flowers for you, not from you—or whatever couples do nowadays to please their partners. but here he is, back again. even if he is your drive home, this weird tradition of buying your flowers he had gotten accustomed is getting old. he just hopes you’re getting the hint that he’s not exactly here for the flowers.

katsuki doesn’t even bother announcing himself when he doesn’t see you behind the counter—you’re probably somewhere in the back tidying up some final things so you can leave, so he starts looking for something to buy already.

“hey, got anything new f’me to buy?” he calls out then, and he hears some rustling from the back room. he figures he might help you out so without much thought, he saunters around the counter, following the noise of your muffled movements.

your voice rings out, “yeah, i do! just lemme-” way closer than before and just as he enters the doorway of the backroom, you appear—walking right into him.

now, obviously he’s a wall. lean and fine muscle make up his body—and you crash into him, yelping when you stumble back in surprise.

bakugou’s reflexes are quick and he manages to catch you in time—his arm dips low and braces the small of your back before you can fall over. “fuckin’ idiot,” he huffs out, “be careful.”

“hey!” you cry out in protest, “you’re the one who was standing there! for someone so loud, you sure are stealthy.”

“ah? i can be plenty fucking stealthy!” he argues, voice booming against the walls and proving your point.

you giggle at that—and that’s when katsuki realizes you’re both so fucking close. he can see the shape of your lips and the way your eyes gleam in the lighting from above. he freezes.

you seem to realize it too, falling silent for a couple of heartbeats. bakugou clears his throat and lets you go. “alright, brat. gonna give me my flowers so we can fuckin’ leave already?”

he thinks he sees your shoulders relax and fall down before you nod and brush past him. “yeah, of course.”

he scoffs and follows you, wondering what it’d be like to kiss you.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

you twiddle with some ribbons laced around some pottery, trying to redo some decorations on them since you can spare some time.

bakugou had come in a little early for you to close up, so he’s waiting for you to finish, casually leaning on the counter as he observes the store. okay, well- you’re not exactly sure what he’s doing, since he’s probably memorized the entire layout of your small area of the building by now because of how many times he’s been here.

you’re humming idly to yourself, the tv flicked on to some music ambience channel to full in the quiet air anytime bakugou isn’t striking up a conversation. he’s been silent for a while now.

“what’s a person’s ideal date?”

you nearly drop a vase. obviously, the question surprises you. it should, you think, since this is a pro hero who’s been coming to your flower shop for over a month or two now, supposedly getting flowers for his significant other—even if he does linger around longer than he should and drives you home—and he’s asking you on what someone’s ideal date is? this.. doesn’t make any sense.

“well...” you begin reluctantly, unsure of where this is leading, and even more unsure on how to actually answer. “it depends on the person, bakugou.”

the blonde simply clicks his tongue and his eyes meet yours.

“okay then. what’s your ideal date?”

just when you think he can’t surprise you any further, he does. you’re pretty sure your eyes nearly bug out of their sockets as you set the vase aside so you don’t actually drop it. “huh?”

“you heard me, dumbass,” katsuki scoffs with a roll of his eyes and you want to disappear into the floor. “what’s your ideal date?”

your throat suddenly feels dry. “i’m, uh, not the best person to ask for romantic advice, bakugou,” you warn, trying to be all teasing as you laugh anxiously. you do not want to help him plan out a date—you’d rather throw yourself into the sun.

“‘m serious, brat,” bakugou grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring at you. you can’t read him, usually you can’t, but his eyes are warm. “tell me.”

you continue fiddling with some ribbons as you glance away to contemplate. “well.. a- a picnic date would be nice. with some of my favorite foods, maybe. it’d probably be out in some meadow. just.. a nice, open meadow where you can see flowers for miles.” you sigh dreamily.

it’s quiet again and then you glance back to him, stammering, “but- but that’s just my preference! i dunno if the person you’re seeing would like that ‘n stuff. everyone’s different, y’know?”

suddenly he’s got this confused scowl on his face, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. oh god, did you offend him in some way? say something awful? what if you-

“hah?” bakugou snaps, voice colored in disbelief, “who the hell said i was seeing someone?”

what? now it’s your turn to be utterly confused, and you stare at him with wide eyes. “you’re not- you’re not seeing someone? dating someone?” you inquire, puzzled.

“no, dumbass!” he barks out, “i’m not- where the fuck did you get that idea from?”

you blink once, twice. “you!” you cry out, saying, “when you came in here for the very first time, you asked me to get you flowers for a date!”

bakugou’s eyes widen and then he’s taking steps towards you. “not a date for me, dumbass! my friend asked me to get him flowers for his date!”

your mind spins with the new information but you’re still so confused, still in denial—you shake your head. “but- but.. why else would you come in for flowers every single day?”

“because i wanted to see you!”

oh. the confession has your cheeks heating up. so… the blonde you’ve been harboring a massive crush on is, in fact, not seeing anyone, and is coming in every day to your flower shop to buy your flowers because he wants to see you?

bakugou stares at you, eyes all wide as if he can’t believe what he had just said aloud. his words are echoing in your head and you laugh a little. “you.. aren’t here for the flowers?” you say softly.

his gaze is all warm as he relaxes, and you can see the faint pink tingeing his cheeks. “no,” he confesses in a grumble, “..‘m here for you and your stupid dumbass.”

you laugh again, and he finally reaches you. his fingers twitch and slowly, you take his hands in yours. they feel a little warm, clumsy like he doesn’t know what to do with his fingers before they tighten around yours. “we really are idiots, huh?” when he glares at you softly, you add, “i like you too. just so you know.”

his blush is visible and oh so pretty now, and he lets out a sigh of relief at your words. and then he snorts, “good, ‘cus i’m gonna need some help takin’ care of all the stupid fuckin’ flowers at my apartment. it’s practically a shop now too.”

as he pulls you into a crushing hug, you burst into a fit of giggles.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“you forgot to water this one, you idiot!” katsuki calls from the corner of your shop, grumbling at some of the drooping crotons you brought in recently. “where the fuck did you put the watering can?”

you point to the counter, too occupied with fixing the succulents. “should be somewhere on the floor over there, suki,” you tell him. and as you watch him snatch the watering can and storm back over to the plants in need, you grin to yourself.

“thanks, katsuki,” you hum as you stand back up, “you’re a big help, y’know?”

he scoffs. “yeah, yeah.” as he tilts the watering can to spray the plants, he continues in a hushed voice. “what you would ‘lil fuckers do without me, ah?”

your heart does a flip. a month or so ago, you wouldn’t believe it if someone had told you that the pro hero dynamight would be in your shop taking care of your plants as he talks to them. but you know, you also wouldn’t have believed it if they had told you he’d be your boyfriend.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

and katsuki eventually does take you out on that ideal date once it gets warmer. a dainty picnic lunch with your favorite foods that he made from scratch in his very own kitchen in a heavenly meadow surrounded by flowers all around.

and it’s there, when he kisses you, that bakugou katsuki realizes that he doesn’t hate flowers. especially since he has the most gorgeous flower of them all—you.

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cowboyjigen · 1 year

Text

rosey red or making him blush

warnings: canon typical violence,, it’s tokyo rev, my soft draken agenda makes an appearance, not super happy with all of these but first time writing tokyo rev so i’ll take it

mikey loves little cafe dates. he loves the shared parfaits and quiet giggles between the two of you. so when you catch him staring over the sugary mountain in front of you he won’t notice all to quick. he’s too busy lost in thought of just how lucky he is and how he wishes these moments could last forever.

“mikey? are you okay?” the words wake him from his daze. shaking his head, a pink dusting covers the highs of his cheeks.

“m fine. just thinking.”

whipping the blood from his nose, draken stands at his full height again. your cradled figure lays in the corner shaking. he has to remind himself that killing those bastards isn’t worth it and that he needs to help you first. so he moves himself over you, pulling you into his chest.

“ken?” tear stained eyes glance up at him, “oh my god ken are you alright? what.. what happened? did they hurt you?”

he can’t stop the blood from rushing to his face. despite being hurt yourself your first thought is him. and he’s stuck for a few moments wondering how he got this lucky

takemichi does not know where to put his hands. so he’s just kinda awkwardly fumbling around while trying to hold you close. eventually one will end up in your hair and the other maybe on your waist? he’s not to sure cause he’s just so distracted by the look on your face.

“‘michi? you good? you’re looking a little red there.” you snicker

“oh uh yeah i’m fine i swear. all good here.” he defensively stated, face still lit up like a christmas tree

a couple of pins sit between his teeth as he fiddles with the tape measure. under any other circumstance mitsuya would be keeping his cool. but being this close with you has got him flustered beyond belief.

“uh if you could um just turn maybe?” the rosey color over his cheeks isn’t missed as you slowly turn your back to him

“y’know takashi, if you keep fumbling like that you’re gonna prick your finger.” and prick he did, you’ll just have to kiss it better later.

for once the cats surrounding chifuyu aren’t his main interest. go to the cat cafe they said it’ll be a good date idea. well now he’s here watching you sit and play with the various kittens and he’s pretty damn sure that his heart is going to explode in a few seconds if he doesn’t do something.

“we should adopt one.” that’s not what he meant to say but decides to roll with it, pointing to the one in your hand.

you hold the ginger cat closer to your face, “okay but only since you looks so cute right now fuyu.” the words don’t miss him as color rushes to his face, quickly standing up grabbing you and the cat.

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britcision · 1 year

Text

Alright I’m still alive a day later so LOOK! First pass of Taaco from TV! Everything but the hat and the cape came from the closet and the shorts say IDGAF on the butt but the cape covers them 😔

My first magic trick of the day was taking off the bra I wore to drive down without taking off the corset or shirt

My second trick was applying kinesiology tape to bind the tiddies down again, without taking off the corset or shirt

Success rates??? Not great, I’ll grant you, but I got a couple inches off and they stayed in place with no bouncing even when I ran for the 5 hours of con! So still better than the bra

(You are not supposed to tape the tiddies for more than 4 hours the first couple times you do it apparently and this was attempt 2 so even that was pushing it, especially in 30 degree heat. I go hard or go home)

These boots also have the highest incline from toe-to-heel that I’ve worn to a con, since all my taller shoes are platforms and reasonably flat which makes them super easy to run in

Only had one minor spill while chasing down a t-rex but those photos are all on the camera so they’ll live on Insta when the time comes

The ding dang bracer that closed fine at home on two magnets decided if I was gonna move my hands it now needs 3 to keep it in place, so I’m fixing that today

The criminal in question:

Aaaand the purple and blue pouch I sewed at the con while waiting for passes, so I think I really had a very Adventure Zone day all around

The hat? The hat crushed it, 0 problems except one attempt to take flight on our way back to the car, which I caught by the curtain wire sooooo I gotta tighten the attachments on that before I put the curtain on cuz it pulled a lil bit

Worked like a charm though, held it above my head for the dealer’s room, weighed nothing (comparatively, hence taking flight), and for the first time in 4 years I spent most of a day outside without getting sun sick

For the first time I did need to bobby pin this wig, which I shoulda seen coming given the hat. It did also keep trying to eat my ears, the pin, my earrings, and anything else that came near my head though so she may also be getting rowdy

The cape jingled merrily all day so even if I was a lil slowed down no one had to worry about losing me! 😁 all in all………. Them boots ain’t coming to Yeticon I would PERISH on the hills, but I have a couple possible substitutes

I’m hoping to have the curtain on by then though! Soooo depending on some imminent updates, we’ll see if the hat comes to con again 👀

We also watched a truck hit a soccer mom ass van and crack the damn windshield in half literally right in front of us rather than wait for the van to move over another foot so it could get through, because some genius decided that if he had to get to the back of the con at 5pm on Sunday through THE MAIN PARKING LOT he didn’t have to show up early or anything

To arrive on time. At the end of the con. On the last day.

You could barely swipe a credit card between their bumpers with how close he was tailgating the van, and then when staff came to direct an opening to slide the truck down the middle he couldn’t wait 5 more minutes for the car to actually get out of the way, sooooooo hope he liked the extra 2 hours and insurance calls

Lucky for us, we could get out of the parking lot the other way and I warned everyone in line behind him that they’d had a crash blocking that lane so they’d have a chance to turn around

I’m never parking back there again I’ll eat the $15-$20 to park at the hotel across the street for Sunday and anyone wanting a ride home with me can chip in

We actually did alright though, only took us one hour to clear the parking lot, despite lots of assholes and some poor indecisive souls who all seemed to think indicating was a polite request, not a declaration of intent

#anime north #anime north 2023 #the adventure zone #taako from tv #taz taako #taz balance #taako taaco #taako cosplay #thinking about making him a t4t shirt #for multiple reasons 😏#tex mex twins both trans in opposite directions feeds my soul #but if i do it tft it can also be for ‘taako from tv’ and then IT WAS A SECRET MESSAGE ALL ALONG #big stupid wizard hat

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fatbiatchforever · 1 year

Text

Out of Time (Pt. 5)

This is super long but I had to. Everything felt like an absolute necessity. Sorry guys.

Were you embarrassed by the kind of role model you were becoming for your son? YES! But, honestly, you needed the alcohol to keep your mind from spiraling out of control. That's why Riley's birthday was a blur at the end.

You were cleaning the kitchen when the phone rang, "Yo."

"Hey Y/N."

"Oh, hey Cass! What's up?"

"Can we come over? We got this new game and it's soooo cool. Xander needs to play it."

You laughed, "Come over. Why are you even asking?"

"She said yes! Can we go now?" Cass shouted.

You heard the phone being passed around till Sam was on the line, "Heyyyyyy."

"Hey, what's happening?"

"They want to come over."

"Okay, come over then."

Sam lowered his voice, "There's a tiny detail that I'm not sure about."

"What?"

"So I have some work to care of-"

"Ok, I can look after Riley and the boys."

"I got them a baby sitter."

"Cool."

"Right, but I need to leave right now. So, the baby sitter would have to drop them off."

You were getting a tiny bit agitated at this point, "Sam, I'm failing to see the problem over here."

"You know the baby sitter."

"Great, I have company while the kids have fun. What's the issue?"

"The company. I don't think you'll be a fan."

"Nooooooo-"

"Yessssssss."

"Sam! Really?!"

"Y/N, I tried. The boys wouldn't stop bothering me. You should have known something was wrong when Cass asked if he could come over!" Sam whisper yelled, "We're not civilized like that!"

"I can't believe you! How the," you lowered your voice, "fuck did you get Bucky to babysit?"

"It's an emergency. He offered and I said yes! I didn't know the boys would start this. If you think about it, it's their fault."

"You. Are. Unbelievable. He's there right now, isn't he?"

"Mhmmm."

"I'm going to kill myself."

"I'll give the phone back to Cass. Just say something came up and you can't do today."

"But he would know."

"Nah, Cass believes everything."

"No, Bucky!"

"What about him?"

