#but yeah do you guys want to see some rats I’m very tempted to at least start sketching for a Daroach comic

[sweetandglovelyart]

Do you guys want to see a Daroach backstory comic? Because I’m very tempted to make one while I’m simultaneously working on the Meta Knight backstory comic.

#text post #Kirby #I think it would probably be shorter than the Meta Knight backstory one #because Daroach has a less complicated backstory in my AU #but I would like to make this eventually #this a Susie Redemption Arc comic and a Taranza Interlude comic are things I really want to draw at some point #also a comic explaining how Meta Knight and Dedede started dating and got married in my AU #but yeah do you guys want to see some rats I’m very tempted to at least start sketching for a Daroach comic #I have a lot of fondness for Squeak Squad that was my very first Kirby game #so I’d love to tell a story featuring the Squeaks I think that would be fun #I have too much stuff I want to draw and not enough time to draw all of it

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

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

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

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

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

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no—of course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was almost three thou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s it matter to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… is that why you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eren—”

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

“Eren—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you took it, anyway?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mitchell, I have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I asked you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#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

[irrlicht-writes]

of Rex Lapis and the water's embrace

The rock persisted for centuries. Unaffected by the wind and the weather, it was to remain forever. And yet, recently, the tide had been rising and the water hit against the stone. Stubbornly, the stone would endure the fluid form and persist still. But in the battle of adaptability and endurance, adaptability would always win; and the water tore the rock down. The stone would crumble; and the pillar would be no more. The rocks fell deep, deeper than they ever had before and the water caught them gently in their embrace. | "Tell me a story."

Ao3

Please read part 1 here

*

The tea was too hot to drink.

Childe had seemed distressed when they had talked on the pier, and Zhongli was unsure of how he should proceed. He was aware that after he gave away the gnosis to the eighth harbinger, Childe had been upset. He only wasn’t sure why exactly. Zhongli had simply fulfilled his contract. Childe had no reason to be mad.

Regardless, Zhongli had decided to let him calm down a while before he would attempt a conversation again. Childe had a wild temper at the best of times and it was generally unwise to anger him unnecessarily. The boy would go into the wilds of Liyue and kill things to his heart’s content and then they could have a civilised discussion again.

Although, Zhongli had to admit he missed his dates with the harbinger.

It was hard these days to find someone who’d be willing to listen to him ramble in full.

He checked his tea again. It was still too hot.

As he sat waiting, he pulled the Old Stone out again. He missed Azhdaha. Seeing him again had simply reminded him of how much he was missing his old friend – but on the other hand, it had been wonderful to be able to talk to him again, to maybe even ease his pain.

He wondered if Childe would be interested to hear stories about Azhdaha.

They were so alike, in heart. Big and powerful – and yet they possessed a gentle heart inside of them.

Zhongli smiled at his stone.

He hoped that Childe enjoyed his gift. The sword that never made it into the hands it had been destined for – mayhap this had been fate. Maybe Guizhong had never been meant to hold this sword and perhaps Zhongli had been a fool for keeping it all these years. Childe would put it to good use, he was sure of it.

The boy was one of the most formidable warriors he had met in recent years. He hadn’t been what Zhongli had expected in the slightest.

I shall send you my eleventh, my dearest Tartaglia. The vanguard of my forces shall serve your contract well, Rex Lapis.

The vanguard of the Tsaritsa... Zhongli had expected an old man, rich in battles and weary of heart, much like Zhongli himself.

And instead, he had received a bright-eyed, young boy with a blinding smile.

A joke, he had believed.

~*~

“Hi! My name’s Tartaglia, but you can call me Childe! You’re Zhongli, right?”

There was a young boy standing in the Funeral Parlour. His eyes were a dull blue, and his unkempt hair was orange. He grinned brightly and extended his hand in a greeting.

“Her Majesty said I’d find you here. Are you hungry? Let’s go get some food!”

There was no waste in this young boy. He reached forward and grabbed the stunned Zhongli, pulling him outside into the sun.

“Haha, it’s so hot here in Liyue! It’s going to be hard to get used to that... maybe they have thinner uniforms here. Ah, I shall just get used to it, I guess.”

Hold on.

This was Tartaglia? This young boy was supposed to be the vanguard of the Tsaritsa? No. This must be a joke.

Perhaps... perhaps this boy was the assistant of the harbinger, yes? If the real Tartaglia might not wish to deal with the outside world due to weariness or simply because he wished to remain hidden, then Zhongli could understand.

Yes. Yes, this sounded very plausible. He must have hired this boy to be his public face, to allow him to work in the background undeterred.

He did not like being deceived but he would insist on meeting the real harbinger soon. In the meantime, he shall entertain this young boy.

“How can I serve you?”

Zhongli hadn’t even noticed that they sat down at Wanmin Restaurant.

“Hi! I’m fresh off the boat and I would like some nice Liyuean food. I’m not picky; just give me what’s good! What about you, Zhongli? I didn’t stun you into silence, did I?”

Zhongli blinked. “Ah... no, you did not, I apologise for my lack of manners. Miss Xiangling, I would like a bamboo shot soup and my ah, associate would take the Crystal Shrimp.”

The boy grinned at him.

“Well, I’ll trust you, then!”

Xiangling smiled and wandered off. Now, Zhongli wasn’t sure what to say. This boy truly had come in like a hurricane.

“Sorry for dragging you away like that, but I’ve only just arrived and the bank already wants to drown me in paperwork. I know we were supposed to meet tomorrow, but I just had to get away, you know?”

“The bank? You mean the Northland Bank?”

“Yeah! I’m supposed to supervise it a bit while I’m here. Apparently, the debt collectors have gotten a bit too soft around these parts, so I’m meant to rough them up again. I wasn’t told about the paperwork though, so that’s a bummer.”

A harbinger would not talk like this, correct? This boy couldn’t have seen more than twenty summers.

“You have knowledge about collecting debts?”

“Yeah, I guess. Before I became a harbinger, I’ve been a debt collector for a while. Not very long though, because I kept killing the clients. And, y’know, dead guys don’t pay their debts after all. But I’m a harbinger now, so who cares!”

Tartaglia laughed and Zhongli blinked.

This boy could not be the Tsaritsa’s vanguard in a hundred years.

“Wha – what are those?!”

The boy’s hand was cramping around the chopsticks.

“Those are chopsticks. You use them to eat your foot... no, don’t stab the shrimp.”

“Well, then how... how do you use them?! This is impossible!”

Zhongli chuckled. “They are an important part of Liyuean cuisine, Childe. Please learn how to use them.”

“How do you guys not starve to death?! What’s wrong with forks?!”

~*~

“Yaahoo, your tea is cold, old man.”

Hu Tao’s voice tore Zhongli out of his thoughts. He looked at the Funeral Parlour Director for a second before he confirmed her words. Indeed, his tea has gotten cold. He sighed.

“What’s got your panties in a twist to make you sigh like that?”

Zhongli frowned. “I do not –“, but then he decided to just not indulge her.

“Are there any clients?”

Hu Tao pouted.

“No, there are no customers. It’s so boring. Nobody dies anymore these days. Hey, where’s your Fatui boyfriend? He always brought in good business.”

“I have not seen Childe in a few days. Last I saw him he did not seem to be in the mood for providing business, Director.”

In fact, Childe had seemed very depressed, so unlike the boy he had gotten to know.

Hu Tao started to whine. “Boooring. Go to him and make him kill some people, I’m so booreed.”

Zhongli closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In, and out. In, and out. Just this easy. This child was going to drive him insane. Childe was not a dead-body-factory.

Although, admittedly, he had provided a lot of bodies for Hu Tao during his stay here.

The two of them even got along. Hu Tao had convinced Childe to partake in several pranks and in almost all of them, Zhongli had been the butt-end of the joke.

“If there is nothing to do, I shall take a walk.”

“Go drag your boyfriend’s ass back here! And bring some dead people! I need a booming business!”

Zhongli decided to ignore her as he pocketed the Old Stone and left the Parlour.

Maybe he should check on Childe. At least, he could inquire whether or not the boy liked his new weapon.

The guard at the door barely recognised Zhongli, as he was busy writing a letter.

As usual, the bank was relatively quiet. The local manager, Andrei, and Mister Qi were talking to each other, presumably about the latter taking on a loan. They did not interest him however. Zhongli headed straight to the bank’s teller, Ekaterina. She’s always been his go-to whenever he had been looking for Childe.