"Cass announced I said yes. Since you're speaking in a lower voice, he knows we're talking about him and probably listening to our conversation because of that damn serum. He would know I'm saying no because of him."

"And it matters?"

"Yeah! I don't want him to think I can't face him."

"But you cannot?"

"Excuse me! I can!"

"Then it's settled. Bucky will be there with the kids in few."

You were dead serious, "Sam,"

"Yeah?"

"If I get to know that all of you are planning something behind my back, I swear on my kid, that shield will split your head in two. Am I clear?"

"Sweet Jesus! We're not planning anything."

"Fine."

You wanted to smash the phone on the counter. You knew you would have to face him again. Especially, since he's back now. But the thought of him coming to your home felt like a lot.

"Xander," you walked inside his room, "Cass, AJ and Riley are coming over. Could you please clean up a bit?"

He stood up and jumped, "Yes! I can show them my new toys ma!"

You sat on the ground and looked at his drawing book, "Uhuh. What are you drawing?"

He picked it up and weaseled his way into your lap. You laughed and moved your hands so he could sit comfortably, "You're lucky you're cute."

He pointed to the drawing, "That's me. And that's you."

"Wowwww!"

"I'm a super hero and I'm strong enough to pick you up and save you from the monsters."

"You look handsome." You kiss his hair and hug him tighter.

Xander whined, "Ma, you're messing the drawing!"

"Oops. I love this. You're my favorite superhero for sure."

"Really?" He turned his cute, small face towards yours.

"Hell yeah! And it's only fair my favorite superhero's artwork is displayed right. Xander, could I please display this marvelous piece of art on our fridge?"

With that he zoomed off to the kitchen. You followed him into the kitchen, where you found him standing infront of the refrigerator.

"Any idea where?"

"In the middle." He pointed. You took the paper from him and placed the drawing in the middle, "Perfection."

"Perfection." He repeated.

"Xander, your room. Please?"

The bell rang.

You felt it in your stomach. You frowned internally as Xander happily ran to the door. You dragged your feet to the door and looked down at him,

"Saved by the bell."

You opened the door and that feeling intensified by million. But this time it was different. It was like you had butterflies. Similar the ones you had the first time you met him. Maybe because he looked the way you met him the first time. The short hair, the stubble, the dark blue shirt with his leather jacket, the faded black skinny jeans and that small smile on his face. Riley and the baby bag were additions that made him look soft and some might say even hotter. Not to mention, he was looking at you too. That made your stomach form infinite knots.

You cleared your throat and looked down at Xander leaping on the boys to give hugs.

"Hey guys!"

"Hey Y/N!" Both of them replied. Riley cooed in his arms.

"Oh my god!" Xander screamed.

You looked at him, "What?"

"Ma THAT'S BUCKY!"

Yep, you're four year old son had finally recognized his favorite superhero. Was it a big fuck you when Xander deemed Bucky his favorite out of every avenger? Yes, Sam took it the hardest though. Now that Bucky looked similar to every toy he has out there, it would be a miracle if he didn't get tackled by kids.

Bucky looked shocked but you knew he would enjoy it. It annoyed you a bit. Why was he put on a pedestal when you were there since day one? You didn't leave.

You knew that wasn't fair, but you weren't in the mood to be rational.

Xander moved really close to Bucky and looked up, "Can I fight aliens with you?"

"Xander, let them breathe, huh?"

Bucky smiled, "We can talk about it."

Xander shrieked again and turned to you, "YES! I'm going to smash everyone."

"Okay hulk. Boys, come in."

All three ran to Xander's room.

"Heyyyy Riley." You took her and bounced on your hips, "You're literally cutest kid ever."

She giggled as you continued to bounce her on your hips. You looked at him again. He was smiling till he noticed you looking at him and cooled it down.

"Hey."

"Hey, sorry for bothering you."

"They're welcome anytime."

Bucky nodded and handed you the bag, "Call me when they're done and I'll pick them up."

"I don't have your number."

"Oh,"

You internally groaned again, "Do you want to come in and wait?"

He wasn't expecting that, "uhm," you could see the struggle on his face, "I, Uhm- okay."

You walked in with Riley. You turned back to watch Bucky awkwardly step in and close the door.

You whispered, "Do you like him? It's okay if you don't Riri."

You handed Xander's figurine to her and placed her on the counter.

"Do you want anything to drink? Coffee?"

Bucky stopped ogling every corner of your living room and looked at you, "You drink coffee?"

"Nooo." You laughed, "Do you really think I can take that?"

"With a cup of sugar and a drop of coffee, I still see you complaining." He stood behind the counter. Exactly behind Riley, you noticed.

"Mhm, so is that a yes?"

"Yeah." Bucky pulled Riley closer to him, so you could move.

"You don't drink coffee but you have a coffee machine?"

You grabbed a mug, "Adrian. He "gifted" it to me. A lousy excuse for him to have coffee when he's here."

"Oh."

You looked back at that Oh. As if he was annoyed by what you said.

Riley's cries grabbed both of yours attention. The panic on Bucky's face stifled a laugh in you. You picked Riley up and smelled the problem.

"Damn. Let's get you out of that."

You looked at confused Bucky, "Could you get me the bag?"

He shook his head and grabbed the bag instantly.

"There should be this flower mat kinda thing. Could you lay that out?"

You laid Riley on the mat, "On the side, there's a blue troll. Hand me that please?"

He looked at you for confirmation before passing it to you.

"Here you go Riri."

"Get me the wipes and the powder."

Bucky handed you everything as you asked him to. You did steal few glances at him. He looked at everything you were doing so intently. Doing everything you asked of him. You knew where this was going and you stopped yourself from feeling all of that.

"And voila. Riri is a happy baby again."

Bucky stepped in to hold Riley as you threw the diaper away.

"Thanks do- Y/N."

FUCK NO! He wasn't.

"F-For?"

"For being there. To change her diaper."

"Oh, I had the fortune to change a lot of diapers on my own. So, I know the drill."

Bucky looked away, "Right."

"You were great. I'm sure you'll get it soon."

"Yeah, if I have you right beside me every time."

Your eyes spoke panic and his spoke panic. But, comfort. What he said radiated comfort. Fuck, this radiated comfort. Four years ago Y/N would have swooned at how domestic this was. But that was four years ago Y/N. Right?

"Bucky?"

Both of you looked away and looked at the source.

"Yeah?"

"Can I show you my kick move?" Xander asked.

"Xander, let-"

"Of course."

"Let's go."

Bucky turned to you. You took Riley from him, "Thanks. He loves you and he's just excited."

"Anytime."

———

After Xander tried to convince Bucky to let him come to his next fight, everyone hurdled in front of the TV to play the new game. Riley was crawling around as the boys taught Bucky how to play.

You knew all of this wasn't right. But, it felt like old times- watching AJ and Cass teach Bucky to play their new games. This was even better because, UGH you didn't want to admit, but seeing Bucky interact with Xander was... cute. And not to mention Riley occasionally trying to steal Bucky's attention was extra cute.

You were having an internal fight. Whether you should allow yourself to feel or not?

"Y/N?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Here's your coffee."

Bucky sat down and took a sip. That smile again.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Come on."

"It's different."

"I added a spoon of sugar. Do you need more?"

"No. I mean, it's different when you make it. In a good way."

Your cheeks heated up, so you turned back to look at anything else.

"So, how's life back?"

"I found a place."

"The while is getting longer then."

"Mhm."

You took the plate out and the rolls from the fridge.

"When you moving in?"

"I moved in."

"Damn." You placed two on the plate, "You've got everything, right?"

You clicked on 30 seconds and turned back.

"Yeah."

"More than a mattress and a tv?"

He huffed, "Yes Y/N."

"Good good."

You took the plate out and dumped heaves of cream cheese. He liked it like that. You kept the plate in front of him, "Cinnamon rolls anyone?"

The boys didn't even bother replying to you.

"That's a no."

"They're missing out. You made this?" He ate as if someone would take it away from him in next ten seconds.

You smiled, "Yeah."

"I missed your baking."

You laughed, "Thanks."

Then, it settled. What he just said.

"Can I ask you something?"

You nodded.

"How old is Xander?"

"Four."

You could see the gears turning in his head. You laughed, "I popped him out the minute you dipped."

Bucky immediately tensed up, "Y/N."

"Oh, NO. Nope. No, I adopted Xander."

"Oh,"

"Yeah."

"Why? I mean,"

You shrugged, "I was where I wanted to be work wise and I felt like I was ready for my family. So, I looked into the process. A year later, I had my kid. When I started it, I never thought something would happen. But having him in my arms was the most realest thing I've ever felt."

Bucky smiled, openly at that, "He's amazing."

"Yeah. My best impulsive decision ever."

"Are you, Uhm, you know."

You raised your eyebrows, "I don't."

"Y/N,"

"What? Tell me."

"Are you with someone?"

"Nope. Are you?"

"Nope."

"Cool cool cool cool cool. Why?"

He shrugged and looked back to check on Riley, "No reason."

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened?"

#james buchanan barnes #bucky marvel #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #james barnes #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #avengers fic

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andiwriteordie · 1 year

Note

The end of the year is near! Give a shoutout to your favorite blogs and tag them to spread positivity before the year ends!

oh my god can i just slap half of byler tumblr onto here? probably not which is Dumb bc there are so many wonderful people in this community whom i am sending all my love and virtual hugs and tissues to (sorry i made you cry this year).

anyways umm category 5 emotional event incoming:

@astrobei my suni astrobei, my dear beloved, sweet unofficial little sister. you are so talented. so smart. so funny. so kind. and just one of the best people to grace this website. i love how grounded you are, how you make people feel so at ease to talk to you, how humble you are for being one of The Byler Writers Ever, how everybody just is so drawn to you because you are genuine and kind and supportive always. the byler community is so lucky to have you in it, but more importantly (sorry guys this is about me <3), i'm lucky to have you in my life bc you're amazing!!! ilysm!!!!

@wiseatom thea wiseatom, my sweet thea mouse with her bindle oh my GOD, where do i even begin? thea, truly you are one of the absolute best people here, and there is something to be said about how much you love your friends and how caring and gracious and wonderful you are. not to mention you might just be the funniest person i know, like pls i cannot count how many times you've made me laugh. also. i am still NOT OVER i'm caught up in you and i am frothing at the mouth waiting for exes fic because i know it's gonna wreck me in the best way possible, and i just think you're the bestest person ever that's it! <3 ily!!!!

@bookinit02 HAVENNNNNNNNNN. oh my god, you were one of my first friends here, and i remember being so so like nervous and thinking "i hope she doesn't think i'm weird or like bothering her by talking to her!" but i am SO GLAD we became friends because you are just literally one of my dearest friends here, and even if we don't talk super often, i am so so grateful for you and for how funny and kind and thoughtful you are!!! your fics kill me every time. shed scene you will always be famous. duffer brothers get out of the way, just let haven bookinit write the damn show already.

@messrsbyler nic? aka my personal pain in the ass? the demon on my shoulder? ugh god if i say anything nice about you, i feel like i'm going to be sentencing myself to 7 more years in hell with you. can't believe god decided "let's ruin the world and send andi into it," then got bored and said, "let's ruin it some more and send nic into it" a few days later. ok fine i'm done being not nice, stg don't make me regret this. nic, your brain holy shit. the way you understand characters (MIKE) and think of things to share with this community? dear god we're all suffering (in the best way) for it. not to mention i guess you're a nice friend. supportive and stuff. really nice. funny even if you annoy me. stuff like that. can't believe we decided to go feral over atla and now we're stuck in hell together.

@livsmessydoodles LIV LIV LIV MY SUNSHINE SWEET BELOVED LIV!!!!! oh my god, you are the best. literally so talented and so kind and so funny and so encouraging and also just so badass? like ok i'm not on twt anymore (rip to that hellhole) but the way you would so easily fire back at those people who tried to attack you asg jdle l HELP? but then like. you are also just the sweetest and friendliest person ever, and i??? i'm obsessed with you. your art makes me so emotional, and i cry ok. also thanks for putting up with me kicking your door down with sad byler thoughts. love you so so much.

@kidovna bhavna. ok. words cannot describe how much i adore you. you are literally one of the most talented people i have ever met in my life, so much so that i gush to my irl friends and family about your artwork and how cool i think you are. but more than that, you are truly just one of the most encouraging and most humble and one of the kindest people in our little byler fandom! i love how i constantly see you cheering others on and how i see you working with others and putting things together that make the community so excited (spider-will my beloved, thank you and every person who made this possible). your art never fails to make me smile and feel things, and i am sooooo lucky and grateful i get to call you my dear friend!

@elekinetic this is my official petition to put ella elekinetic in charge of stranger things 5. because hello. screenwriting. holy shit? holy shit. holyyyyy shit. ella, you are truly one of the most talented people i know, and usually, i read incredibly quickly because that's my default, but when i read your scripts i always take them so slow. i am like holding my breath in anticipation, feeling every single emotion, and i swear to you it's like i'm watching the show. and then on top of that you're just? one of the nicest people ever? literally i'm obsessed with you. thanks for coming to my tedtalk on why ella is the best.

@strangeswift abby abby abby abby!!!!! my stranger things x taylor swift partner in crime, you are THE BEST. god one of the highlights of the last few weeks of this year has been getting to know you because you're just such a joy to be around and to talk to. you have THE BEST takes on byler and on taylor swift, and i love how unabashedly nerdy i can be about this with you. also, i constantly see you on the tag just encouraging other people within this community, and look, i think that's really just such a special thing and is a testament to what an amazing person you are.

@toystoryfan TOY OH MY GOD. petition to make toy The Byler of the year please? because there is nobody i see lifting people up, making people smile, and brightening others' days like toy does. you are one of the most thoughtful and kind people i know. there is just a warmth and positivity to you that is SO wonderful, and it never fails to make me smile. i am hereby naming you sunshine incarnate and naming myself sunshine protector bc if anyone ever is mean to you, i'll end them.

@eightieslesbian MADDYYYYYYY. okay maddy, literally like i said with abby, one of the highlights of the last couple weeks of this year has been getting to chat with you and getting to know you!!! you are literally one of the sweetest people ever and also HELLO GIFSETS? THE GIFSET MAKER? OKAY. YEAH. THE COOLEST. plus our love for merlin has been resurrected (unlike arthur pendragon oof), and i love that for us. you always brighten my day whenever i see you around the tag, and i'm SO GLAD WE'RE FRIENDS <3

@smoosnoom MOON!!!!! a byler god among humans. the quality of fics that you put out is just absolutely outstanding? like i swear you don't miss, and i so appreciate how much thought and love and intention you put into your writing!!! literally top tier writing. and on top of that, you're incredibly sweet and so positive, so big win for the byler community that we have moon in it!!

@rotisserie5107 RORI!!!!!! rori oh my god, it's you and toy i swear. first off, you never fail to make me giggle when i see your tags or your comments because i swear you have the funniest commentary. rori comments are some of my favorite comments. i love how easygoing and friendly and funny you are and how easily you just vibe with everyone here? you're also SUCH an incredibly supportive and kind person, which makes this fandom an even better place. i return to work this week and i will be listening to ethel cain soon, so i will return to you with thoughts and feelings. 🫡

@wibble-wobbegong WIBBLE. ok i'm glad this ask came around bc i have been meaning to just stumble over into your asks and say this, but i'll do it here. wibble, first off, you're SO incredibly smart and do SUCH a wonderful job at analyzing the show and all its nuances. like bless you and your ministry. but second off, more than that (and not that the show and the fandom isn't important, but look there's also more to life than stranger things lmao), i can say without a doubt that you are truly one of the kindest people in the byler community. you always come across as so humble and so welcoming and so kind, which i think is often lacking (because it is the internet lmao), so it's always such a breath of fresh air to see you on my dash! also legit one of the funniest people ever ok?!!

god okay. that was so many people, and i could go on and on and on (and i have half a mind to just reblog this and add more people to it) because there are so so so so many people not on this list that i could gush about... but i'm hungry and probably need to go eat something since i skipped dinner last night. so that's it, thanks for making my 2022 brighter!!!

#andi's asks #you guys never ask someone whose top language is words of affirmation #and who literally cannot stop talking #to say nice things about her friends #because i will never ever EVER shut up #i kept going and being like and and and oh no SHIT I HAVE MORE TO SAY

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 1 year

Text

A Detective’s Woe’s.

*After a short while, Future Foundation once again gathers in the middle of the new camp. With Ando now free from the effects of the mind control, they assemble to get all their information together.

How are you holding up Shuichi?

Better...I can see Dr Ando is free?

From both his binds AND his mind control.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there as a witness.

Believe me, you got lucky.

What?

Nothing. How were things on your end.

*Miu, who accompanies Shuichi, steps forward.

Me and a couple of other researchers did some analysis on the shields. The bad news is we still haven’t found a way to break them.

Future Foundation procured a high-powered drill from the Tower to try and break through the doorway. While you were taking care of Ando, we all waited and watched it work.

And? What happened...?

...

The drill exploded the minute the tip touched the door.

It exploded!?

It didn’t even leave a mark. Whatever material that plating is made of, it’s damn near indestructible.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

If you don’t believe us, go look! The remains of the drill are still there!

No need to be so aggressive Shuichi...

...

Now, usually, something exploding when only the tip touches it is something that I make fun of people for...But you know, in this situation, it’s pretty serious.

...?

...!

Th-That’s really gross...

Sorry, just...trying to bring a little humor to this situation.

There is good news though. I’ve analyzed the doors and I’ve figured out exactly what we’re dealing with here.

You have?

Yeah. The plates on the doors are made using huge amounts of pure Carbyne. That’s why we’re having so much trouble.

Carbybe!? That’s...insane...!

What’s Carbine?

Carbyne is a linear acetylenic carbon; which basically means it’s an infinitely chain of carbon. Carbyne has a chemical structure with alternating single and triple bonds. This structure of carbon gives an impressive Young’s modulus of 32.7 TPa, which-

Hold-hold on Iruma. As much as I enjoy hearing you be capable and clever, can you maybe not use lab words no one else understands?

Ugh, alright fine. Basically, Carbyne is 40 times tougher than diamond, and 30 times that of carbon nanotubes.

40 times stronger than DIAMOND!?

But...surely that would make it...!?

Yeah...It’s the strongest material on planet earth as we know it.

What confuses me is that this much of the shit is SUPER rare to come by. But Zetsubou got enough of it to layer all the doors of this lab with the stuff. How the hell they pulled that off, I don’t know.

So...bottom line is...those doors are made with the strongest material known to man, and nothing can break them?

Basically.

SHIT!

...If we can’t destroy them, it means our only remaining option is to find a way to get those doors open the usual way.

But we’ve tried everything. Attacking, hacking, all of it. We can’t open the doors from out here!

*Shuichi goes up to Ando.

You said you were free from the brainwashing, right? And you’ve been in that lab for a long time.

Y-Yes?

Then what if there’s a way to open the lab doors from the inside!? Like a switch in the main lab that ends the shutdown.

Good point. It’s not unreasonable to assume that.

...

Ando?

I...I don’t think I can help you.

What!?

*Shuichi suddenly grabs Ando by his coat.

What are you talking about!? Are you on our side or not!?

Shuichi, let him go! He-

YOU shut up! Don’t speak to me!

!!?

Shuichi, that’s enough!

Hold on, let him...

Do not interfere.

I don’t care if you were brainwashed or not! Munakata and Gonta were too, and both were more than willing to take responsibilitu for the wrongs they did!

If you gave a crap about stopping Zetsubou, saving your daughter, saving my partner, or ANYTHING, then tell me how to open the lab from the inside-!

YOU CAN’T OPEN IT FROM THE INSIDE!!

*Ando panics and shouts this out. Shuichi slowly releases his grip.

........what?

Wh-What are you saying?

You’re right...I’ve been in that lab long enough to know how it’s system works...And I know this full well.

*Ando points towards the hatch.

That lab can only be opened using a single control panel, which Shirogane has on her person. She is the ONLY ONE who can close down the lab. And there is no straightforward way of opening it from the inside.

You hear me? The lab can only be opened and closed from the OUTSIDE. If it’s closed down, anything inside the lab has no way of escaping once the shutdown activates!

You’re saying that lab has a close switch but no open!?

THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE! Lockdowns are usually to protect people from getting inside the lab, right!? Why would it stop anything from getting out!?

...Does it not make sense?

Huh?

*Everyone looks at Rantaro.

You’re wrong Kaito. The lab can’t be opened from the inside because that’s exactly what it was designed for. Not to keep people from getting in, but to stop people from getting out.

Remember...Ando was Zetsubou’s prisoner. Yes, he was brainwashed, but what if somehow, Zetsubou discovered he had freed himself and was planning an escape. What would be there backup plan?

To...trap him the lab.

Good Gonta! And that’s not exactly a surefire solution if Ando can open it from the inside, right?

Of course...there’s also a non-zero possibility that Tsumugi set this trap a long time ago specifically for Kaede. The fact that she reacted so late after Ando was freed may be the explanation for that.

...I’m...I’m sorry...

*Shuichi releases Ando.

What the hell do we do...!?

Well, it’s not as if we don’t know how we can open the lab. If we find Shirogane and that control panel-

But we’ll need to find Zetsubou’s base first, and Ando hasn’t even started on Seiko’s cure yet.

And by the time we actually prepare to get Tsumugi, it’ll probably be too late...

...!

C-Come on guys...We’ve faced more impossible odds than this.

Right Makoto? We’ll find a way to fix this, right?

Why are you asking me?

...!?

Alright, everyone stop. Tensions are clearly very high right now, so listen up.

*Everyone looks towards the leaderly Kyoko.

We’ll work on examining the area and trying to find a way inside the lab, either through the doors, or other alternatives. The Kisaragi Foundation will take care of the escape hatch.

Myself, as well as Makoto, Sayaka, Munakata and Byakuya’s factions will focus on the rear door.

Shuichi, you and your friends, as well as Rantaro, will focus on the other door. In the meantime, I’d like Ando and Yoruko to stay with Seiko and Owari, try to focus on making sure everyone is well-adjusted.

Do what you can, but our top priority right now is this...We need to find a way to establish contact with Kaede Akamatsu inside the lab.

What do you want me to do, Bosswife?

Your strength is highly valued here Kuripa. I’ll have you join the Shuichi’s group, if that’s alright with you.

That’s fine. I was hoping to have another look at-

If it’s all the same to you, Ms Kyoko...I don’t want Kuripa anywhere near me.

*Everyone pauses in surprise and looks at Shuichi.

What...did you say?

You heard what I said. I refuse to have Kuripa Kurafto on any squad of mine, even if it’s your request.

...Why...!?

Why? Oh I don’t know...maybe it’s because I don’t trust him? No, actually, I don’t trust him AT ALL!

Wh-Where is this coming from!?

What, is this just because he got out of the lab but Kaede didn’t!? Don’t be so petty, Shuichi!

You have no idea just how much pain I’m in right now!

!!?

*Shuichi turns to Kuripa.

You were always there for me back when I first joined Future Foundation. You’ve always been a true senpai, to all of us! A figurehead who would protect us despite his own issues, and despite how we came from an unknown world, you still welcomed us!

You’ve done me...so much good Kuripa...but I’m sorry...I don’t have ANY faith in you anymore...Not after this.

I know it was brief, but that’s because I didn’t get much of a chance to talk...But after what happened in New York, where you beat Kaede half to death, I was reluctant to put faith in your, even after you ended up being right about Katagiri.

So I made you promise that you would protect Kaede, to the end, no matter what...

And you LIED!

*SHOVE!*

...!

Shuichi, stop! I don’t know what you’re doing, but this is too much!

Oh, would you look at that. Makoto’s doing his regular old thing of defending his MURDEROUS PSYCHOPATH TOOL!

Wh-What did you say!?

YOU HEARD WHAT I SAID! Kuripa has killed and hurt so many people, even now, including the people who are supposed to be his allies.

Even after knowing what he did to you and Hina earlier, you STILL defend him!? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!?

!!!??

What he did...to who?

What, did you think I wouldn’t figure it out!? Kuripa has done more harm than good to the Foundation, and yet you continue to stand by his side, protecting him from whatever justice he deserves and...

Ngh...Whatever...You’re going to take his word over mine anyway. That’s just how it is...

I can’t believe I ever thought it was a good idea to put faith in this loose cannon...And yet Future Foundation are STILL doing it...!?

Why are we continuing to forgive you, when all you do is KEEP FUCKING UP!?

...

Shuichi, please...You need to calm down...!

...

*Kuripa suddenly steps forward.

...Kaede means more to me than you think she does, Shuichi. This war against Organization Zetsubou, to rescue your friends and family, and put Shirogane and her bitches out of business, means more to me than you think it does...

I have given everything, and WILL give everything, to see it through. I don’t think I’m truly capable of what I put my mind to, but I’m willing to DIE trying!

Whether you trust me or not...Whether you want to believe in me or not...I am going to make things right.

“...Make things right?”

*Shuichi glowers.

I don’t care if you somehow end up being right in the end. The Fugitive situation spiraled out of control, and everyone was pushed to the brink of insanity, because you tried to “make things right.”

The situation with Zen Katagiri came about as you trying to “make things right.” It just seems every time you try to “make things right” it ends up affecting US negatively!

Shuichi, wait. I think you’re being too hasty! Doesn’t it show Kuripa’s dedication to his branch and his boss in how he was willing to take up the sword against the Foundation like that!?

And what happened to the Future Foundation after that incident, huh!? WHAT HAPPENED!?

Kokichi’s Cabaret burned down! I lost my hands! Kaede was tortured by Munakata! MUKURO IKUSABA DIED! AND IT’S ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!

Alright, that’s enough! I will not stand by and let you-

...!

Wh-What are you doing?

*Byakuya strides forward, but Kuripa sticks out an arm and stops him.

...Remember Togami...He’s YOUR boss now. If I was in your shoes, I’d let him finish.

Krgh...!

I just can’t help but point this out...Every time Kuripa does ANYTHING not by the book, SOMEONE pays the price for it, while Makoto and everyone else encases him in an impenetrable shield of trust and faith, even after EVERYTHING he’s done!

...

You almost crushed the skull of the girl I loved, right in front of me, and even after THAT SHIT, I still found it in me to trust you...simply because despite everything, Kaede still believed in you...!

And look where that got her now...SHE’s the one trapped in the lab, after she sacrificed herself to protect YOUR PATHETIC ASS!

*SHOVE!*

...!

So today...Kuripa Kurafto...

I am DONE with you...!

...

Alright, I’m done now. I’ll do what was requested and set up a perimeter around the first door.

If you’ll excuse me.

*Shuichi silently walks away towards his squadron.

...

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bayisdying · 2 years

Text

Lucky Penny - Chapter Sixteen

A/N: I'm not super happy with this chapter not gonna lie you guys. The whole thing kinda rambles and I think it's awful but just bear with me. Basically the ending is the only good part but even that isn't what I wanted. Oh well.

"Do I have to go?" Lucky whined.

Ice just smiled at her.

"Oh come on Ice, that's so mean."

"It's one night you can handle it."

She sighed. "Fine."

It was three months after the mission, and now the Navy wanted to throw an awards banquet honoring the Dagger Squad.

For the others it was an excuse to dress up and be recognized. For Lucky? It was a huge night, announcing something so close to her heart. She was more nervous for this speech than flying jets thousands of feet in the air.

As Fanboy zipped up the gorgeous silver, floor length dress she had picked out, he could see the look in her eyes in the mirror.

"Hey cariño. What's got you thinking so hard?"

She turned around to face him, "I'm just thinking about I need this night to be over quickly so I can get you out of this suit." She smiled then responded truthfully. "Ice is making this such a big deal, and he knows how much I don't want to give this damn speech."

"Babe, I've read the speech and you've practiced it so much. It's going to go great. Just imagine the audience naked." He paused. "Okay maybe not Hangman, Coyote, Payback, Bob, or Rooster. Imagine none of them naked."

That made her laugh, then she placed a kiss to his cheek.

"Let's get this over with."

"What a positive outlook Lucky."

"Shut up."

-----

When they entered the hall, she first noticed all the people. Ice had told her it wasn't going to be a huge crowd, clearly he lied to her. Rude.

They found the table reserved for the Daggers, and took their seats. Lucky sat with Fanboy to her left and Coyote to her right. Next to Fanboy was Payback, then Bob, Phoenix, Rooster, and Hangman. She texted her Mom who confirmed she was somewhere in the crowd of people.

"This is quite the party." Coyote says.

"Yeah they went all out for this." Mickey responds for her, she was trying hard not to have a panic attack.

After dinner was served and drinks were had Cyclone took to the stage and got the attention of the whole place.

"First I would like to thank everyone for joining us tonight to honor some of the best pilots the Navy has ever produced."

A round of applause rang out.

"These pilots completed a mission that we thought would be impossible. They proved otherwise. Tonight we honor all of them. I will now turn it over to Admiral Tom Kazansky, callsign Iceman."

Ice got a round of applause even bigger than the first. Lucky barely realized Fanboy had placed a careful hand on her thigh.

"Thank you Admiral Simpson for warming up our crowd here." He joked. "Now I have watched many pilots come through the Top Gun program. Many of which I either personally trained or made an effort to get to know. But these pilots we are honoring tonight represent the best of the best. I feel a tiny bit responsible as I picked them out for this mission, but I played such a small part. I would like to first acknowledge Admiral Beau Simpson, call sign Cyclone for dealing with this crazy group. Next is Rear Admiral Solomon Bates, callsign Warlock for keeping Cyclone from jumping off the ledge. To Captain Pete Mitchell, callsign Maverick for training these pilots the parameters of the mission and showing them that anything is possible. And lastly to Chief Warrant Officer, Bernie Coleman aka Hondo, for keeping the leash on Maverick as tight as one can. I know how hard that can be somedays." Iceman laughed as Maverick flipped him the bird.