“Good day, Miss Ekaterina. I was wondering –“

“Master Childe is not with you?”

Zhongli frowned. “I – no, he is not. Is something wrong?”

Despite the mask, Zhongli could tell how worried she was.

“Master Childe has left early the last evening and when he did not return, I thought he might be with you – please tell me I haven’t lost a Harbinger. Oh, I can’t even imagine what they’ll do to me. Tell me he’s fine. I don’t care if it’s a lie, just tell me he’s making a bad joke and is harassing Vlad outside the door.”

Childe was missing?

“Are you sure he is not just out for a few days?”

She shook her head. “No, he always tells me for how long he’ll be gone, and we have a matter for him to attend to tomorrow morning. In fact, I only know he has left is because I saw him leave. I checked his office for any sort of note but there was nothing which leads me to believe he intended to be back by now. Oh Seven, what if something’s happened to him? The Tsaritsa will lynch me.”

Childe was strong. Nothing could’ve happened to him, right?

“I will find him.”

Without waiting for an answer, he left the bank.

~*~

The young fake harbinger was a friendly sort. Despite Zhongli’s irritation of not meeting the real harbinger, he could not complain about the company of the fake Tartaglia.

“Xiansheng, do you really need to buy these rocks...?”

“They are of a quality made, Childe, you shouldn’t let an opportunity like this pass you by.”

The boy behind him groaned but paid the merchant. Zhongli took the pair of Jade and pocketed them. Some would wonder where he’d put all of these wonders, and he would never tell.

“Shall we eat, then?”

The boy looked up and blinked at the sun.

“Yeah but we gotta hurry. I have a training session right after lunch and it’s hard enough to keep these rat-tags together at the best of circumstances.”

The harbinger Tartaglia, the boy meant. Often, Zhongli had been tempted to sneak after the boy, trying to catch a glimpse of his real contact. But he, perhaps most of all, knew how difficult it could be to maintain their secret identity.

“Is it hard to train new recruits?”

Childe shrugged. “No, not really. It’s more about what they expect, you know? I’m not the boot camp. I’m not evaluating them, they’re already in. They just have no idea how to properly hold their weapon the right way around. I swear, I have held so many rifles in my life that you’d think I’d be replacing my bow. And you know the worst? The Hydro Gunners keep coming to me like I know what they’re doing. Just shoot your bubbles, man! I’ve never had a tank like that before.”

“You hold a hydro vision, though.”

“Yeah, but do I look like a healer to you? I heal my enemies from their pain by ending their misery. But somehow they expect me to know how theirstuff works. Just hit stuff until it works, it’s not that difficult.”

They arrived at Wanmin Restaurant and Chef Mao came to their table. Apparently, Xiangling was out today, gathering ingredients.

“We’ll take the Chicken Tofu Pudding and the Cured Pork Dry Hotpot, please.”

Childe smiled at him. “We should take a walk sometime.”

“Childe, we take walks all the time.”

“Yeah, I know, but I meant outside! Outside the Harbour. I haven’t really been, you know? There’s so much for me to do in the city that I haven’t really gotten a chance to see the landscape. And I figured, since you know everything about Liyue, you’d be a perfect tour guide!”

That was true. Childe had been for about two weeks and he had seldom left the Bank without Zhongli’s company. A young boy like Childe would grow restless in a city like this, especially considering how he’d grown up in a small village surrounded by trees. So he nodded.

“If your training session does not take too long, we may take stroll tonight.”

The training session did indeed not take long and Zhongli presumed that Childe had simply left early since the real harbinger was going to lead the training anyway.

Brash as ever, Childe stormed the Parlour and leaned over the counter, staring expectedly at Zhongli. He was not deterred though and kept going through his papers.

“Yaahoo, who are you?!”

Oh no. He forgot about Director Hu. He would –

“Hi, I’m Childe! Are you the leader here?”

“Before you stands mighty Hu Tao, 77th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour! Are you the guy who keeps stealing my consultant?”

Childe laughed. “Indeed I am! In fact, I’m here to steal him away again.”

“Hmmm, you have the deadest eyes I’ve ever seen. You’ll be a customer soon, yeah? If you sign up now, I can give you a coupon.”

Childe waved his hand. “Thanks, but I’m not going to die here. If I do, it’ll be in the cold embrace of my home. But I’ll take coupons!”

Hu Tao grinned and shoved them into Childe’s hands. “Effective only if used within three weeks!”

“Well, I’ll be sure to drop some bodies, then.”

Zhongli stood up quickly before this could escalate any further.

“Childe, let us leave lest it gets too late.”

“Oh, right! Bye, Hu Tao! It was nice meeting you!”

Zhongli practically dragged him out of the Parlour before Hu Tao could respond.

“I had no idea the Director was that young!”

“She has taken over at a very young age, indeed. At some times, I think she does not respect the dead enough, but she is surprisingly loyal to the traditions.”

As Zhongli was dragging him away, Childe looked over his shoulder, seemingly deep in thoughts.

“Anyway, where are we going?”

“It’s a place called Yaoguang Shoal. You will like it.”

“Looks peaceful,” Childe commented and Zhongli nodded.

“There is little here for the Treasure Hoarders to find here. This place is not known for its hidden treasures.”

Childe crossed his arms and looked over to the shore.

“My siblings would love to run across here, I bet.”

“Oh?”

Childe grinned. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to do that back home, you know? They could even run bare-foot here. You know what...”

The boy turned over and got rid of his shoes, wiggling his toes into the sand. He grabbed Zhongli’s hand and pulled them both down onto the ground.

“Let’s watch the sunset, yeah?”

Zhongli complied. There was, after all, no reason not to.

“What are these called?”

Childe had picked up a conch and held it up to Zhongli’s face.

“They are called Starconches. They say if you hold it to your hear, you can hear the longing call of the sea.”

The boy held the starconch up into the sky, looking at it. “I’ve never seen a seashell with a star on it.”

He proceeded to hold it next to his ear, looking at his toes that were still buried in the sand. He seemed to be listening intently. Then, he laughed.

“Oh, what a siren call indeed. It’s like a call from the very deepest depth, from within all the endless void and darkness at the bottom of the world. So enticing, but I’m not going to drown.” A moment of pause. Then: “No use in hiding back there!”

In a flash, Childe was standing upright, a spear made out of hydro in his hands. Zhongli had barely enough time to turn around to see the Treasure Hoarders before Childe ran over to them.

With each of his attacks, Childe’s weapon shifted fluidly between the spear and what seemed to be two daggers. The red scarf on his back was glimmering with pure hydro energy as Childe spun around himself to knock the Treasure Hoarders out.

The boy turned around, shouldering his spear and grinning at Zhongli. “Do you think that there are any Ruin Guards about?”

~*~

Childe was not on the Guili Plains. After hearing the harbinger had gone there just days prior, Zhongli believed he might’ve returned but there were no hydro traces of his friend.

Why are there no Glaze Lilies on Guili Plains?

Zhongli looked at the desolate plains. He still remembered a time in which the Lilies would bloom plenty. In his ears, he could still hear Guizhong’s song to them. He has never been able to sing it, no matter how hard he tried. But right now, she didn’t matter.

Zhongli turned around again to head to Yaoguang Shoal, hoping to find Childe there. Alas, he was disappointed.

Where else could the young harbinger be?

Maybe... the sword. He closed his eyes. He might be able to find the sword. He’s carried it for so long, there were still so many traces of himself left behind. But he couldn’t concentrate. There were too many thoughts in his head. What if the harbinger was dead? No. No, he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t die this easily.

Zhongli opened his eyes again and looked down. There was a starconch lying in the sand. He bent down to pick it up. A conch, carried up to the shore from the depths... Childe liked them. They were a lot like him, he had said. Zhongli had never been sure he understood. Geographically, Snezhnaya was not lower than Liyue. But there had always been something about Childe, something that hadn’t seemed quite right. His eyes, of course, but there had also been the general feeling of... of something beyond this world. Like the boy had been claimed by something else, but Zhongli had never been able to put his finger on it – not that it had ever mattered this far.

Why couldn’t this shell lead him to Childe?

Not wanting to crush it, he threw it back into the ocean. The water rippled for a moment, then the surface stilled once again.