"Maverick, if you would please join me up here to help with your feral children." Mav and the other top people there made a line across the stage.

Here was the moment Lucky had been dreading. Them actually being honored. She wanted to throw up.

"First, we would like to bring up our Dagger Spares. These two may not have flown in the mission, but both men were crucial to the rescue mission that followed. These two have proven time and time again why they both graduated top of their classes. Please welcome Jake Seresin, callsign Hangman and Bradley Bradshaw, callsign Rooster to the stage."

She clapped for the two men, as they shook hands with all the bigwigs up on stage, before taking their spots behind Iceman.

"Next we would like to bring up the two Foxtrot teams that flew this mission. Both were vital in this mission's success, and both teams did their part to perfection. First let's bring up Natasha Trace, callsign Phoenix and her backseater Robert Floyd, callsign Bob. Phoenix is a pilot anyone should be grateful to have the opportunity to fly with. She is smart and laser focused. Bob is not only one of the best backseaters around, he was also on the rescue mission."

Phoenix and Bob then joined the others on the stage. Mickey's hand squeezed her thigh just enough to let her know he was right there.

"Our next foxtrot team is a duo that have been flying together since flight school and their chemistry proves it. The pilot is one who has exceeded all expectations and then some, with a smooth voice to boot. Rueben Finch, callsign Payback."

She knew that meant the comfort of Mickey right next to her was going to be gone.

"And his backseater is someone I personally am quite proud of. He is always making sure his other pilots can laugh and also makes them do 200 push ups as punishment. Please welcome Mickey Garcia, callsign Fanboy."

He gave her a quick kiss to her cheek before taking his place beside Payback on the stage.

"These next two pilots showed courage, perseverance, and wits on this mission as mission leader and wingman. First I would like to bring the wingman up here, and hand over the microphone to him. Please welcome Javy Machado, callsign Coyote."

Coyote stood up and left Lucky all alone at their table. He hugged the fellow Daggers then Maverick before taking the podium from Iceman.

"Hello everybody. First I'd like to thank everyone for being here, we much appreciate the support. Also, to my fellow Daggers, I love you guys. There is no better team in the Navy. Even with Hangman bringing us down." He laughed as Hangman tried to hit him. "But I am not the most important person to this mission. I was just the wingman to a very special lady who is here tonight and we should honor her the most. She is the best of the best that there is. Nobody else would go back for their dumbass wingman who sacrificed himself for her trying to be a superhero. Nobody else would have stood a chance out there in the wilderness like she did. And I'm so honored to not only have survived with this lovely lady, but to introduce her to you all. Please help me welcome Baylie Steele, callsign Lucky."

She stood on shaky legs as she climbed the stairs to the stage, with assistance from Maverick. She shook hands, until she got to Iceman who pulled her into a bear hug.

"You look stunning, you're going to kill it kiddo." He whispered in her ear.

She hugged her fellow Daggers, and each one of them whispered words of encouragement in her ear.

She took to the podium, and took a deep breath and searched for her mother in the crowd, after she found Delilah's warm smile she began. "My name is Baylie Steele, but you can call me Lucky. First and foremost I would like to say that my Mom is here tonight, and she is the reason I am as badass as I am. Love you Mom." Everyone clapped as Delilah dapped at her eyes. "I would also like to thank everyone who showed up tonight to give acknowledgement to my friends and fellow aviators who flew this mission with me. I would also like to give a very special thanks to Iceman, Maverick, Cyclone, Warlock, and Hondo for creating a group of people who meshed so well, the people behind me are going to be my best friends for life. Some of them already were. I would like to tell you guys a story with this speech, a story about how my life has led to this moment in time. You see my callsign Lucky has a very special meaning. Most of these guys think it's just because I find pennies everywhere I go. Which is true, I do. But the reason I find all those pennies is because of a very special man that I wish could be here tonight. My stepfather William Steele taught me many lessons in our short time together and when he died he told me he would send me pennies to remind me he was still with me. All of those lessons have helped me in my life after him and also in my career. He taught me that family is not defined by who you share blood with, now I stand on this stage with people who are like my family with no blood shared between any of us. He also taught me how to be tough in all situations, to never give up. During this mission I never gave up even with the odds aganist us, because I knew deep down it was possible. Basically, my Dad was right all along, I could just never admit that out loud as a kid, his ego did not to fed into." She gave a small laugh and caught her breath before continuing. "William also taught me that just one person can change your life, and after he died I never thought I would get another person like him. I was wrong, again, because my very first go around at Top Gun I met someone who would exceed my expectations. Fanboy, you have changed my life in so many ways. You are my best friend, my biggest supporter, and I can't imagine my life without you. That was another lesson I learned from William, I asked him once how he had known my mom was the one for him. He told me "I knew when I couldn't imagine life without her." Mickey Garcia, you are the one for me, and I love you so much. I can't wait to be your wife." She turned back around and saw his eyes glistening with tears, she hadn't shown him that part of the speech.

She turned back around. "Going back for Coyote wasn't me trying to earn recognition or awards or even a night like tonight. I was simply not going to leave one of my friends behind. I made a promise as team leader that all of us were coming home safe and I made damn sure that I kept that promise. Javy, I still haven't fully decided if you were worth almost dying for, but I guess you're alright." She turns around to see Javy smiling widely at her.

"And lastly, I am going to force Iceman back up here to help me finish off this speech." She scoots over so they can share the podium. "Over the last three months I've been honored to spend quite a lot of time with this handsome, old man here." Ice chuckles. "And in our sit downs I've told him much about my stepfather and how alike they are. When one day an idea hit us both at nearly the same time..."

----

"You know, when Dad was sick Mom and I had a fundraiser to raise money for his treatments at the bar." She smiled at the memory. "It was so packed and fun."

She paused.

"Ice I just had an idea."

"Well that's dangerous."

She grabbed a paper clip and threw it at him. "That was mean."

He threw his arms up in surrender. "I'm sorry continue."

"What if we created a foundation for the kids of people going through cancer treatments? We would help pay for the treatments and also provide the kids with the support they will need through it too."

Ice smiled. "Not a bad idea kiddo, and I think I might have a name for it.

"Oh really?"

"Lucky Pennies."

"Perfect."

-----

"So tonight we are proud to announce our foundation that was created with the support of the Navy, American Cancer Foundation, and Cancer Support Community. Iceman, would you like the honors of telling them the name?"

He leans into the mic. "Of course kiddo, I am beyond honored to announce Lucky Pennies, a charity that will not only support the parent going through cancer but also their kids who are fighting alongside them. Much like Lucky here and also my children Jack and Mercedes who are somewhere in this crowd. I love you two so much, and I'm grateful to be your father."

The hall erupted in applause, and she felt as Mickey came up beside her. "I'm so proud of you." He whispered in her ear.

She turned to face him and kissed him deeply right there on the stage which caused the crowd to go wild again. As they walked down the stage, Delilah rushed up to reach her daughter and gave her a huge hug.

"Dad would be so proud of you my love."

"I know."

-----

A/N: hope you guys like this better than I do 🙄

#top gun #top gun maverick #mickey fanboy garcia #bradley rooster bradshaw #robert bob floyd #jake hangman seresin #natasha phoenix trace #lucky x fanboy #bob top gun #hangman #javy coyote machado #rueben payback fitch #baylie lucky steele #top gun movie #callsign lucky #fanboy x lucky #i hate this one

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justsomeoneunordinary · 2 years

Note

t'challa and nebula from what if you ship them?

Anon, this is such an excellent ship choice, I am kissing you directly on the mouth rn (platonically) mwah 💋💋💋

Yes, yes, yes I very much do ship them, yes. But I haven't watched What If again after it came out so my memory of how these two were portrayed is... eh. Very weak. So some points are probably rather OOC, sorry.

Big spoon/little spoon:

Nebula is the big spoon for sure. T'Challa doesn't have any objections - he likes being held by her strong arms and feels more than safe with her at his back.

Favorite non-sexual activity:

Sparring. Which, to be fair, leads up to sex more often than not. They don't mean their sparring to use as foreplay, it just... happens the longer they're at it.

Who uses all the hot water:

I don't think they ever run out of hot water on any of those way more advanced spaceships but if they do then it's T'Challa. He's an early riser, unlike Nebula, and he loves to take long showers.

Most trivial thing they fight over:

Who the better pilot is and who should therefore fly. The ship flies perfectly fine on auto pilot but they both want to show off in front of the other and prove that they're the better pilot. (Gamora is actually the best among them but they refuse to acknowledge that.)

Who does most of the cleaning:

They're both very tidy but Nebula tends to forget that cleaning is something that needs to be done regularly, so it's T'Challa who does more cleaning. Those things that need to be done manually at least, most cleaning is done by the spaceship anyway.

What has a season pass on their dvr/who controls the netflix queue:

Not really a thing that exists on the spaceship, especially since films only exist on Earth anyway, but in case they have something: Neither does because they both have terrible taste.

Who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working:

When something isn't working they need to fix it themselves. Which then often leads to some bickering since both insist they're the better mechanic. Nebula ends up fixing the issue most of the time though by pointing out that she as a Cyborg obviously knows more of machinery than T'Challa ever could which he can't really argue against.

Who steals the blankets:

T'Challa. Space is way way way colder than Wakanda and he never got used to that. He likes it warm and comfy, thank you very much. (He's lucky Nebula doesn't actually need a blanket at all or his hogging habit would most definitely find an end.)

Who leaves their stuff around:

Neither do, but Nebula is more likely to leave something behind.

Who remembers to buy the milk:

The spaceship fridge technology does.

Who remembers anniversaries:

T'Challa does since that's culturally something we only do on Earth. Nebula tries to remember for T'Challa but she fails to see the point in it so she ends up forgetting most of the time.

Who cooks normally?

T'Challa. Nebula is literally not allowed in the kitchen - not even to assist or even watch - or the kitchen will somehow burn down no matter how closely T'Challa keeps an eye on her.

How often do they fight?

Nebula fights over the smallest things possible all the damn time. T'Challa finds it rather amusing how she always finds a reason to bicker and usually wouldn't even argue back but he likes to humor her every now and then. It's really more of a fun game than actual fighting for them.

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Nebula isn't one for sentimentalities but she likes to put on the necklace he gifted her once whenever she misses him. T'Challa tho? Oh, he's a sap. He buries his face in her pillow and hugs it and inhales her scent which she literally doesn't even have - but it's what they always did in those romantic films his mother loved to watch which he remembers from his childhood - and looks at his photos of her and sighs dramatically and doesn't get up from the bed for hours.

Nicknames for each other?

Nebula calls T'Challa Cha-Cha. She's the only one who's allowed to call him that and she enjoys it greatly. T'Challa loves to call her various nicknames but most of them fly over her head. She doesn't know what honey is, finds it rather irritating to be called baby since she's not an infant and she doesn't understand which part of her heart is supposed to be sweet and how T'Challa would know that in the first place. But "Love"? Oh, T'Challa knows he didn't imagine that slight red (purple?) flush on her cheeks the first time he called her that. He calls her Love often privately, or quietly so only she can hear, and cherishes her soft pleased smiles he gets in turn.

Who is more likely to pay for dinner?

T'Challa. He's old-fashioned like that. Nebula finds it charming and kind of cute so she lets him, but she does pay from time to time too.

Who steals the covers at night?

T'Challa. Space is cold damnit.

What would they get each other for gifts?

Nebula always gets T'Challa weapons whereas T'Challa always tries to think of something romantic for her. It takes them some time to realize that Nebula is the one who couldn't be happier getting more weapons and T'Challa is the one who finds joy in thoughtful romantic gifts. Nebula has a bit of a mental breakdown because of that because "what the fuck is a romantic gift even?? Stop laughing Gamora and help me!!" - "How am I supposed to know that?!" - "I don't know, shouldn't you be the wiser one since you're the older sister?!" - "Oh, fuck you."

Who kissed who first?

T'Challa, ever the gentleman, wanted to leave it with a chaste kiss on her cheek after the first date but Nebula was having none of that and pulled him back to a proper, much more heated kiss.

Who made the first move?

T'Challa smoothly asked Nebula out the very second he laid his eyes on her.

Who remembers things?

Nebula technically has a perfect memory but she also files everything away she deems unimportant, so it's T'Challa who remembers.

Who started the relationship?

Nebula likes to think they never would've gotten anywhere if she hadn't kissed T'Challa properly after their first date (which isn't true - he planned to kiss her after the third date but there's no use arguing with her), so in her opinion she did.

Who cusses more?

Nebula. T'Challa rarely ever curses because even tho he's spent more of his life with space pirates than in Wakanda he's internalized the mannerism of the young Prince he's been raised to be. Nebula on the other hand speaks in nothing but swears when she's angry enough.

What would they do if the other was hurt?

T'Challa knows to keep level-headed and find the help Nebula needs the most. Once that's taken care of he'd take the person who hurt her out without batting an eye (in case she's been hurt by someone else, that is). Nebula on the other hand would get all feral and take the most vicious revenge and make the person who hurt T'Challa suffer to a point they'd wish they'd never been born. If T'Challa's hurt comes from another reason she'd probably be overwhelmed and panic because humans are so damn fragile and what the fuck is she supposed to do?! until someone (most likely T'Challa himself if he's lucid enough) tells her how she can help him. - Send me a ship for this meme game :)

#thank you for this ship anon you're a hero <3 #t'challa x nebula #t'chebula #(??)#anon #may answers

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dzpenumbra · 1 year

Text

6/19/23

It's cold out. I had to close my window. It's like 50F out right now, I had to put a hoodie on.

I streamed again tonight. I... okay, I'll get back around to how that went, I wanna talk about one moment in particular.

The work I've been doing has been super meditative. I mean... like... very repetitive, very intuitive, just drawing shapes over and over and over, filling space. And I've been listening to trippy music to go with it, like the old days. Like back in college. I really miss studio art nights, and streaming is really an attempt to bring that back. So... I started with Casualties of Cool, because that's like... my go-to studio space-out album. It was great, I got a lot done. Then I took a break to play Session for a bit, that was fun. When I came back, I put on Devin Townsend's The Puzzle album, which I never really sat down and fully absorbed. I was fucking so deep in my head it's not even funny. I was just... gone. And I was streaming. Again... to no one... but still.

There was a point in the album that was like... there was a voice clip that was talking about how your suffering is less about the things that happened in your life, but more about how you react to it. And it got me. I just started wandering mentally off of that. And I started to go down some dark corridors in my head. Of like... times when I really should have been in jail, or died. Or was doing stupid shit that really... should have ended worse. Like... as unlucky as I feel... --- I mean, I was born on the 13th, I've always claimed that played into why I'm so unlucky --- even with that considered, I am so fucking lucky to be alive and without a criminal record.