The rock persisted for centuries. Unaffected by the wind and the weather, it was to remain forever. And yet, recently, the tide had been rising and the water hit against the stone. Stubbornly, the stone would endure the fluid form and persist still.

But in the battle of adaptability and endurance, adaptability would always win; and the water tore the rock down. The stone would crumble; and the pillar would be no more. The rocks fell deep, deeper than they ever had before and the water caught them gently in their embrace.

Embraced by the deepest depths, the stone would remain forever more, gently floating away, having overseen the world for long enough.

And if the rock would ever tire, the tide would gently carry the stone to the shore.

Zhongli turned, and left the shore behind. The water was gently lapping at the sand, washing the starconch back ashore. The star in the middle of it shimmered in a gentle blue.

*

Everything inside him called him to Nantianmen. He was not sure why, but he was not one to ignore a feeling like that when he had deliberately been looking for it. There were a lot of monsters and Treasure Hoarders in the area, so that might be why Childe had been heading there. It was worth a try.

The Old Stone in his pocket gave a slight hum, but Zhongli did not have the mind to listen to it.

Nantianmen was eerily quiet. Normally, one could hear the Hillichurls running around, but now there was just dead silence. Something had happened here and Zhongli had the uneasy feeling that Childe might be at the middle of it.

Ever the eye of the storm.

“Not a step closer!”

The voice rung out across the field. It was distorted but Zhongli recognised the voice. It was Childe. He started running.

There was a mass of Ruin Guards and Hunters in front of Azhdaha’s tree. And there was something else. Something twice the size of a human floating in the air, with a cape made out of stars. Zhongli did not recognise the body, but it was Childe’s voice. And judging by the pile of destroyed Ruin Guards, he had been here a while. There were still so many...

“Childe”, he shouted as he ran over.

The boy... turned his head.

“Xianshen –“

He didn’t get to finish as a Ruin Hunter had been charging up his drill to promptly launch forward to attack him with it. Due to Zhongli’s interference, Childe was not able to evade the attack and got thrown back at the tree behind him. Zhongli saw the boy glow and shrink in size before he fell down to the ground, not to move again. He barely saw the jade sword fall next to him.

No.

Childe always got up immediately after being struck down.

Zhongli could only stare for four painfully long seconds before he decided to take revenge. He didn’t know what brought the Ruin Guards here or how Childe was able to transform the way he did or why any of this was happening at all – all he knew was that he wouldn’t let a friend die in vain once again.

Morax was far from dead; and these enemies would know.

Gently carried by the waves, the rock saw more of the world than the pillar ever could have. The tide was careful to not jostle it too much and to carry it great distances before slowing down, allowing the stone to rest.

Countless fish and sea-creatures would come up to the rock but the sea gently carried it away. The rock was thankful and it appreciated the small whales coming with them.

“I am tired,” the rock would say to the waves. “I have overseen it all for too long. But how will they fare without my pillar?”

The water did not answer, but it changed course. It carried the rock back to the start, so that the stone could see: nothing had changed. The pillar was forever gone, and in time, it would be forgotten. Rock would forever endure, until it would ebb away with the tide.

“Take me away,” the stone requested, “show me your beginning. And when you end, I shall end with you. Until that day, let your tide carry me until I erode away.”

As the Ruin Hunters lay dead to his feet, Rex Lapis took a heavy breath. Without a second thought, he spun around and ran up to the boy that was still lying on the ground. He was breathing, right? But there was blood.

“Childe,” he whispered as he gathered his friend into his arms and brushed a strand of hair aside. This couldn’t be like Guizhong all over again, he wouldn’t be able to take it. The boy groaned and shifted a bit.

“Xiansheng...?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

The boy blinked and slowly his eyes focused on Rex Lapis.

“Oh wow... I didn’t know you had horns.”

Morax didn’t understand, but it also didn’t matter. “Please. Are you in pain? What do I do?”

Childe laughed a bit. “It’s... don’t worry, yeah? It’s nothing a little herbs and bandages can’t fix, right? I’m more exhausted than I am hurt.”

“You are bleeding.”

“Oh believe me, I know. It’s okay though. Still, I... I should probably bandage it, right? I don’t wanna pass out.”

Morax sprang into action. “Don’t worry, baobei, I will take care of it.”

Childe blinked at him hazily as he removed his jacket and started wrapping it around the boy’s torso.

“...that looks kinda ineffective.”

“This is all I have. I will take you to the Harbour immediately.”

Gently, Rex Lapis gathered the boy in his arms to begin the trek back to the Harbour. Childe’s grip on the sword handle was steady.

“They were attacking the tree,” he said after a few minutes of walking. Morax could tell he was about to fall asleep.

“You were protecting it?”

“No, I came here because I heard about the Ruin Guards. But then I saw them attacking the tree and I... I didn’t want to, but I had to. It’s where... it’s where you sealed Azhdaha, right?”

Rex Lapis just nodded.

“I thought I could take them all on, but they just kept coming. Your sword did good damage but I needed something bigger.”

“Which is why you... transformed.”

“Yes,” was all Childe replied.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

Childe pressed his forehead against Morax’ neck.

“I wanna see the shore.”

“Childe, you’re hurt. Baobei, I need to take you to the Pharmacy.”

“Please.”

So Rex Lapis turned and walked to Yaoguang Shoal.

“Tell me a story,” the young boy asked.

“Please, baobei, let me take you to the Harbour,” Rex Lapis pleaded.

“You can. Just one story. Just tell me one story to fall asleep to. I won’t die. The tide’s not gone yet. I won’t go anywhere just yet, alright? Just one story, alright? Please.”

“Once, a long time ago, Rex Lapis encountered a young boy. The boy would never walk beside the god, but the god would always follow. The god was as steady as stone, but the boy was like the tides, ever-changing, ever-evolving and forever coming back.

Rex Lapis would oversee his country for eternity, and always he would watch the waves, wondering just when they would erode him. Perhaps, the god thought, perhaps erosion would not be the worst if it meant flowing like the tides.

After all, the boy would gift him a starconch, telling stories of a far-too-distant shore.”

In his arms, Childe had fallen asleep. The water was gently lapping at their feet and a starconch was washed ashore. Rex Lapis picked it up and put it gently into Childe’s arms. Carefully, he picked the young boy up and made the long walk back to Liyue Harbour.

Behind him, there was a singular rock carried by the waves.

As Zhongli and Childe disappeared from view, so did the rock vanish as if it had never been there.

#genshin impact #zhongchi #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #genshin tartagalia #irrlicht writes #tartali

[yesvaldemarharder]

Yandere Arcana

Ayo so um.. with 723 followers I really be expecting people for more input on things I should write (requests, ideas, convos, etc) but um.. I guess not? Lol. Anyway since I’m basically writing for like a couple people (people who actually respond to my work cause I like that. If you just like and reblog that’s fine but I still like hearing what people have to say about my work. If your shy don’t be.. I literally don’t judge..) I’ll go ahead and write scenarios for Yandere Arcana. If y’all want more of this just tell me. I was almost tempted to do nsfw lol!

I wanna say that I haven’t played the game enough to finish anyone’s route and while I want to, ya girl broke so picking choices is something I have to wait a while for as well. (The cost on those coins and I can’t even get a Valdemar route??? What type of shit-)

If any of the characters seem ooc I apologize I just really wanted to write this so um.. yeah.

I guess I’ll take the time to part a warning right here: If you don’t like yanderes or anything of the sort I suggest you don’t read this! I would do the ‘below the cut’ thing but I’m all honestly I don’t know how to.. so here ya go!

You have been warned!

-

Asra

Asra is a tricky yandere. He knows you well enough to get into your head.

He may take times to keep a distance from you but whenever he messages you or comes back he always makes sure to show you so much affection just so you hopefully don’t question anything.

He’ll act like something to you matters to him, and usually they do matter but if you’re talking about a love interest or something he’ll act supportive but will really be a bit annoyed on the inside.

Depending on your love interest he may get upset or simply will smile and try to ‘help you get them’. Don’t let it be Lucio or Julian.. he’ll be furious.

If he acts like he’s happy to help and your LI disappears then he probably did or didn’t send them somewhere where neither of you two can meet again. Like a portal to a dark cold place or something.

He’s like a snake.. or even a fox. He’s the magician for a reason.

Nadia

Nadia probably won’t even hide how much of a yandere she is.. okay maybe just a little.

She’s the countess, what does she need to hide? She’s also meant to be with you and you’re supposed to love her no matter what. Nadia seems to be a bit of an oblivious yandere. Not aware that what she does for you is rather scary at times.

She showers you in gifts. Some of the cutest clothes just to basically play dress up with you like your some little doll. She doesn’t like it when you turn down a gift and while there’s a couple times she’ll get frustrated in the end she’ll send the gift to you late at night with a sweet not hoping you take it.

While she usually ask for your input against other’s, when it comes to someone who isn’t much use to the palace or her especially sniffing up on you she’ll usually deal with them.. whether banishing them and having them get hunted down throughout the forest like some sort of game.

She can be ruthless, and when she’s really in a bad mood it’s hard for her to listen to anyone. Don’t beg for her not to kill off someone because she most likely will act you didn’t say anything, kiss your forehead, and will proceed with the execution.

Also gets really touchy with you when her sisters are around..

Portia

Portia is usually a very carefree chick but while she can be easygoing she can be rather on guard about you.

It’s not often with you, because she doesn’t want you to know the bad things she’d do for you, but every once in a while she’ll ‘joke’ about killing for you. She’s caring and always makes sure you’re safe so you don’t question it until she actually does it when you have a suspicion that she did it..

Will cry and manipulate you into believing she’s innocent because seeing fear on your face towards her makes her scared. She was just doing what was ‘right’, of course her terminology of right is different from yours tho.. that’s why she lies about not doing it.

You’ll trust her and while you’re still a bit nervous she’ll work on that making sure to check up on you often. Once she gains your trusts back again she grows to be a lot more sneaky.

Rat poison is probably what slipped into the man’s tea after her kept messing with you but who knows?

Julian

Julian can be much like his sister but instead of growing emotional to defend himself he grows serious. It’s so different from his usually jokingly self and reminds you of the red plague times so you can’t help but apologize for accusing him.

He may not have killed Lucio but he’s definitely took a couple people out for you. Most unintentionally but still did it anyway. That guy couldn’t swim and Julian simply didn’t hear him crying for help.. it’s okay though cause you did say he had a weird vibe about him anyway, obviously Julian agreed.

He can be clingy, needy, and touchy. If you don’t know about the yandere in him you love it and you loving it just manages to feed it more. If you do know about it and you’re scared he uses his touches to try and calm you down. To have you let your guard down.

He’ll use his self hate against you for many different reasons now. While he does hate himself he found that you usually encourage him or try to make him feel better after he talks about himself too much. He’ll use it on you to stop you from running away from him because your morals are far better than his at this point and he knows you’ll stay to try and help him.

When you find out that he’s been killing people you’re terrified and even though you know you should runaway and leave.. you also can’t help but want to help him.

What if he’s actually innocent like he was with Lucio? (Definitely not.) What if the depression got so bad and he couldn’t help himself? He needed help and only you could help him.

He’ll chuckle sometimes at how cute and silly you are. With how he is he knows you won’t be going anywhere and he’s perfectly fine with that because had you did think of running away he’d just chase you down and use he’s depression against you to make you feel bad for leaving and to bring you back to him.

Lucio

The coliseum was made for a reason... Lucio likes a good fight and anyone touching you, speaking with you, or even looking at you can make him want to have one.

If it isn’t a physical fight it’s a fight with words (which he isn’t that good at but his smugness makes it pay off)

He’s a hopeless romantic type of yandere and unlike his wife he actually doesn’t recognize or acknowledge the bad sides of himself. He either doesn’t to face them or actually thinks cutting that servants throat for huffing in your presence was justified.

You honestly can’t tell but hey, you’re scared. He’s a Count though... THE Count.. if he’s your yandere it’s going to be hard to get away from him without getting hunted down. He’ll make sure to keep an eye on you. (much like Nadia)

He’ll lock down the whole palace if it means keeping you in place. If you do manage to escape he’ll be highly impressed honestly before he’s goes hunting you down. When he finds you he’ll make sure the palace is locked down a lot tighter then it has been before.

Muriel

He definitely starts out as a silent stalker type. Muriel isn’t really attracted to anyone before you and even though he is interested in you he makes you come to him.

I believe he’s actually one of the nicer yanderes but he does have his moments of being possessive.

He doesn’t want to hurt anyone unless it’s absolutely needed.. wouldn’t want to kill anyone for something silly.. of course not.

Ok! I’m at the courtiers! Now these ones might be sadder because I have a lot of headcanons for them. Mainly the horsemen and I do believe Valerius doesn’t have much story on him either so yeah.

Volta

Volta’s an absolute sweetheart. Tis is all.

Nah I’m fucking with y’all, it’s a yandere post.. anyway while Volta is a sweetheart she can’t help but be a bit possessive over you. Unlike the other courtiers her emotions come out a lot more and with her past she never thought she find someone like you.

Now that she has though it’s hard to separate the two of you..

She clings to you, cry for you when you’re gone for too long, feeds you if she’s really into you..

People don’t really see her as a threat and that’s only until she threatens to eat them.. when she gets like that people make sure to leave you be because the really aren’t sure if Volta will actually do it but with that bright playful but warning look in her eyes they don’t want to put it past her.

Vlastomil

Vlastomil kinda has that same oblivious energy in him as Lucio or Nadia however it may seem like he doesn’t know what he’s doing is wrong but he really does.

He’s a demon, he knows how to play with humans but the thing is what he does is just him trying to understand himself better. Before you he only cared about his worm and now you were here.

He pretty much treats you like he treats Wriggler.. you’re very dear to him and let anything happen to you he’ll make sure everyone around knows how he feels. Whether it’s crying, shouting or simply anxiously looking for you.

He fears with other humans you’ll either get taken from him or get hurt but them and neither one of those are things he’s ok with obviously.

He’s a tricky demon, he may trick you into believing his morals verses your own.

“I love you dear! That’s why he has to go.. you don’t want him to hurt you yes?” He’ll manage to make you believe that everything he does is for you. If you have any sort of trauma he might even use that against you so be extra careful.

Valerius

I can see Valerius being much like Muriel but worse. He likes to stalk and watch you from afar until he can figure what’s the best route to take and going about getting to you.

He’s almost relieved you come to him first. The relationship is rather.. bumpy. At times he’ll be grumpy for no reason and sometimes you can get tired of that but anytime you threaten to leave him he gets you into bed a second faster and distracts you.

I can see him either being a good or bad yandere.. there’s no in between. Either he knows exactly how to keep you to himself or he struggles doing so which only frustrates you. You can say he takes some of that frustration out on you but he tries not to because the last thing he needs in to tell Lucio you ran off and have a bunch of guards chase you down.

Oh that’s right, Lucio helps him when it comes to reeling you in and keeping you their. It’s scary but how are yo to go against the Count and his Consul?

Valerius might say some really cruel things to you to make you stay. He doesn’t want to even think about you leaving him. The second he saw you was the same second he fell for you. He might question his own emotions a lot but after a while of simply stalking or having other people stalk you and report back to him, he can tell it is you that he wants.

Vulgora

Vulgora is one of the bad ones you can get. Their aggressiveness and bluntness can be scary so when you need to escape them not many will be willing to help you. Many might even be on their side out of fear of what the war demon can do.

I feel like Vulgora is one of these two yandere types if not both.

Either the type that uses anger as a way to express themselves even if they don’t want to. Like, they care very deeply about you but they are one of the courtiers who don’t understand these emotions.. it frustrates them to not understand and it makes them angry. They try not to take that anger out on you and usually ends it with taking the life of a mortal.. or a couple considering one isn’t enough.

The other type is the yandere who can’t hold their temper and simply wants you because they can have you. It’s a possessive thing.. no one can have you but them.

They won’t hesitate in killing for you and if you ask or grow scared they would try to say they didn’t do it. They’ll be honest. What are you going to do about it.. fight them? Leave them? Oh darling they believe you’re too smart to do something stupid like either one of those..

They’ll leave their mark on you, usually biting because even if there’s very few beings with teeth like theirs in the palace everyone know the deep marks belong to someone dangerous and usually people put a distance with you.

People might be scared of you for simply being trapped and stuck with them. Poor thing..

Valdemar

Go ahead and just pass away sis, we ain’t making it away from this one..