Not because I ever really had bad intentions or even really hurt anyone, which of course is where my heavy heart came in and gave me a mini-anxiety attack. It's even starting now, I'm trying to calm it down. I feel like when I say "I should have been in jail", people assume bad intentions or malicious behavior. I was really bad with peer pressure. I was even hand-picked in middle school and high school to go to peer leadership programs... I guarantee it was because they could kinda tell I was susceptible to it. And I put my trust in the wrong damn people, who would kinda... pressure me to inch the goalposts of where my boundaries were more and more, you know... so I'd fit in... Trigger warning for drugs, if that's gonna be intense for you feel free to skip this and the next two paragraphs. First with booze, then with cigarettes, then with weed... then with mushrooms, then with "speed" (still don't know what that was, probably Adderall), then with acid, then with ecstasy and molly, then with coke... then with pills... which escalated to me actually trying heroin and not even knowing that was what it was. And I feel so fucking guilty... and stupid... for allowing myself to cede my own boundaries like that. To let people talk me out of my own comfort level, through deception and normalization. I don't like talking about this. I feel very ashamed. I don't even drink or smoke cigarettes, or even smoke weed anymore. I didn't even like being on prescription meds.

Some of the experiences, like weed and mushrooms and acid and ecstasy, were very much my choice and were actually really beneficial in the long run. Cigarettes too, that was my big one and I was totally fine with smoking those, and... in retrospect... they served a very practical purpose for me for over 15 years. The harder shit... I still feel dirty about it. Those days are over 10 years behind me. I just... feel like... okay... here's a story. The last time I was at the building that I live in right now? Before I moved in? I was on my college gap year visiting with friends from high school, they had friends who lived here. And they were in a coke phase. We all were drinking buddies, we all smoked cigarettes, and the charismatic leader decided to normalize coke... and regularly had it on him... and I went along with it. We all did. Call it experimenting, or just being social, whatever, I don't know. Well... I remember sitting in the parking lot at this building... with four of us in the car, with the windows up and fogged... passing a CD around the car and snorting lines off of it. And a fucking cruiser drives by behind us. And... stops. And for some reason... keeps going and leaves the parking lot. It had to be private security, not cops. It had to be. But man, I mean... I wouldn't have gotten slammed with that charge probably, because no possession... but yeah, it really wouldn't look good...

I don't know, maybe that story isn't that bad. It just feels dirty. I feel like coke is like... not something you talk about casually doing... even though everyone I did it with in college really did treat it like that. I don't know. I honestly didn't really enjoy it that much, it was like... way too much caffeine for like 15-30 minutes and then gone. And the worst hangover ever. And the drips were just obnoxious.

What hit me hard with looking back at the past was... the shame. And really just thinking... "I should have been a better person." I just started to type in that part of my brain's voice, and I realized... "should have's" are... depression. And shame. And I'm really just feeding it.

And I guess that's what that line in the song is about. How my suffering... that I'm imposing on myself right here and right now... is not as much because of the events themselves... because with that specific story? It was ultimately just me and my friends partying a bit, and it wasn't anything excessive. But how I react to it? Good lord. I'm emotionally reacting like I willingly gave nuclear codes to a Chinese spy or something.

You can't go back in time. In fact, a lot of theoretical physicists try to argue a theory that the past doesn't even tangibly exist. It's a going theory I heard, that time itself is basically like a series of present events that kinda blink in and out of existence, and the past... though we can presently remember it, no longer exists. It's a nice brain-bender to make the pit of your stomach churn a bit, if you really try to figure it out. (I have no idea how theoretical physicists sleep at night, this shit freaks me out.) Point being... if that theory is true, even if you could go back in time... there's no back in time to go back to. So why live in regret? Why live lamenting "I should have known better, I should have been better." Just... be good Now. Right?

I have a sign that I made, I've talked about it here before... It's got the same organic abstract pattern, but the bubbles are yellow and the membrane is two-tone green. And it has a black outline, it's on cardboard, and it has gold lettering on it saying "BE HERE NOW". It's the title of a Ram Dass book I was given ages ago, in a different life. I never really sat and worked my way through it, as such. I used that book when my brother and I would have jam sessions. I would do "divinatory singing" by picking a random page and sing verses from it, improvising a rhythm and melody, but using the words from the random page as lyrics. That was my primary use for that book. I still have it, it's on my bookshelf. And occasionally, I would just open it and flip to a random page and see what it had to show me.

The reason I chose the title "be here now" to put on the sign I made, is that my therapist was encouraging me to give myself reminders to be in the Now. To be present. Not mourning, lamenting and reliving in the Past. Not anxious, predictive and planning the Future. Just being present, in the Present. And that book title just immediately popped into my head. And I just pieced together exactly what it was saying. I remember being elated because of how genius its simplicity was. It says everything you need to know in as simple a form as possible. In a "who what where when why" kinda way. Who? The reader. Do what? Be. Where? Here. When? Now. Why? Well... XD

But that's the weird thing that I started to notice when I started to be more mindful of like... "when" I was, at different times throughout the day. Now is not just a temporal thing, it's kind of a "where". Like... yes, you're technically always "Now" because you're actively thinking... but like... from a perception of reality sense, when you go into memory, your experience of present reality is definitely altered. At least mine is.

And that was a big thing I experienced today. I disconnected from Now almost entirely. The music functioned as like... a medium for my imagination to just wander into the past. And the repetitive art functioned as basically a trance induction method. And I was like, I was eyes open and drawing, actively listening to the music and seeing a phantom montage of certain life events playing in my mind's eye simultaneously. Vividly. Which you can only really do when you're like... fully in autopilot. It was surreal, I haven't had that happen in a while. So, that was a powerful moment. I used to aspire for moments like that, and this just happened completely unintentionally, after like 40 straight minutes of repetitive drawing.

But yeah, the anxiety from inadvertently accessing shame and trauma was a tough one. And... I have a strong feeling that part of the album had to do with exactly that. It was an insanely powerful album and it ended with a note that... I could see fans of his... and others who don't really understand what they're experiencing... would likely hear and fucking cringe so hard their skin would crawl. But it ended with a quote that visibly brought a big smile to my face, and I'm going back to get the exact quote now.

"Because your greatness lies in the wake of years of telling yourself that you are not good enough. That you are not capable. That you are not worthy of being loved. YOU ARE. You needed to know, so now you know."

:) On an unrelated note, I'm gonna take a pee break real quick.

So yeah, took an unplanned mental vacation down shameful memory lane, got a tremendous amount of work done on an art piece that I have no idea what I'm going to do with... and streamed for 4 hours to pretty much no one. But even with all those things considered, it wasn't a bad day. I got a raid from someone who used to watch my streams occasionally, only 4 people and they didn't stick around long... but it's the thought that counts. They said my work looked like stained glass, it was cool to hear another perspective on it. It was nice to actually talk to someone in chat, rather than just listen to music and draw, which just feels exactly like being offline, only I can't talk to myself. So... it hasn't been a bad day, it just left me wanting and envisioning more.

I keep stalling on setting up social media for my art and stream stuff. I think it's mostly this stupid "branding" bullshit that's throwing me off. Like... profile picture and banner and shit. But today, I did pull up my Insta and... look into somehow putting those posts on Tumblr. But I just... I don't know what I'm doing, and those pictures are on my phone, not on my PC... I just got frustrated and gave up pretty quick. Trying to do that after mindless drawing for 2-3 hours straight is a pretty tall order. The thought is there.

I think I need a day where I don't work on a major art project... and instead I just go around and organize things in my home. Clean a bit. Do dishes, do laundry. Maybe plant the beans. Then try the social media stuff? Which I think would basically just be dumping all the stuff off my phone onto my PC... and then making template posts for each piece which I can go and post in multiple places. Maybe?

I think if I can connect with people who like my art style... and then post there when I go live? It's a better chance of attracting people to chill in my streams. The whole point of it is basically... to have an open-studio. To show the behind-the-scenes on how the artist makes his work, getting to hang out in the studio with them. With concept and process-based art, that can be a game-changer. That's the entire goal, and then they can buy the final piece when I'm done too. Or even order commissions if I do that. Or get lessons. I love the concept of it. And, more than anything, I just fucking miss art studio hangouts. Creative time.

Good fucking lord, after my breakup... when I finally grew the balls... (after like 4-6 months of grieving that and several other losses...) I went into the spare room that, to me, was haunted as shit. Haunted with the memories of countless stupid pointless fights, and all the dark secrets she kept behind closed doors. Fights where she would just take something super personally, refuse to work through her feelings, hold me accountable for her feelings as though I committed a crime or something, and then fight until we both got exhausted, and usually she would retreat into the spare room and sleep there. The spare room was always intended to be a studio/study. A creative space and a work space. A place of creation, not destruction. And I "selflessly" gave that space - in the house that my parents were helping me rent, that she never paid a cent for - to her. And after 4-6 months, I reclaimed that space. And I made it into something close to the creative space I always wanted it to be. And I could not, for the fucking life of me, get anyone else to come and be creative in that space with me. My brother visited twice. I convinced an old "friend" to do art nights, he was an aspiring tattoo artist, and he committed to doing art nights weekly. He did 2 and ghosted. That space ended up being just my personal creative space... and my dog's bedroom. So... it worked out in the end, but... I've just had this gigantic empty hole in my soul where communal art creation needed to be. And streaming felt like a fucking godsend for that. Anyone, anywhere on the earth, can hang out with me in my studio and chat and share ideas and even work along with me, even from their fucking phone. So... it's hard - really hard - to be doing that... and have the door wide open, and have no one show up.

But, I can't expect people to just show up. That's super rare. So... I'm really hoping if people see my art on Tumblr and follow me... they'll see my posts about going live and maybe hop on by to get to know the artist and see how these pieces are made. And hey, maybe they'd even be interested in getting a piece for their home. Who knows.

Alright, not gonna give my depression wiggle room to like... convince me no one wants my shit. Gonna move on before he gets the chance to sink his claws into that one... I'm gonna move on to tarot and close out the night.

Past - Three of Wands, inverted (Implementation of a plan, launching of a new idea.) Present - Three of Cups, inverted (Celebration, calling in good fortune, joy. Social gathering, a heartfelt belonging in a community.) Future - Ace of Swords, inverted (Intellect, apply logic and reason, Clarity and focus of mind.)

Three inverted cards. Fun fun. I've seen all of these before, some more recently than others. I quickly copy-pasted the meanings that I wrote but didn't really read them, I'm gonna try to just piece this together to see how well I do from memory.

This starts with Three of Wands, inverted. This is the start of a new idea... meaning... the implementation of that idea. Like... the Ace is the spark, the Two is surveying and planning, Three is putting the plan into action. It's "setting sail". But this is inverted. Either... struggling to put an idea into practice? Or delaying, or not engaging with a creative idea, not putting it into motion.

This is connected to inverted Three of Cups. Three of Cups is the party card. It's people gathering and celebrating together. The image is a toast, with good friends. And this... is inverted as well. Blocked or refused, not functional.

This connects to inverted Ace of Swords. Ace of Swords is... okay, I don't remember it super vividly. I want to say it's like... the access of memories and experience to create a clear present moment. I'm trying to piece it together from memory by looking at the image. The woman has a tree growing out of her hair, and the branches form a house and a couple and a woman reaching for a bird... and I feel like those represented past memories, experience. And she is bowing, wielding the Sword of Truth, that has an open eye engraved into it. I feel like that's present awareness and sharp focus. I'm going to check my reference. Yeah, it's kinda the same shit - using reason and logic. That, again, being inverted... so... blocked, or being presented and I'm not engaging with it, or causing disarray somehow.

So... connecting all the dots... I'm just gonna be transparent here. I've been back and forth about the digital piece I started working on. It's huge. And I'm really plugging away at it. I'm making a lot of progress. But it was supposed to be a prototype. I think it's going to take me weeks, if not months... even if I work on it several hours every day. I don't want to axe the project... but every time I talk about it on stream? I feel like I'm talking about a project that will never be finished. And... I'm afraid that I'm going to stubbornly go "NO, I'm going to finish it..." And get locked in to it. So... two other projects have been orbiting around this concept. 1). An ink piece on either a big piece of paper or cloth that is this same organic fractal design that I'm prototyping... but a physical version. 2). The micro Zen Garden idea that I've been gushing about the past few days, that I nerded out on again for like 10 minutes straight during my stream tonight.

Why the fuck am I talking about this? Well... Three of Wands is about putting a new creative venture into practice. Starting a new project. And... those are the two that are primed and ready, but waiting for this titanic digital piece to hop on the bench. So... when I saw inverted Three of Wands, I immediately thought of the micro Zen Gardens. Immediately. So... I think that's it. The project that I've been delaying and stalling and half-starting for almost 6 fucking months. This connects to... something blocking social connection. Social communion. I really do think the Zen Garden thing is much more universally appealing, something almost anyone can engage with. And something anyone could really want for themselves, as décor in their home. So... not engaging with and prototyping that idea... could be stalling or interfering with that Three of Cups moment. And that leads to inverted Ace of Swords... a lack of reason, a lack of clarity. Memory and experience in disarray. Ehhh.... but again, I don't like to read inverted cards as... "opposites" or "voids" or "not's"... so... let's phrase that differently. My delay of working on this micro Zen Garden idea could be interfering with opportunities for social connections, and the result of that is a difficulty engaging in logical focus. My focus is muddy, my vision obscured. See? It can be hard to read inversions. :(

Welp, regardless of what the cards are saying... I am pretty clearly saying that I really want to engage with this Zen Garden project. I should at very least just tack on a bag of sand from Lowe's to the next grocery order I make. Then I have it. I like the idea of doing a very minimal sand Zen Garden with some of the stones that I saved to be polished, but will likely never get around to polishing, and then raking designs into the sand using the stones as contours. That could be cool. All I need for that is a box of some kind that looks decent that can hold sand without leaking. That's it. The shallower the better, then I can conserve sand and do a bunch of them.

Cool. Well... so... what I've gotten out of this is... 1). I need a day to just organize my house and clean, do laundry, chill out, maybe order a pizza or something. 2). I need to figure out social media and develop a bit of a habit similar to this, but a fraction of the time and effort investment. 3). I need to go ahead with the Zen Garden idea and back off the big fractal digital piece as being my "primary" piece.

That's a lot. So... maybe I'll just start with number 1 tomorrow. :)

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

0 notes

miekasa · 3 years

Text

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

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

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

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

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

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no—of course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was almost three thou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s it matter to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… is that why you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eren—”

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

“Eren—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you took it, anyway?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mitchell, I have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I asked you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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folkloreguk · 3 years

Text

French Class [6]

A/N: You guys might want to whack out your love song playlist for this one…I cried writing this BYE I'm posting this from my grave!!