In all honesty Valdemar might be the worse yandere out of this group. Vulgora following after as well as Lucio, Vlastomil, and maybe Julian..

Now it’s either they don’t care about your feelings at all and well make sure you know it or they care far too much to let you out of their sight. Valdemar might be persistent to test on you and might do it even if you don’t want to but also they might grow worried about your safety if they do do it.

You’re like their precious little specimen and no matter what you do they are always watching. You can’t even escape them after death because they are death. There’s simply no escape.

It’s been centuries since they’ve felt as strongly for someone as they did you and that person didn’t make it to where they are now.. they refuse to let that happen again..

If you try to run from them they’ll have beings chase you, they’ll make you run for your life and when you come crying for help they’ll cackle in your face. They want you to know you can’t live without them and once that’s drilled into your head they’ll never allow you to ever get away.

#arcana game #the arcane game #count lucio #the arcana asra #julian devorak #the arcana game portia #nadia satrivana #the arcana muriel #quaestor valdemar #pontifex vulgora #procurator volta #praetor vlastomil #consul valerius #yandere #yandere arcana #x reader

[baepsaesbae]

Ethereal Encounters

Pairing— Angel!Seokjin x Demon!reader  

Genre— Smut +18, comedy, light pining, supernatural au, angel au, demon au, time traveling (this was inspired by Good Omens by Neil Gaiman)

Warnings— oral (m and f receiving), explicit unprotected sex, death (but not really important), somewhat religious talk bc well they’re an angel and demon??

Word Count— ~6.3k

Summary— Since the early beginnings of mankind, you have been tasked with overseeing them and ensuring chaos befalls them. However, you meet an angel who has been tasked with the same duties, only obviously he’s supposed to ensure their wellbeing. How will you deal with him?

A/N— Happy Halloween everyone! This fic is part of @bangtanshadowfamily’s project Moonlight Manor. I had a blast writing this, please let me know what you guys think! Thank you so much to @dee-ehn for making such an angelic banner. 

The story of Cain and Abel in the biblical Book of Genesis is well known by many throughout countless generations. The basic rundown is that Cain became jealous of Abel and murdered him. Tragic. However, what isn’t well known is that divine powers were involved. This was where it all started between you and him.

“How dare he. You’re the oldest son. You should have God’s favor,” you whispered into Cain’s ear.

As a high order demon, you were tasked with creating calamities for the stupid creatures that God loved oh so very much. What better way to ensure mankind would be doomed than introducing murder. Even better, the murder of ones own brother. Yes, your plan was ingenious.

“You need to gut him. Gut him like you would the animals you eat. God would have no choice but to cherish you instead,” you continued.

You started to feel the hatred swell within Cain. He sprang to his feet and grabbed his hunting knife. He marched out to the field where his brother was and struck him down. You watched all this transpire with a grin of satisfaction painted across your face.

“Oh no. It appears I’m too late,” you heard a disappointed voice behind you.

Whipping around quickly, you turn to see a defeated looking angel. He was quite handsome. He was tall, had broad shoulders, and lips that formed the perfect pout. You despised him the moment you laid eyes on him. Of course, he’s in a corporeal vessel. His true form would be too much for any mortal to see, and they would combust on the spot. Your corporeal vessel was that of a woman. You figured it would make swindling humans easier later on.

“Who the hell are you?” you snarled.

“Me? Oh, I’m the angel Seokjin. I was sent by the higher ups to oversee the progression of mankind. I was told to make sure they weren’t led astray,” the angel rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Interesting. I was sent by my higher ups to make sure that mankind would be led astray,” you muse, “It seems that we have quite the conflict of interests.”

“It would appear so,” the angel had his eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Well Jin--”

“That’s not my name. It’s Seokjin--”

“I don’t care. That’s too long.”

“Too long? It’s two syllables!”

“Who has that kind of time, Jin? Not me. Anywho, my work here is done. Since this place is under both of our jurisdictions, maybe I’ll see you around sometime,” you gave the angel a wink before vanishing from the scene.

That was your first of many encounters with the angel Seokjin.

                                                        200 CE

The crowd roared with fervor as the gladiators fought to the death. You were one of the happy spectators watching a man get pummeled to death with the butt of a sword. As the man’s skull was caving in, you heard someone sigh beside you.

“There’s no need to be that cruel. He should cut off the poor fellow’s head and just end it already,” you heard a man say.

“That wouldn’t please this crowd at all. They’re all here because they want to see a spectacle. Chopping someone’s head off at the beginning of the fight would be sooo boring,” you turn to the disgruntled man, “I mean, you gotta pay to watch so--oh my god it’s you.”

The angel beside you was just as radiant as on the first day you met him. Even dressed in Roman apparel, you could tell there was something otherworldly about him. The angel returned the same shock as his eyes grew wide when they landed on you.

“You! You’re the one who started the downfall of man!” he accused.

“Well actually it was the snake that tempted Eve. I wish I could take credit for that. What have you been up to? Jin right?” you greet him as if he were an old friend, slinging your arm around him.

“Wrong. My name is Seokjin. I’ve been overseeing mankind. As I was instructed to,” Seokjin answered while trying to wiggle out of your grasp, “But it seems like no matter what I do, humans always resort to violence. You must be very good at your job.”

“They’re all shitbags like that. It makes my job so easy! I don’t even have to lift a finger,” you brag.

“There are some humans who have nothing but love and compassion for other living creatures--”

“Gross,” you interject.

“--so my faith in humanity is not lost. I think I’ve begun to realize why Father is so fond of them,” Seokjin rations.

“What’s your reasoning?” you inquire.

“Humans like to resort to violence quite often, like you said. But they also like to love and cherish those important to them. I think the free will that they have makes them remarkable,” Seokjin is lost in his own thoughts.

“An angel who has his own opinions? Dangerous territory buddy,” you laugh.

“Oh? Why is that dangerous?” Seokjin’s face contorted in confusion.

“Nevermind. Forget what I said. See ya around, Jin,” you’re about to disappear before Jin called out to you.

“Wait! You know my name, but I don’t know yours. That hasn’t been sitting well with me for the past couple centuries,” Seokjin shyly confessed.

“Aw, you’ve been thinking of me for centuries? What a sweetheart. I’m ___, Mother of Murder, Enslaver of Mankind, and Tamer of Dragons,” you bow.

“Tamer of Dragons? I’ve never seen one,” Seokjin tilted his head.

“Probably because they’re not real and I was messing with you. The other titles are real though. I’m kind of a bigshot downstairs. That’s why they keep me up here. See ya around, angel,” you vanish out of sight.

“___. She doesn’t really seem like the demons I’ve been told about,” Seokjin pondered.

You had a couple more run ins with the angel Seokjin, but unfortunately they were all in passing. The two of you would catch a fleeting glimpse of the other before one of you would vanish. Your time on Earth was starting to bore you. Up until you decided to wreck some havoc.

                                                       1350 CE

The black plague, also known as the Black Death, was sweeping across Europe. It had already taken millions of lives, and still had more to go. This catastrophic pandemic was beyond devastating. And you couldn’t be happier. Cart after cart rolled through towns and villages, each one filled with the bodies of the deceased or nearly deceased. The screams of those in agony was music to your ears. You skipped cheerfully along the streets. You couldn’t be more pleased with yourself. After all, the Black Death was your brainchild.

“___!” you stop in your tracks.

“Jin? Jin! How lovely to see you,” you greet him with a warm smile. You started to grow fond of him through the years. His curiosity and sincerity always amused you.

“It’s Seokjin, not Jin. I’m honestly quite worried,” Seokjin sighed.

“About? The humans?” you peer up at him.

“Yes. This plague has gotten out of hand. Sure, humans get sick and die all the time. They’re frightfully delicate. But this? Millions upon millions dead? This must be the work of some...some sort of demon!” Seokjin exclaims before calming himself, “I apologize for my outburst. This whole situation is just too worrisome.”

“You’re right. You must be a sleuth or something,” you say nonchalantly.

“What? Right about what?” Seokjin’s eyes widen.