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), fwb, f2l?, college!au, fuckboy!bias, nerd!reader, ANGST, smut

words: ~ 3.8 k

✽series masterlist✽

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez, @runaway-fics, @mainexiii, @awfullytiredbuthealing, @erikyoong, @etherealuv, @staysuki, @justcuz-ican, @yeostars, @hyuckthangs, @teenloves, @mexious18-blog, @sunghoonied, @mailobjaeyoon

couldn’t tag: @chorizoek

You: can I come over? I kind of need u

H/N: you need me huh…you’re lucky I’m home alone

It always starts differently. Some other question, or a subtle message of telling him you’re bored, or a flat-out confession of being horny. The ending is always the same. You, naked in his bed. You just had to get there, and things were easy when you were already on his dorm’s doorstep.

The moment he had opened the door, you had fistfuls of his hair between your fingers and attacked his mouth in a feverish kiss. He made a noise between a laugh and surprise but reacted quickly. His lips parted right away, letting you in, and you tasted mint from the chewing gum he liked so much.

“Let me- at least- close the door,” he mumbled. “Jeez, what’s gotten into you today?”

You stepped aside and mirrored his grin. He was acting surprised, but the way he instantly locked your lips after he had shut the door told you he was enjoying this as much as you were. You ran your hands down his torso and along the side of his thighs. His happy hum only poured oil into the fire, and you saw no reason as to why you should have kept your clothes on any longer. In minutes, in the middle of heated kisses and clumsy chuckles, your clothes were discarded, and you were left in your underwear. You stumbled into his bedroom in a tangle of arms and legs and heads barely pulling apart.

“Will you tell me about the date you had today or are we skipping over that part?” he asked, as he pushed you down by the shoulders onto his bed. You groaned a little, not even knowing where to start.

“Didn’t go well, huh?” he asked. Only a few nights ago you had consoled him after his failed date, now the roles were reversed.

“That’s one way to put it,” you said. He was climbing on top of you now, and the weight of him between your thighs still did the same things to you it had done the first time. There was one of his random playlists playing quietly from the speakers, but you were both too occupied to even consider switching the music off. You weren’t in the mood for a chat, not when he was biting and sucking bruises into your chest, pushing aside your bra just enough. But you knew he wasn’t going to let it go this easily.

“Tell me about it or I won’t take one more piece of clothing off your body,” he threatened. You shot him an are-you-serious-look while he only blinked at you innocently, like he was awaiting your response.

“Fine,” you groaned. “But hurry, now.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, before unclasping your bra and throwing it to the other side of the room. “Go ahead, I expect a story.”

You had rolled your eyes at him, but when he sucked on your nipple all of a sudden, and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud ever so perfectly, your eyes moved to the back of your head involuntarily. And, before he could complain, you started to retell today’s events.

“Alright. First of all, he acted all gentleman-y. Pulling back my chair at the restaurant, letting me have a look at the menu first, letting me order first, asking me if I was okay with our seats because they were in the sunshine, or whether he should have requested we get a different in the shade table, blah, blah, blah.”

With the lewd noises he was making, kissing your chest and fumbling with your breasts, you almost wondered whether he was paying attention to you at all.

“I’m waiting for the plot twist,” he chuckled. “If he had been this great, you wouldn’t be in my bed right now, would you?” He was now on his way to your lower regions. Your breaths came out shaky when he gripped your hips with familiar fingertips and placed a few kisses there, right above the material of your underwear. Nonetheless, you had to continue your story.

“Oh, it’s coming,” you said. “Because I suspect, the only reason he was acting that way was to compensate. For the fact that he was an hour late.”

He stifled a laugh, and you slapped his head playfully. “It’s not funny! I stood outside that restaurant on a busy street like an idiot for an hour. During exam season!”

“I wonder, if studying is so special to you- ,” he said. He tugged on your underwear, and you barely cared about his words when you were already imagining his mouth on your pussy. “Why aren’t you at home right now, doing just that?”

“Too frustrated,” you groaned, spreading your legs, practically inviting him in. “You don’t get it. That was only the beginning of the date. It gets worse.”

“Oh, damn,” he laughed, and you were going to slap him again. Harder, this time. But his tongue kitten-licked over your clit and you didn’t dare interrupt him further.

“First of all, he turned out to be boring. An economics major. And look, I’m not generalizing, I’ve met some cool economics majors. But when I said I never really understood the whole thing with inflation and deflation, I wasn’t asking for him to explain it to me. I know what it means, I just meant to say money is the root of all evil,” you said, little moans slipping inbetween your sentences. He laughed whilst sipping on your clit. You couldn’t be mad at his laughing anymore. In fact, at the sound of his chuckles, your own lips curled into a smile, too. God, he was so good with his tongue.

“But turns out he loved money. Like it was the sole reason he was doing anything. When he showed me his gold watch I almost yawned,” you continued.

“Dating a rich guy can have its upsides too, though,” he said, but you knew he was joking. He was running the tips of his fingers over your core, and you whimpered at how badly you wanted him to put them inside of you. You loved watching him, loved feeling his hair tickle the side of your thighs and having his free hand laying on top of your hipbone. The familiarity of it all, his little habits, made your heart heavy, so full of emotion, all of a sudden. But you had to snap out of it.

“Not this guy. He kept saying these lowkey sexist things I won’t repeat now. It’ll only make me mad again. He was one of those who thought money would buy him a girlfriend. And I was really trying to see the good in him…only there was none,” you said.

“Alright, I’m starting to understand why you needed some cheering up,” he said. “Good thing you’re at the right place. I know just the thing.”

At this, he slid his digits into you. You hummed and dropped your head into the plush pillow. Slowly, you exhaled, happy you finally got to relax after being so upset. But of course, he had to interrupt. Again.

“Did I say you could stop? Was that the end of the story?” he said. How did he expect you to form a coherent sentence? He fingered you gently, but the slowness of it all only drove you crazier. You felt every tiny sensation, every new bit of you he touched.

“No,” you sulked. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“Go on, then,” he encouraged you, grinning because he was proud of your reaction he had caused.

“Fuck- okay. He was super shitty to the waiter. I’m talking about criticizing everything. This man had the audacity to complain about the food. I’m not a food critic, but I swear the food was amazing, there was nothing to fault at all,” you said, and then whined when he switched from licking your clit to sucking it between his teeth. You knew he was doing this on purpose. To make speaking harder for you.

“Oh my god, H/N. Wait, let me finish this. Not only was he horrible to the waiter in person, but he also made fun of the waiter’s appearance behind his back. And all along he expected me to find him funny. I used to think he had a sense of humor but not after today. Blech.”

“At least you got a free dinner?” he said, and without awaiting your answer, went back to work. Your head was spinning in pleasure, and you could only laugh sarcastically at his suggestion.

“Yeah. And after that train wreck of a date, he really thought he’d get to stick his tongue down my throat,” you said.

“Did he at least ask permission?” asked the boy between your legs.

“Mhm…but I told him I don’t do that on the first date,” you said. “Safe to say there won’t be another date, though.”

He looked up now, laughing more than before. You grinned, mainly because the sight of him was so cute. He folded his hands on your belly and put his face down onto your skin to giggle. In no way could you be upset or urge him to keep giving you head. In fact, you had forgotten about all of that for a while, as he seemed to enjoy your misfortune a little too wildly. You should have been hungry, eager to have the half-naked boy inside of you. Yet, you laughed at the way his breaths tickled your stomach and when he finally made eye contact, it was a wholly different sort of hunger which overcame you. Instead of the heat he usually made you feel, it was a comfortable warmth that was in your chest. It reminded you of a bonfire or of drinking your favorite hot drink on a cool autumn day.

“I want to watch you come,” he said, casually. “Were you close?”

You were so lost in his trustworthy, dreamy eyes, you almost forgot to reply. Quickly, you nodded and hummed.

“I would have already come, had you not pestered me to tell you all the details of my date,” you said. The way his cheeks beamed when he smiled made you feel as if your insides were turning into mush.

“I’m sorry. I’m your friend, aren’t I allowed to ask how your day went?” he asked.

“Of course you are,” you said. The word ‘friend’ echoed off every wall in your head until you wished you could have deleted it from the dictionary.

“I’ll make sure it feels extra good now,” he said, kissing your stomach. You shivered as you watched his gentle lips move lower, to your hips and the insides of your thighs. The touch felt like butterfly wings on your skin, and the tardiness of it made you impatient. When his tongue came in contact with your clit again, you sucked in a breath of surprise.

He tried to start slowly, but then you gripped his hair tightly, and carefully pushed him further. It was something you did often, a way to tell him you wanted more without having to use words. After all this time, he understood perfectly. Your clit was between his lips and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pleasure. It felt incredible, creating a funny sensation in the pit of your stomach. His fingers grazed over your slit until you were whimpering and shifting your hips, trying to make him hurry.

One of his digits slid into you easily, curling against your sweet spot, and it hit you only now how much you had missed him between your legs since he had stopped a few minutes ago. It made you feel as though you were suddenly overwhelmed with all of him, but you were willing to let the heat crash over you if it meant you could be close to him.

“Am I making it up to you now?” he asked as he pulled away merely for a breath. “I’ll turn your day into a good one after all.”

In a different tone his words would have sounded like the exact thing one would have expected to hear from a fuckboy in the bedroom. He could have boasted and bragged endlessly about how great he was with his tongue and fingers – he would have been right – but he didn’t mean it like that. You could tell from the uprightness and the authenticity in his voice that he really was doing his best because he wanted to make you feel better and turn your day around. Because you were special to him. Or so you desperately hoped.

Your legs wrapped around his shoulders as if you were trapping him between your thighs. But he was right there, and he would gladly stay for so much longer, and to say it puzzled you was an understatement. The boy who belonged to everybody, who was known by all of the campus, was treating you like you were royalty, and not the other way around. You moaned, his name inevitably falling from your lips. He added another finger and the slightest stretch made you lose your mind for a split second.

“That guy could have never made you feel this good, could he?” he suddenly asked. Your initial response was a helpless whine. You had been so close, and his talking had interrupted the otherworldly bliss for a moment.

“No, never,” you then whimpered shortly. ‘No’ was such a tiny word. It could barely encapsule what you truly meant to say. Which was that it would have never even gotten that far. That other guys couldn’t even have you at all. They didn’t get their turn to try and beat him. Not as of lately, at least. That you didn’t so much as dare to think about sleeping with other guys. That even before you had gone on the date, you had known it wouldn’t lead to anything. No guy could let you develop an interest on him in the same way the boy between your legs had done it. No other would be able to kidnap your brain like that. H/N was always there. Even when it was only you and your sex toys, you would automatically pretend it was him getting you off. You were so far gone that it was embarrassing how long it had taken you to admit it to yourself. But it was a colossal thing to confess to him, and you would never do that. Rejection would hurt a billion times more than whatever it was you two had now.

Your heart was racing as you closed your eyes. You had been so lost in thought, it was wondrous you hadn’t fallen yet. But you were right on the edge, making your breaths come out like puffs and a string of moans and swears sound from your lips. He too had stopped talking, concentrating on the task at hand, and judging by the way your back arched he was doing one hell of a good job.

“Oh my god- “ you whimpered. “I’m so close, H/N.”

This time he didn’t reply, which was for the best. Only a few seconds passed until you started to quiver and whine beneath him. You were going to outer space behind your eyelids as your high rushed through you. Your fingers curled and tightened in his locks while your legs clenched around his head. He was quick to pull your thighs apart again, still not being finished. For long seconds you swam in pleasure, with nothing on your mind but bursting stars. He was heaven, knowing precisely how far he could take it until you were too sensitive to take any more.

When you were at that point, he finally pulled away and looked up at your crumpled form. There was a lazy smile playing in the corner of your lips and your vision was hazy after having had your eyes closed for a while. He climbed up your body until his chest was against yours so he could really look at you.

“I get all of this without ever having been on a single date with you? I’m so lucky,” he said. You only smiled at him, at a loss for words. What were you to say? The two of you were clearly past the awkward dating stage already.

“I’m lucky you let me come over all the time,” you said. “I would have expected the campus fuckboy to be busier. To not have an empty spot in his bed every night.”

“Ah, shut up,” he said. “I’d rather have you here than a girl I don’t know at all. Look, I’m really tired so I don’t know how this will go…but can I?” He was on his knees, a tent visible in his boxers. With a questioning look, he was tugging them down his legs now.

“Of course,” you said. As you watched him roll on a condom, your ears perked up. Did that song have to come on shuffle just now? The coziest, most romantic love song you adored so much? You knew if you looked him in the eyes you’d be done for. But there wasn’t anywhere else to look when he settled between your legs and held up his weight with his forearms. His eyes were deep enough for you to get lost within a second. Distracting yourself was impossible. The one last thing you could do was to reach between the two of you and guide his length into you.

The song’s chorus came on, you looked at him once again, and suddenly you were all his. You didn’t need to tell him so. He thrust gently, almost carefully, like he had never done it with you. Your heart hammered against your ribcage so vivaciously, you wondered whether it had turned autonomous and was now trying to jump out of your body, onto his skin and through it, so it could nestle next to his own heart.

Neither of you spoke. Yet, there had never been so much chemistry, such a heavy amount of uncommunicated emotions between the two of you. You were ready to hang on his every word, should he decide to speak up. In your head rampaged a billion sentiments you needed him to know, but there was no option to express them adequately. Perhaps there were simply no words in the English language to declare your feelings for him.

Small whimpers and moans left your lips only for him to hear. Sometimes he moved a little quicker, gifting you with the most perfect sounds he could make. And to know you were the cause for it sent you into overdrive. His mouth was right above yours. If you lifted your head slightly, you could have kissed his sweet, sweet lips. But you were so afraid. What would he think? You had never kissed him during sex. Not softly, like you wanted it so terribly.

Even worse, you craved so much more than that. You wanted to pull him in, envelope his mouth in your own, crawl over the edge of his lips and reside in his chest for safety. Because that’s what he was. Comfort. Reassurance. Home. How foolish you had been, pretending this little fling would lead to nothing more. You really had told yourself this would work. No feelings. Just fun. You couldn’t deny having fun with him. He was the best company you had ever known, and he had become your most precious friend quickly. It was as if you had only been waiting for the silly, flirty boy to sit across from you in the library and make weak advances towards you.

The love song tuned out slowly, replaced by something more sensual and sinful. In accordance with the new background noise, he gripped your hips a little meaner and went faster. You barely noticed how his breathing had sped up as he was getting closer to his orgasm. A trance had overcome you, transfixing you on his godlike features and how much it hurt to know you couldn’t call him yours. In your head you were made for each other. They always said to date your best friend, didn’t they? You could try to turn back time, go back to your first meeting place, at the party. See if things would turn out different. But you knew they wouldn’t. As much as your fear tried to suppress it – you would take the same path again, stumbling head-first into his arms and letting him into your life like a crashing wave of laughter and heart-crushing conversations.

Now you reflected in despair, how he had taken your heart in a storm, without having to try too hard. And worst of all, you were okay with it. Your heart was secure with him, you thought. The feelings yearned to be spoken out loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“You feel so good,” he said. “Always, so fucking good.”

He snapped his hips against yours, burying his cock deep inside of you and all you could muster was a hum of agreement. This is what you got for keeping him at arms-length from the beginning. Wasn’t it you who had challenged him to be friends and only that? Perhaps you would be okay, so long as no one else called him theirs either. You could go on like this, letting him use you for sexual relief and making him laugh when he needed it. Gladly, you would take the pain of not being allowed to love him with your whole being if it meant you could see him whenever you wanted. Exposing those silly emotions would wreck your friendship and you wouldn’t let it happen.

He grunted and only then, when he lowered his head into the crook of your neck and moaned your name, you realized he was reaching his high. Softly, you cradled his head in your hands, as if it was the last time you could hold him like this. When he put his forehead against yours, he had his eyes closed and his chest was moving steadier than before.

“You’re the best,” he whispered. “Stay the night?”

Should you have gone home, and missed him all night? Would you have regretted saying no while you curled up in bed with no Cheshire-cat-grin-boy to hold? Or were you to remain in his bed, and pray you would survive the torture of not speaking your mind? His skin radiated the most wonderful warmth and you wanted to trace his lips with your eyes until you fell asleep. That’s how quickly it was decided.

“Okay,” you answered.

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fairyaali · 3 years

Note

felix and luka ( separately ) with a fem! s/o who has that pastely soft aesthetic and has the matching personality to go with it ! ( naive , kind , caring etc etc ) but can get very very bitchy when angry!

HELLO! I’m super sorry about the wait but here it is hehe <3 i tried to make it as accurate as possible so i hope you like it !

Pairings: Luka Couffaine X Reader , Felix Graham De Vanily X Reader.

Warnings: swearing!

Felix

Felix Graham de Vanily has never imagined the day when he would be actually in love - but it actually happened and he wasn’t even prepared for it.

Needless to say, it hit him like a truck and sent him to heaven.

This was his heaven, being on a big bed with you and playing with your hair while you watched your favourite show on Netflix.

“I told you he was going to be the bad guy! I knew it all along!” You exclaimed and jumped up, startling him but ultimately, making him smile.

“It was quite obvious my love.” He chuckles and you pout, crossing your arms while you plop back down next to him.

“But he was my favourite character Felix! And he’s probably going to die now too.” You look up at him and he can’t help but smile at your adorable, pouting face.

He cups your face in his hands and you instantly smile when you see his smile. It was contagious. He rarely smiled so you just feel so much joy bubbling inside of you when the blond smiled at you and you couldn’t help it.

He quickly kisses the tip of your nose and you giggle before crawling on his lap, peppering his face with kisses and completely ignoring the show you were watching.

The room was filled with little kissing noises and giggles coming from both of you.

His hand moves from your waist to your thighs, caressing the fabric of the white thigh high socks you were wearing beneath your pink tennis skirt.

His touch comforted you and you close your eyes, resting your forehead on his and humming gently.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers out of the blue and you gently open your eyes, staring right into his.

A blush creeps on your cheeks and you part your lips, inching closer to his face to kiss him.

A thought bursts through your head move your lips could touch and you smile brightly.

“Can we go feed the ducks again?” You ask him, your eyes bright and excited at the memory of the last time you went with him.

He took you to the park last time and you fed the ducks together because it was something he enjoyed doing as a child with his nanny. You didn’t know that such a simple activity could bring him so much joy and you were looking forward to the next time you two did it.

His face lights up and he nods, “Of course darling.” He replies and you excitedly hop off of his lap. “Wait you meant right now?” He asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

You were already lacing up your boots so you look at him over your shoulder and pout. “Yes?” You question.

“I thought we were going to..you know..” He looks away sheepishly.

You smirk at him. “Don’t worry Felix, you can have me all to yourself later, I promise.” You say and finish with a wink.

He nods and blushes, letting out a small chuckle.

You finish up putting on your boots and wait for him to get ready before the two of you head out of his house hand in hand.

You two walk through the park, his hand in one of your hands and in the other hand you held a small paper bag full of bread for the ducks.

Children were playing all over the park and people were chatting around you. It was nice to get out of the house with him sometimes, even if he does prefer staying at home.

“Oh look it’s Felix.” A male voice said which was followed by laughter.

You feel Felix tense up and he freezes.

You were quite confused as to what was happening so you decide to turn around and see two guys around the same age as Felix and you.

“Please ignore them my love, let’s go.” He whispers to you and you furrow your eyebrows at them before nodding to Felix.

“I see you got yourself a little girlfriend.” They speak again and you can hear their footsteps behind you. “You’re making a big mistake dating that little pansy babe, come with us and we’ll show you what a real man is like.”

You were livid.

You couldn’t control yourself so you turn around, letting go of your boyfriend’s hand.

“A real man huh?” You say and cross your arms over your chest, walking up to them. “I’d rather die than date one of you hideous mother fuckers.”

They were taken aback, wide eyed, probably not expecting you to talk back.

“Felix is more of a man than you ever will be.” You stare right into the bully’s eyes. “When was the last time you ever got some huh?” your lips curl into a smirk.

“I-i…uhm, well..” he stutters and the other nudges him, mouthing something.

“That’s what I thought.” You say and turn around. “Don’t ever come for my boyfriend again.” You state and grab felix’s hand, looking up at him.

His face was beet red, his eyes were wide and you couldn’t help but grab the back of his head and kiss him right then and there.

He smiles against your lips and you pull away before the two of you walk away from them.

“That was..” He clears his throat. “hot.” He blurts out.

You cover your mouth with your hand and giggle.

The two of you continue your day near the lake, laughing and throwing bread for the ducks to eat.

He made you feel safe and now you were at peace knowing you did the same to him too.

Luka

You’ve been waiting for this night for a long time.

Your boyfriend’s first opening gig with his band.

It wasn’t something grand and big – I mean, it was just a small pub downtown but you knew this was a big night for him and so it turned out to be a big night for you too.

You were ready to show him all your support and love, wearing your favourite flowy dress and his lucky guitar pick hanging on a silver chain around your neck.

Your friend Marinette was by your side, she even designed the costumes for everyone so both of you were super psyched for what was happening.

You made your way to the back stage and saw your boyfriend, Luka, sitting down on a chair and tuning his guitar, nodding his head to the beat.

“Luka..” You whisper and tap his shoulder.

He opens his eyes and looks at you, a smile instantly making it’s way on his face.

“There’s my favourite girl.” He says and gets up, hugging you tightly while you giggle. “I’m so glad you could make it.” He says quietly.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You say and kiss him on the cheek.

He kisses you on the forehead and pulls away from the hug, wrapping an arm around your neck.

“Hey Marinette.” He says and smiles at her.

The bluenette grins at the two of you. “Are you excited?” She asks.

“More like nervous.” Luka replies and let’s out a heavy breath. “I’m not usually this nervous but damn, I can’t believe we finally got a gig.”

You look up at your boyfriend with adoring eyes. “Don’t be nervous Luka, I know it’s going to go great.” You reassure him and he smiles down at you, nodding.

Luka is a really calm person so seeing him nervous means that this really means a lot to him. He has been practicing for weeks and you couldn’t be more proud of how far he’s come.

You gasp at the sudden realisation of something and move away from his grasp, rummaging through your little back pack.

“A-ha!” You say and pull out a blue bracelet that you made yourself.

You look up at Luka and smile before handing it to him.

“I made this for you and I want you to wear it tonight for goodluck.” You say, your cheeks heating up when you look at him as he stares at the bracelet you made. “Since you gave me your lucky guitar pick for me to wear, I thought I should give you some luck of my own.” You look down at your shoes sheepishly.

“You’re an absolute angel, have I ever told you that?” He says and grabs your hand, making you look up at him.

You glance down at his wrist and see that he already put on the bracelet.

You get on your tip toes and give him a small kiss on the lips.

“Thank you.” He whispers and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Guys get ready in 5” Someone says from the curtains and Luka instantly stiffens up.

You give him one last kiss on the cheek before walking next to Marinette.

“Goodluck.” You say and give him a reassuring smile as you wave at him.

He nods at you and runs a hand through is hair before grabbing his guitar.

You and Marinette leave back stage and make your way to your seats.

The pub was small so it easily got crowded with people.

You sigh and play with your hair. “I’m so nervous for Luka, Mari.” You tell Marinette.

She rubs your shoulder to calm you down and shakes her head.

“He’s going to do just fine girl, you’ll see.” She says and gives you a bright smile which comforted you.

The background music playing in the pub fades away and the lights start to dim.

“La bulle proudly presents, Kitty Section!” A voice says over the speakers and whistles and claps fill the room.

The curtains open and it reveals the band in their designated places.

You glance at Luka and smile at him before the music starts.

Rose was in front, singing her heart out to their original song and Luka was behind her, nodding his head as he played the guitar with passion.

You admired him and his talents, he used to write and sing so many songs for you, little did you know that one day he would actually be performing in front of a real audience.

Luka was vocalising to the chorus with rose and his eyes suddenly find yours.

He looked amazing.

The clothes that Marinette styled them with, his skin glistening under the lights and a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead because of the sweat.

You bit your lip as you kept looking at him. He was so into the song, so immersed in everything and it was so fucking hot to you.

He noticed this and his lips curled into a small smirk.

“Wow.” You breathed out quietly.

Marinette was beaming at the band and clapping. “I know right!” She laughs happily.

You grinned and sat up as they ended and clapped.

The whole pub was clapping for your boyfriends band and you were so happy for them.

Everyone was walking to talk to them of greet them and all you had on your mind was Luka, you just wanted to hug him and congratulate him and maybe even make out with him in the bathroom.

“Excuse me.” You mutter as you try to make way towards him.

Your eye catches a blonde girl in front of him, talking to him and laughing.

You freeze and something bubbles inside of you.

Jealousy?

You weren’t the type to be jealous but you couldn’t help the feeling.

You decided not to think much of it and gulped, continuing to make your way toward them.

“Can you like, sign my boobs?” You hear her say and giggle.

“Pardon?” Luka blurts out, looking at her with wide eyes.

Nope. That was it.

You quickly move between the last few people and walk up to them.

The girl started to unbutton her shirt and you furrowed your eyebrows.

Before anything else could happen you made your way to Luka and grabbed his shirt, kissing him.

The girl stopped her movements but held her hand on the buttons of her shirt.

You pull away from Luka and watch him as he blinks a few times, dazed as to what just happened.

“go show your boobs to someone else you skank.” You spit out, narrowing your eyes at her.

She scoffs at you and flips her hair before walking away from you guys.

You clench your jaw and Luka grabs your hand.

“Hey, are you okay?” Luka says and you huff.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You look away from him and frown.

“You know, I wasn’t going to sign her boobs.” He says and shrugs.

You look at him and roll your eyes. “Yeah.” You murmur.

“Didn’t know you could be so jealous.” He says in a teasing voice.

It was your turn to scoff and you look at him. “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Uh-huh.” He says and you stare into his eyes for a moment.

He was smirking at you, so calm, while you were red and angry inside at the thought of some bitch showing her boobs to your boyfriend.

Next thing you knew though, you were sitting on the sink of the pubs bathroom, making out with your boyfriend.

#mlb #miraculous ladybug #felix graham de vanily x reader #felix graham de vanily #luka couffaine #luka couffaine x reader

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middleearthpixie · 2 years

Text

Bygones

Armitage Summer Splash #2

Trope: Only one bed

Quote: “I never knew it’d be like this.”

RA Character: Lucas North

Pairings: Lucas North x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,069

A/N: This is my 2nd contribution to the Armitage Summer Splash and again, thank you to @lathalea and @fizzyxcustard for creating this event!

~~*~~

“Uh… I think our reservation got fucked up.”

You stood in the doorway behind Lucas and although you heard exactly what he said, it didn’t stop you from saying, “What?”

“Yeah. We were supposed to get a double. We got a single.”

“We did not. Did we?”

He stepped further into the room. “See for yourself.”

You moved around him, the pit of your stomach dropping away with a sickening splash. This was not suppose to happen. “Well… this won’t do.” You brought your small wheelie into the room and turned to stare at the single king-sized bed. “I’ll go talk to someone at the front desk.”

“No. You wait here. I’ll do it.”

“Lucas—”

“I said, I’d do it.” He turned to you, steel-blue eyes bright with irritation. “Are you going to fight me on everything?”

“This counts as everything?”

He didn't answer, but stalked off, leaving you alone in the hotel room. Of all the people in the world, Donaldson just had to assign you to the one man in MI-5 that you had a past with. What even were the odds of that happening? You lived in New York, Lucas was based out of London. You were never supposed to cross paths again and that was exactly how you wanted it.

But no. There you were, back in New York, just like old times, with him. Well, you’d be damned if you were sharing a bed with him this time. Uh-uh. No way. You’d rather sleep in the bathtub.

“Donaldson will hear about this when I get back into the office.” You rolled your suitcase further into the room, then left it by the desk to cross to the window. Nighttime in New York was almost as busy as daytime. You peered down at the people who from that height looked like ants hurrying along the sidewalks, crossing the streets, dodging the never-ending flow of traffic as they did so. There was a certain amount of comfort in the familiarity.

It was the only thing comfortable at the moment.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to Lucas since your fight at Heathrow almost seven months earlier. He wanted you to stay. You couldn’t. You’d been in England on a temporary basis, working with MI-5 on a joint assignment and when it ended, you were to return home.

You tried not to think about that night at the airport. It tore you apart to leave him, as you were on the verge of falling in love with him. But, you’d worked so hard to get to where you were, you couldn’t just walk away from it. Or so you thought.

You chose your career over him. And basically regretted it ever since.

Now, you had to work together. You were tracking the movements of an arms dealer with dual citizenship between the UK and the US, and he’d flown into JFK that morning, not even knowing Lucas was on the same flight, watching his every move from boarding to deplaning.

Stephen Mills’ reservation at the hotel was for two nights. He was in the room next door and your secretary swore she’d made herself clear about needing a double room for you and Lucas when she’d booked it. Somebody messed up.

The key reader clicked and the door opened and you knew the answer just by the dark expression on Lucas’ face. He confirmed with a gruff, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No other rooms on this floor?”

He shook his head, raking a hand through his black hair. “No other rooms anywhere. Super Bowl weekend. We’re lucky we have this.”

“Well, that leaves us with a problem, doesn’t it?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “No. I just told you, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Fine.” You weren’t about to argue. If he wanted sleep on the floor, more power to him. “So, according to Donaldson, the bugs were put in place last night. He can’t come or go without us knowing.”

“At least something is going our way.” He lifted his carryon onto the bed and opened it, taking out a small speaker, which he set on the dresser and switched on, and then pulled a dark green Pendaflex folder at least two inches thick with information from the bag as well. “This is the dossier on Mills. Have you had a chance to look it over?”