“This IS the work of a demon. Me! This is all my doing! Pretty impressive no?” the horrified look on Seokjin’s face encouraged you to continue, “So get this. I was bored outta my mind one day, right? Then I started thinking about all the organisms on this planet. From tall to small. Then I realized that bugs are completely on the bottom of the food chain. Very unfair, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose so, but God intended--”

“Sure sure whatever. I took it upon myself to give bugs a little advantage. Specifically, fleas. I experimented for a bit then settled on giving some of them the ability to infect their prey! Truth be told, I had no idea that the rats they sucked on would become feral. I just thought they’d get sick and die a horrible death or something. Who would’ve thought they’d go around biting humans? Am I the best or am I the best?” you wiggled your eyebrows at Seokjin, who was still staring at you with horror.

“You caused all of this, ___? And it was all an accident?” Seokjin was trying to process what you told him.

“Yeah basically. All because I wanted to make the playing field a little more fair for fleas,” you nodded.

“That’s funny,” Seokjin said curtly.

“Oh yeah? What amuses you so, my angel?” you ask playfully.

“You wanted to help fleas. Fleas. Some would say it was an act of compassion,” Seokjin grins.

“What? No! No, I was just bored. I thought it would be something I could occupy myself with. Don’t look too deep into it, Jin,” you turn away, in hopes of hiding your flushed cheeks.

“Sure sure. Whatever you say, ___. At least you’re probably getting high praises in Hell,” he pats your head fondly.

“Shut up, angel,” you say before vanishing. You couldn’t take the embarrassment any longer. Compassion? From you? No way in Heaven. And what was that? Jin patting your head like you’re some sort of friends? Even though he was growing on you like a tumor, you hadn’t considered him a friend before. Well. Maybe you had. You just didn’t want to admit it. Life can get pretty lonely on Earth for an immortal being. At least you guys have that in common.

In an attempt to befriend Seokjin, you searched for him. Up until now, it has always been him sneaking up on you. You found him in a small village that had just about been completely wiped out by the Black Death.

“Hey angel,” you pipe up, causing him to jump.

“Ah! ___! Hello, you scared me. What can I do for you?” Seokjin smiled, his cheeks bunching up like fresh bread.

“I was wondering if you’d like to get a bite to eat? We can sneak into the nearest Royal family’s kitchen and find something good?” you ask, looking at the ground.

“Eat? We don’t have to do that though,” the angel’s signature confused face took hold.

“Yes I know that. But we’re on Earth now and until the end of time. Or until we get called back. Might as well indulge in Earthly pleasures right?” you try to reason. Your pride would be hurt if he declined.

“Indulge? Isn’t that sinful?” Seokjin said apprehensively.

“I didn’t realize a loaf of bread was sinful. I’ll be right back, just gotta drag yeast into Hell,” you mock. To your surprise, Seokjin laughed. As corny as it is, his laugh sounded like a mixture of bells and a choir of angels. It was truly euphoric.

“To be quite honest, food is one of my favorite things on Earth. I’m fond of desserts in particular. Hearing you suggest eating made me reconsider if it’s a sin or not. But you’re right. A bite of food won’t hurt anyone!” Seokjin concluded gleefully.

That was the start to the tradition of eating together after every encounter.

                                                        1943 CE

Although technically mortal enemies, you both enjoyed the companionship now and again. Hearing about each other’s lives never got boring. Seokjin himself was somewhat of an enigma to you. He was childlike in the sense that he was curious about everything, and loved learning about new things. He was also simultaneously serious about everything. Any time he tried to make a joke, it was always lost on you. You soon learned to fake a laugh for him because...because you kind of liked the way his eyes lit up when he was pleased with himself. He always found you entertaining. He admired your confidence. You were the epitome of devious, but even so, Seokjin believed that there was some good in you. You in turn believed there must be some bad in him. At least enough that allowed him to continuously hangout with a demon.

You sat alone in a German cafe, gazing out the window on a gloomy day. You listened intently to the conversation behind you. Nazi soldiers were discussing the satisfying feeling that accompanied terrorizing those who didn’t belong in Hitler’s utopia. You scoffed as you bit into your streusel coffee cake.

“Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice asked.

“Jin, my darling angel friend, of course you can sit there. I wouldn’t dare let anyone else sit with me,” you smile mischievously.

“It’s Seokjin. Not Jin. Why must we go over this every time?” Seokjin sighed.

“I think the nickname puts us on friendlier terms,” you devour what’s left of your cake, “Oh sorry, did you want some of that?”

“Should an angel and a demon be on friendly terms? And no thank you. Actually, I brought you a little surprise,” Seokjin makes a small decadent box appear from thin air, “These are your favorites, if I recall correctly.”

Your eyes grew wide as you received the box, “Is this…? JIN!!! I haven’t had these in ages!” you cheer gleefully as you open the top.

A familiar sight of perfectly baked macarons laid gracefully within. All your favorite flavors were there: coffee, chocolate, lemon, and other delectable flavors. You breathe in the sweet scent of the goods before choosing your first target. You sway happily as you take the first bite.

“Gift giving is definitely something that friends do,” you say with your mouth still full, “Would you like some?” you offer the other half of the coffee macaron.

“Then I suppose we are friends, ___. I’m happy I ran into you. There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” Jin takes the other half of the macaron, “World War I was atrocious enough. But now all of this World War II business is even more despicable. I was wondering if you had an idea about when this will end. It has been breaking my heart to see all of this horror unfold.”

“So the macarons were a peace offering for information?” your eyes narrowed, chocolate macaron in hand.

“I was in the little French village that made your favorites and thought it would be nice to bring you some. Talking about World War II was actually an afterthought,” Seokjin said. That made you chuckle. Jin was being honest; he’s incapable of lying. If he ever tried, it would never work on you because he was god awful at it.

“I’ll believe you for now, angel. To be honest, the humans did this themselves. I was sightseeing in Mongolia when Germany invaded Poland. I knew that Hitler guy was no good-- I specialize in that-- but he’s damn near as evil as a certified demon. I can’t take credit for any of this. I like creating chaos. It’s what I do. But I find this highly organized genocide distasteful,” you admit.

“A demon finding genocide distasteful? Amusing. See? There must be some goodness left in you. I guess you don’t know when this will end then?” Seokjin asks.

“Not a clue. And don’t you ever say that I have goodness. That’s bullshit. I’m the baddest of the bad. Don’t forget that,” you sneer.

“There’s no need to get hostile, my friend. I should get going. I’ve been trying to help the victims in any way that I can. Needless to say, it has been very busy for the past few years. This was a nice little break. It’s always a pleasure to see you,” Seokjin smiles and bows respectfully before disappearing out of sight.

“The pleasure is all mine, my darling angel,” you say quietly to the empty space before you.  

                                                     Present Day

“That girl over there looks rather ravishing, doesn’t she? It’s a shame that she’s here instead of your girlfriend. Unless…,” you pour thoughts of infidelity in a random guy’s mind.

You sensed that he was nervous the entire night, and after observing him for a bit, you finally realized why. This man was out clubbing with his friends in celebration of someone’s birthday. His girlfriend isn’t one for going out (or having any sort of fun, from what you can gather in his mind) and he’s been eyeing this one gal the entire night. He was on the fence about whether or not to make a move. Luckily for him, you were in the vicinity that night. The alcohol pumping through his veins made him even more susceptible to your persuasions. You only spoke those few words to him before he made his way over to the girl, who immediately proceeded to grind on him.

“Infidelity huh?” a familiar voice said.

“It’s the easiest sin for men to commit. Women are too tempting for those who can’t control their lust. And by that, I mean probably 99% of all male humans,” you shrug, “It’s my duty to lead humans astray, remember?”

“Of course, how could I forget?,” Seokjin chuckled, “It’s amusing to me that the one who caused the Black Death is now sitting in a dingy nightclub telling intoxicated men to cheat on their significant other.”

“Would you rather me tell him to murder her? Would that please you, Jin?” you raise an eyebrow threateningly.

“Oh dear heavens, no. Please don’t do that. But if you were to do that, I can always intervene and protect the poor girl. And please. It’s Seokjin, not Jin,” the angel pouted. You loved his pout, it made his supple lips look even more delectable. Wait. What are you thinking?  

The two of you sat in a booth inside the dimly lit nightclub. After ordering multiple rounds of drinks, Seokjin finally felt loose enough to strike up a conversation. You had been too lost in your thoughts regarding how you felt about your angelic companion to talk.

“How have you been, ___?” Seokjin asked.

“Same as ever. Chillin out, traveling, creating mischief wherever I go. My favorite thing to do nowadays is to fuck up cell phone receptions in really popular areas. The animosity goes through the roof!” you explain.

“Sounds...exciting,” Seokjin takes another sip.

“What about you, angel cakes?” you gaze at him fondly.

“My flower shop has been coming along beautifully! I mean, I want to keep all of the flowers for myself but I guess part of running a business is selling your goods. You should come by and see it. I even have some nightshade. I thought of you when I acquired it,” Seokjin smiled.

“Stop, you’ll make me blush. I’ll come and visit your shop soon,” you finish your drink, “It kinda sucks though,”

“The drink? We can order another--”

“Not that. I’m living the best life I could possibly ask for. The world is literally my playground. But I’m kinda bored. I’ve plunged from the Mother of Murder to inciting infidelity just for the drama. I feel like I’m burnt out,” you pout, sinking into the booth.

“Maybe finding a hobby could help? I like plants, so now I collect and sometimes sell them. What do you like? Come to think of it, I don’t think I really know much about you at all,” Seokjin realizes.

“I’m hurt. We’ve been friends for what? About 6000 years?” you dramatically grasped your chest.

“Friends? You consider me a friend?”

“Are we not?” you retorted.

“I suppose we are. What an unlikely friendship. And one that our bosses will never know about,” Seokjin grins, “Can I ask you something? As a friend?”

“Sure thing. Jin, my best friend in the whole wide world, what do you want?” you bat your eyes at him.

“How did you fall from Grace?”

Hearing the question sobered you up immediately. You never thought Jin would care about you enough to ask such a personal inquiry. It’s akin to asking someone ‘hey, what’s the most traumatic thing that ever happened to you?’ out of the blue. You were staring at your empty cup when Jin spoke up.

“I’m sorry if I crossed a line. I’ve just been so curious--”

“It’s fine. I was just shocked that you wanted to know me on a more personal level,” you laugh nervously.

“Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends,” Seokjin said seriously.

You take a deep breath before answering, “I was curious. Just like you. I didn’t understand why God was so obsessed with the stupid little humans. They were so vile, so vulgar. Even if they knew right from wrong, they sometimes willingly chose what was wrong. I was confounded. Apparently asking questions is the same as undermining His authority. They thought I was going to grow my own free will. An angel who can think for themselves is a threat. And so, down I went. It was a pretty long fall actually. The landing was pretty unpleasant,” you try to lighten up the story.

“I’m sorry, ___,” Jin took a hold of your hands, “At least you still have the wings of an angel.”

“Yeah but they’re all black and tattered now. Yours are still beautiful and pristine.”

“I think your wings are beautiful too,” Seokjin said softly. You realized he was still holding your hands. You slowly retreat from his grasp. You don’t know how to handle the praise coming from the angel.

“Thanks, my darling angel. Anyway. This place is getting kinda boring. You wanna get dessert?” you suggest.

“You know me so well!” Seokjin agreed.

You found yourselves in a nearby gelato shop. You treat yourself to a coffee gelato, while Jin got chocolate gelato. The pair of you opt to sit outside and soak in the city life.

“I thought you didn’t like chocolate? I remember you turning your nose up to the best chocolate I’ve had in my life when we were in Switzerland,” you noticed his chocolate gelato.

“I like the chocolate flavor, but I don’t like chocolate,” Jin said casually, “I love strawberries, but I don’t like strawberry flavored things.”

“You’re so strange,” you let out a laugh. Jin laughed with you, his stoic image started to fade away. Afterward, you both sat comfortably in silence. Being in each other’s company was satisfying. It helped ease the loneliness that you refused to admit you had. Pondering your loneliness alongside your friend had your thoughts drifting to an interesting concept.

“Do you remember that time we decided to indulge in Earthly pleasures for the first time all those years ago? That decision was probably the best I’ve ever made. I love food,” you break the silence.

“I do remember that. I think I’m obliged to say that doing the Lord’s work was the best decision I’ve ever made. But I guess I didn’t really have a choice,” his voice trailed off, “Besides that, eating food with you was probably my best decision too,” Jin smiled, revealing his bread cheeks.

“What if we indulge in a different Earthly pleasure tonight?” you suggest calmly, licking at your gelato.

“Other than food? What do you mean?” Seokjin’s eyes widened with curiosity.

“Haven’t you wondered why lust is such a strong motivating factor for humans?”

“I believe they reproduce for the survival of their species--”

“That’s not what I mean, you silly little angel. I’ve heard from several succubi that they really enjoy sex and--”

“Lust is a sin, ___. It’s literally one of the seven deadly sins,” Seokjin interrupted sternly.

“I said that humans are driven by lust. If we hypothetically partake in this, it would be for research reasons only. Wouldn’t you be of better service to mankind if you could understand them better?” you reason.

Frankly, you don’t give a damn about mankind. Never have and never will. The thought of getting intimate with the angel Seokjin has sparked an excitement in you that you hadn’t felt in ages. Persuasion is your forte, and you’re sure as hell gonna do your best to win him over. Seokjin was silent as he pondered over your proposal. His face was unreadable.

“I’ll admit I have been curious about it. I don’t understand why humans crave it so much,” Seokjin admitted. A smile slowly formed on your face.

“Does that mean you’ll indulge with me? Just as you did when we ate together all those moons ago?” you take his hands in yours.

“Fine, ___. I’ll indulge with you. But purely for research purposes,” Seokjin said firmly.

This city had been your dwelling place for the past couple of years so you had your own place. You giddily led the angel to your apartment. You had been waiting for this moment for what felt like an eternity. Seduction wasn’t part of your job, so you never partook in such activities. It was mischief alone that was your specialty.

When you finally arrived at your apartment, you instructed Jin to wait outside for a couple of minutes while you tidied up the place. With a snap of your fingers, your humble abode was free of any trash and not a speck of dust was to be found. After wondering about what would help set “the mood”, you decided on lighting candles. You figured the dim lighting would help create a sensual atmosphere. The final touch was slipping into promiscuous black lingerie. You had a complete set: stockings, garter, corset, and a bra. You twirled in front of a mirror and was satisfied with the look. You felt like the epitome of a seductress. You made your way to the front door and swung it open, striking a seductive pose. You nearly burst out into a fit of laughter when you saw Jin’s eyes wide with shock and mouth agape.

“You...you look...nice,” Jin stuttered.

“Come on in, my darling angel,” you waved a single finger at him.

Seokjin timidly stepped inside. You took his hand and led him to your bedroom; the walkway was lined with candles. You closed the bedroom door behind Jin as you heard him gulp nervously.

“You scared, Jin?” you teased. Jin couldn’t make eye contact with you. You could barely see his faint blush in the dim lighting.

“No. Maybe a bit nervous. I thought we would just get down to it,” Jin let out an annoyed sigh before finally making eye contact, “And it’s Seokjin. Not Jin.”

“Go straight to fucking? Without foreplay? Aw you really are such a little angel, aren’t you? You sweet sweet vanilla baby boy,” with each word you crept closer to him, eventually wrapping your arms around his neck. He smelled like a mixture of warm honey and wildflowers. His scent was intoxicating. You couldn’t resist any longer as you planted a gentle kiss on his neck, causing him to groan lightly.

“Oh? You like that?” you whispered sweetly.

“I never realized our corporeal bodies were so sensitive,” Jin replied quietly.

“You’re still so tense, angel,” you observed as you massaged his broad shoulders, “I can help you unwind. Part of the fun of sex is indulging in the pleasure, so I’ve heard,” you say as you guide Jin to the bed.

“Let’s make some things clear,” you say as you straddle Jin, “Firstly, you can touch me. I don’t wanna be doing all the work. Secondly, don’t be afraid to act on any urges. I can assure you I can handle whatever you wanna do. Lastly, do you trust me?” you ask. Jin blinked blankly.

“Generally, I’m pretty sure a demon is never to be trusted. But since it’s you, I guess I’ll make an exception. I trust you, ___,” Jin said sincerely.

“I’m touched,” you smile, “Now take off your shirt and pants,” you demand, climbing off of him. Jin complied. Left in only his underwear, he sat on the bed awaiting your next instructions. You soaked in the sight of him. He was fit; his physique had your mouth watering.

“Perfect,” you say, seductively crawling back on top of him.