You nodded, diving into your own bag to come up with your copies of the file. “It’s only the basics, but I’m up to speed. I went over it last night, and then this morning on the ride over.”

“Good.” He set the folder on the table and flipped it open. His blue eyes narrowed as he perused the documents. “You know, I didn’t ask for this assignment. Just for the record.”

“I didn't think you had.”

“Did you request it?”

“No. I didn’t.”

He looked over then, one dark brow arched as if you’d said something unbelievable. “You didn’t?”

“No. Why would I?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I gave up trying to figure out how you think a long time ago.”

“That’s not all you gave up on.”

The words were out before you could stop them, and you regretted them as his back stiffened and he slowly lifted his head. “Me? I gave up? You’re the one who ran away.”

“I didn’t run away. I had to come home. I had a life here, remember? A job. An apartment. Family. I could’t just play house in England with you while it was convenient for you.”

His eyes narrowed and a mirthless laugh bubbled to his lips. “While it was convenient… Sure. Let’s run with that, shall we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head and turned his attention back to the dossier. “It means nothing.”

“No,” you moved closer to him, letting the folder in your hand drop to the table with a soft slap, “if there’s something you want to say to me, Lucas, say it.”

“There isn’t.” He glanced up at you only briefly, then turned back to the file. “There really isn’t.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page, then.”

He didn't answer, but pulled out a chair and sank into it, leaning forward slightly to continue his reading. It was a posture you’d seen so many times. His cheek resting against his fist, a small furrow forming between his eyes as he squinted because he refused to admit he needed glasses now. His spiky dark hair, so black it held almost a blue sheen, spilled over his forehead. He needed a trim. He’d have bangs before much longer otherwise.

You snagged your folder and moved to sit cross-legged on the bed. You tried to study the notes, but concentration was damn near impossible. A hint of eucalyptus and sandalwood hung in the air. His soap. His shampoo. It was one of them. And when you offered up a sidelong glance, you realized his profile still made you want to sigh. He complained about his nose being too big, but nothing could be further from the truth. It was perfect. Everything about his face was just so… perfect. His was a regal profile—his features strong and handsome, his steel blue eyes contrasting in so striking a manner with his dark hair and pale skin.

Part of you wondered if he was seeing anyone now. Part of you wondered if he missed you at all.

Part of you reminded you that you most definitely missed him.

He wasn't an easy man to be with—a bit secretive, closed off, traumatized by a past he was reluctant to share and had only told you parts of in confidence. He kept everyone at a distance. But he had been letting you in, if only a little. He’d once told you that he trusted you and you knew trust was not something that came easily to him.

But there was something more to him, something that drew you to him despite all of the nonsense you told yourself. Seeing him now was a shock to your system and if you were completely honest with yourself, you were nowhere near being over him. You thought about him since that night in Heathrow. Probably more than was healthy. After all, you were being honest with yourself, right?

“I can feel you looking at me,” he said without turning away from the file.

“I’m not looking at you.”

“Sure you are. The side of my face is getting hot.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You wish.”

“No, I don’t.”

Static crackled, followed by the soft sound of a door opening and then closing. You both looked up and Lucas said, “I think our boy is here.”

“Sounds like it.”

He lifted his gaze to the speaker. The only sounds were those of shuffling feet, and unpacking. You looked over at Lucas. “How long is he supposed to be here for?”

“Three days. His story is he’s here for the Super Bowl.”

“Of course he is.” You bent back to your file.

Taps squeaked in the distance, followed by the rush of water. Your guy was getting ready to shower.

The bed dipped as he sank onto the edge of it. “Do we know what his plans are for tonight?”

You flipped thorough your file. “All it says is he’s going to the game in East Rutherford on Sunday. That’s all we’ve been able to pick up. Any other plans he has, he’s been very careful not to divulge them.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised.” A brief pause and then he said, “How have you been?”

His deep voice was soft, a hint of concern woven through it, one that sent a bit of warmth streaking through you. You tried to ignore that warmth, instead focusing on the pages fanned across the pale green bedspread. “I’m fine. You?”

His fingers skimmed along your hair and you pressed your lips together as he swept it back, away from your face. “I’m all right. Busy. Work never stops.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Those fingers lingered along your neck, just below your ear. He remembered how sensitive that bit of skin was, and when he trailed them down into the curve of your shoulder, you had to fight off the soft shiver his touch sent through you.

“Don’t,” you told him, pulling back. “This is neither the time, nor the place.”

“I’ve missed you.”

He said it so softly and yet its impact was a like a slap in the face or a punch to the gut. You didn’t want to feel anything, wanted the numbness that had pervaded you when you got on that plane all those months ago to come rushing back. It had to, because the alternative was far too dangerous to your senses. You’d rather be numb than feel the pain of wanting someone you could never have. You knew that pain far too well where Lucas was concerned.

“Lucas,” you had to force yourself to look at him, to meet those blue eyes that were now soft and almost tender, “nothing has changed. We want different things and we always will and you want more from me than I can give.”

“I’ve still missed you.”

“Well, stop missing me.”

His hand fell away, coming to rest on the inside of his left thigh. “You mean you don’t miss me? Don’t miss us?”

Hopefully, he didn't see you draw in a deep breath. And he certainly had no idea how much effort it took for you to look at him, to hold his gaze as you shook your head. “I don’t. I don’t miss any of it. I’m over you. And I have been for a long time.”

Your words struck a nerve. You saw it in how his eyes briefly widened, in the way he pressed his lips together for a moment. Then, he rose from the bed. “Forget I said anything then.”

“I will.”

He dropped into his chair and bent over the dossier once more, leaving you to just stare at him as you wished you could take your words back. Of course you missed him. For the last nearly seven months, you thought of him at least dozen times a day. You’d pull up his contact information and just stare down at his profile picture as you tried to force yourself to dial his number. You’d lie alone in bed at night and almost ache with the memory of what being with him was like. You’d wondered if he spent his nights alone and then hated yourself for it.

And now he was there and instead of telling him you wanted more than anything to try to make things work, you just pushed him away. This time for good.

Wonderful.

What an idiot you are.

The shower noises stopped and the next sound you heard was Mills on the phone. His calls were being monitored, but not by you and so you didn't know who was on the other end. All you knew was it sounded like he was making plans. If he planned to leave his room, someone from HQ would let you know right away. But your phone, Lucas’ phone remained quiet. Mr. Mills was in for the time being.

You tried to concentrate on the file, but couldn’t. All you wanted to do was go over to Lucas, drape your arms about his neck the way you used to whenever he was working, studying a file, and press your cheek into his, the way you’d done so many times in London. You wanted to feel the cool softness of his hair against your temple, the rough, sandpapery cheek that would need to be shaved come morning firm and warm against your own. You wanted to close your eyes when he turned to brush his lips along your jaw—a kiss that would somehow find its way to your lips eventually. And when that happened… he’d pull you into his lap, or onto the nearest flat surface, work be damned.

Only the low schwiff of pages being turned broke the silence. Even Mr. Mills was quiet. If he was readying to go out, he had to be tiptoeing about his room. The only sound coming through the speaker was a rustle that sounded like someone sitting down on the bed.

But then footsteps sounded in the hallway and you and Lucas looked up at the same time as Mills’ voice came through the speaker. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, darling. There was traffic.”

A woman. You looked over at Lucas, and his eyebrows rose as he turned back to the wall between your room and Mills’.

“I guess he’s staying in,” Lucas said with a shrug.

“Sounds like it.” You bent back to the file.

As you studied the photographs, a soft, but distinct sound wafted through the wall between the rooms. It didn't register at first but then, little by little, you realized what it was. Once again, you looked up just as Lucas did and when your eyes met, he smiled. “Someone is enjoying themselves.”

You chuckled. “Is that the headboard hitting the wall?”

“I think so.”

It was soft at first, but then the rhythmic thumping grew louder. You tried to ignore it. Tried to concentrate on the words on the page before you.

Then the moaning started.

“Oh my god…” You looked over at Lucas. “He’s really loud!”

Then a woman cried out, “I never knew it’d be like this, Stuart.”

The banging stopped and Lucas snorted. “Oh, shit…”

You clapped a hand to your lips and looked down at the file. The file of one Stephen Mills. Not Stuart. “She called him by the wrong name… oh… oh, no…”

“Someone just went real soft, real fast,” Lucas said, leaning back in his chair. “And someone is either not getting paid, or has a lot of explaining to do.”

A moment later, a door slammed. Silence followed. Then the sound of a television. You and Lucas exchanged looks once more, he just barely arched an eyebrow. “Poor Stuart. Nothing like a case of blue balls to end your night.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.”

“It truly is.”

Without thinking, you nudged him with your shoulder. “Tomorrow is not going to be any brighter, either.”

“I think tonight will be worse.”

“You think?”

He nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

You smiled, your cheeks growing a little warmer as you said, “I wouldn’t know.”

His grin widened. “Trust me.”

“I do not want to know any more.”

You both laughed over that for a minute, then it faded into a surprisingly comfortable silence. Lucas closed the file and shifted to look at you. “How have you been?”

“Me? I’ve been fine, I guess. Busy. What about you?”

“The same. I go home just to shower to shower and change clothes any more.”

“I know that feeling all too well.”

He nodded, then after a brief pause, asked, “So, are you seeing anyone?”

“Me?” You sigh softly, shaking your head. “No. Are you?”

“No.” He pushed his chair away and came over to the bed once more. “I wasn’t lying when I said I miss you, you know. I do.”

As he spoke, he sank beside you and this time, when he traced his fingers along your cheek, you didn't pull away. Your eyelids grew so heavy, the sweep of tingles rippling out from where he touched you soft and sweet.

“I know.” You had to force your eyes to remain open, to meet his, and when they did, you whispered, “Me, too.”

A hint of a smile lit up his face and he leaned in. Your lips met, his kiss gentle, his lips gentler still. His hand curved against your cheek, his fingers splayed up into your hair. His mouth moved against yours leisurely.

But then, those sparks caught. You reached for him, catching his rough cheeks between your hands. He shifted, lowering his hand from your face to snake that arm about your waist. He pressed you down into the pillows, his kiss growing hungrier by the second. His tongue slid along yours, and when you wrapped your arms about his neck and caught the back of his dark green, long sleeved tee shirt, you felt his smile against your lips. You tugged, he obliged, and the cotton whisked over his head and he backed out of it.

He hadn’t changed at all. You knew the tattoos inked into his upper body as if you’d drawn them yourself. They were all black, no shading, no nuances. Just bold, stark reminders of times you knew he’d rather forget entirely. You let your hands slid up along his smooth chest, outward, to let your thumbs lazily move about his nipples.

His eyes darkened, more sapphire than steel blue, and he smiled as he said, “I have missed you, love…”

And with that, his lips met yours again, with fire and fury and his hands roamed over you, beneath your sweater, shoved your bra up and out of his way. You offered no resistance, let him tug your clothing out of his path, smiling has he pressed hot kisses into every bit of skin he bared. Your back arched, his name rising to your lips as he caught your nipple with gentle teeth to tease with the tip of his tongue.

You each wrestled with the other’s jeans, and when you hooked your thumbs in his dark red boxer briefs to shove them down, he smiled and whispered, “Please tell me you’re still on the Pill. I don’t have any condoms with me.”

You reached for him, your fingers just brushing along his length. “Are you kidding me? Lucas North isn’t prepared for this? I’m shocked.”

A low laugh swept toward you. “I was decidedly not optimistic.”

“You’re in luck,” you whispered, closing your fingers about him to glide along him from base to head, “because I am still on the Pill.”

His smile grew wolfish and sinful. “Then what are we waiting for?”

As he spoke, he slid a finger inside you and you bit down hard on your bottom lip as he did something magical with it. What were you waiting for, indeed?

He shifted, eased his finger free, and positioned himself. His entry was slow and sweet, and when he’d seated himself inside you, he brushed your lips with his, and began moving just as slowly. The frenzy was gone, you were in no hurry, but wanted to savor each delicious thrust, wanted to wrap yourself around him and never let go of him.

He smiled down at you. “You’d best not call me by the wrong name.”

“Same goes for you, you know.”

“Never.” He dipped to kiss you and that was that. No more words passed between you and none were needed. Everything you’d felt for the last seven months came roaring back, and you wrapped yourself around him as you welcomed him back where he belonged. Back where you belonged.

Together.

Lucas seemed to feel it as well, his kisses lingering and gentle as he thrust inside you. You shivered at the sensations running riot at being reunited with him. You’d missed him more than words could ever possibly express, and when he brought you to that summit, you clung to him, shared it with him, and whispered, “I love you,” as you both went over the edge.

He sank against you with a sigh, his lips tender as they swept along the curve of your neck, as he whispered, “It’s about time you admitted it, you know.”

You reached up to brush that same spiky lock of black hair away from his forehead. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What else is there?”

“Lucas!”

His laugh reverberated through you and he bent to nuzzle you as he murmured, “You know I love you, too. At least, I hope you do. Because I do. And I don’t like being away from you.”

“Me, neither. The last seven months have flat out sucked.”

He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “They have, indeed.”

You lay there, tangled together and sleepy, and listened to whatever television show Mr. Mills watched. You knew he was still in his room because more than once, he talked to himself out loud. And by midnight, it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere. He snored louder than any human being you’d ever heard before.

You lay beneath the covers with Lucas, your head on his chest, your arm draped over his hip, your left leg carelessly thrown over his. The bed was good and rumpled, the bedspread bunched at the foot, the only light coming from the bathroom, where Lucas just pulled the door by after he finished washing up between rounds. You were spent and sated and wanted only to lay there in his arms for as long as you possibly could.

“So, what comes next?” you whispered, tracing along the image tattooed into the middle of his chest, the one of William Blake’s Ancient of Days depicting Urizen as the embodiment of conventional reason and law..

“I don’t know, love,” he murmured back, his fingertips sweeping up and down over your shoulder, along your upper arm. “But, we have plenty of time to figure it out. I’ve got a bit of vacation saved, so why don’t we go somewhere warm when this is over and see where we are?”

“I think that sounds like a good plan.”

The phone on the bedside table rang and Lucas stretched his free arm out to snatch up the receiver. “Yeah?”

He listened for a moment, then smiled as he peered down at you. “I don’t think we’ll need that double after all. This room is just fine, but thank you.”

He hung up the phone and a loud snore ripped through the speaker. You propped yourself up on one elbow. “They found us a room with two beds?”

“Yeah. But I really don’t think we need it now, do you?”

“Easy for you to say,” you told him. “You’re not sleeping in the wet spot.”

He laughed and tugged you back into his arms and a moment later, you didn't give a damn about any wet spots.

~~*~~

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#Armitage summer splash #richard armitage #romance #lucas north #spooks #Lucas North x reader #Lucas North x you #Lucas North fanfic #spooks fanfic

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