You lock eyes as you straddle his hips. You lean in slowly, eyes wandering to his plush lips. Jin does the same, leaning towards you ever so slightly. Your lips met gently. After relishing the tender moment, you kiss him more intensely. To your surprise, Jin met you with the same intensity. His hands started to wander as well. Starting with a firm grip on your ass, his hands traveled slowly up to your breasts.

“I don’t think I can fully appreciate you with all this on,” Jin breathed heavily after he broke from the kiss.

“What a cheeky angel. Be patient, love,” you notice a change in Jin’s eyes. There was an intense gaze of lust pouring from his dark brown eyes. It turned you on.

You laid him down and whispered, “Now the fun can begin.”

A blindfold manifested out of thin air and into your hand. Jin looked at the object curiously. He didn’t protest when you wrapped it over his eyes. You smiled at the fact that he truly did trust you.

You kissed him again. You couldn’t get enough of his velvety soft lips. You dared to slip your tongue in his mouth delicately. Seokjin pulled you closer to him as he reciprocated with more aggression. His boldness caused you to let out a small moan.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Seokjin stopped immediately after he heard you. His genuine concern caused you to chuckle.

“I don’t think you’re capable of hurting me, sweet boy. Keep doing what you’re doing,” you say before going back for another kiss.

You reluctantly pull away from Jin’s sweet lips, gently placing wet kisses down his neck and along his chest. You kitten lick one of his nipples as you pinch and twist the other. Jin seemed to enjoy this as his breathing became uneven and he let out tiny moans.

You travel further down to position yourself between his thighs. His erection was obstructed by his underwear. You tug it off, allowing it to free itself. The length was impressive, and his girth was just as satisfying.

You slowly started pumping your hand along his shaft. As soon as you held him, Jin shuddered. You were amused by how sensitive he was. You gave his tip a few kitten licks as you hand was still slowly dragging along his cock. This caused Jin to shift underneath you, and his soft moans were getting louder. You stopped teasing him as you took his entire length in your mouth. Being a divine being gave you small perks such as not having a gag reflex. You sloppily bobbed your head up and down his cock, listening to his sweet groans of pleasure. Hands soon grip your hair, and now Jin was guiding your rhythm.

“Ahh ___... I think I’m gonna...my body feels weird,” Jin muttered between groans.

Without warning, Jin released his load into your mouth. You were surprised by the sudden outburst and pulled away too late. What didn’t land in your mouth splattered all over your chest.

“Huh. So angels can ejaculate. Wild,” you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “You don’t taste half bad, angel. But you did get my lingerie messy,” you tsked.

“I think I’m starting to understand why humans enjoy this so much. Sorry about your clothes, I guess you have to take them off now,” Jin proposed.

“I suppose you’re right,” you chuckle. With a snap of your fingers, the lingerie magically vanishes.

“I wanna feel what you felt,” you whined.

“Do you want me to fuck you now?” Jin asked.

“What else would you do?” you teased.

“You could sit on my face and I can reciprocate the oral sex,” Jin offered.

His straightforward way of talking never ceased to amaze you. It was no surprise that he would talk this way even in the bedroom. You grinned as you positioned your thighs on each side of his head.

“You sure about this?” you ask.

“Sit on my face, ___,” Jin said impatiently.

You slowly lowered yourself onto Jin’s face. You carefully made sure you that the lips lined up. You rested your intimate part gently on Jin’s lips. You shuddered with delight as he licked a long gentle strip along your pussy. Jin began to explore you with his tongue.

“You’re still too far away,” he grunts as he places his hands on your hips and roughly pulls you closely to him.

His nose was buried in your pussy at this point. He darted his tongue in and out of you, causing you to gasp. He brought his hand around to play with a nub located above your opening. Somehow, he figured out that this little nub was extremely sensitive, as you nearly doubled over when he applied pressure on it. You could faintly hear a low chuckle under you as the pressure on your clit increased. Jin’s thumb ferociously played with your clit as his tongue flicked inside you. Your legs began to shake and your moans got louder and more drawn out.

“Jin! Fuck that feels amazing. Don’t stop. My body is starting to feel weird too,” you cry out.

Soon enough, a wave of euphoria coursed throughout your body as you released your juices all over his face. You fell beside him, chest heaving.

“How was that?” Jin asked, licking around his mouth, “You don’t taste too bad yourself, Mother of Murder.”

“You flatter me, angel. You didn’t correct me when I said Jin!” you observed, taking off his blindfold.

“I actually thought it was pleasant. Hearing you moan out my nickname like that spurred me on for some reason,” Jin sighed.

“Oh so you like when I moan out your name? You’re such a naughty angel,” you jokingly admonish, “We still haven’t gotten to the finale yet.”

“Do you want me to fuck you now?” Jin asked.

“Yes, my darling angel. I want you to fuck me now,” you say curtly, “How do you want to take my virginity?” you bat your eyes innocently at him, spreading your legs out.

“Like this would be fine. I think I’d enjoy seeing your face,” Jin leaned down for a passionate kiss, complete with tasteful tongue usage.  

Breaking the kiss, he aligned himself with your entrance. He gazed at you tenderly before you nodded at him, signaling for him to proceed. He slowly slipped inside, and you relished every inch of him. The new sensation of the stretch was a bit painful at first, but it soon was replaced with a foreign bliss. You let out a low moan when he finally bottomed out. Eyes fixated on each other, Jin wordlessly began to thrust in and out of you. The bliss was enjoyable, but you craved more. Jin was going too slowly for your taste (even though it was an impressive pace already by human standards).

“Faster. Harder. Fuck me harder, Jin,” you pleaded, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood.

Jin complied, now thrusting with more force at a faster rate. Jin was having a hard time controlling himself, as his grunts started to mix with your moans. You clawed at his back, leaving red streaks across it. Jin suddenly hoisted one of your legs over his shoulder, allowing him to plunge deeper. You let out a high pitched squeal at the sudden switch up. You began to feel a familiar tingle in your lower region.

“Jin, I’m close,” you panted.

“Me too, my darling demon. Let’s finish together, shall we?” Jin replied, sweat dripping from his brow.

It only took a couple more thrusts before you both reached your limits. You felt Jin’s hot cum fill you up as he let out a final groan. You could barely hear him over your own lewd cry as your orgasm hit you hard. As your juices mixed, Jin collapsed on top of you. You wrapped your arms around him and held him tenderly against your chest. You laid together in silence for a while with synchronized breathing before Jin broke the silence.

“Do you think I’ll fall from Grace now? I indulged in the sin of lust. I don’t think the guys upstairs will understand that it was for research purposes,” Jin sounded worried.

“Do you regret it?” you asked quietly.

“Oddly enough, no. It was fun. I’m just worried because I’ve been an angel since the beginning of time. I don’t know how I’ll be anything else,” Jin admitted.

“Have your superiors ever checked up on you since they plopped you onto Earth?”

“Only once, close to the beginning. I never realized that they never check up on me. Does this mean they won’t find out?” Jin’s voice started to pick up.

“I won’t tell your superiors if you don’t tell mine! Although, I don’t think mine would care that much,” you laugh, hugging Jin closer to you.

“Deal. Wow, I really just made a deal with a devil huh?” Jin laughed at his own joke. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and kiss him on the forehead.

“You know...we don’t have to part ways just yet. Stay the night. Let’s snuggle together and pretend we’re humans in love,” you whisper to him.

“Sure, I’ll stay the night. You don’t have to be human to know what love is, you know?” Jin crept up to kiss you gently.

“Shut up, angel. No more mushy talk. Just cuddle me and so I can fall asleep faster,” you snapped.

You switch positions so that you could nuzzle yourself into Jin’s chest. You both fell asleep in each other’s embrace, in each other’s arms and wings. You’ve never felt more at peace than this moment, in which you and Jin were entangled in each other’s wings. Neither of you noticed it, but your wings got a little lighter that night. Neither of your noticed, but Jin’s wings got a little darker that night.

Published October 31, 2020. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2020 Baepsaesbae.

#bts smut #kim seokjin smut #creaturesofmm #bangtanshadowfamily #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #good omens #angel bts #demon bts #bts fanfic #kpop fanfic #bts angst #bts comedy #kim seokjin x reader

[tossawary]

Chapter 28: “A Growing Family” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

-

The fact that Shen Qingqiu is waiting for them, just outside of Yue Qingyuan’s office, really doesn’t help the dread that Shang Qinghua is feeling here.

A stocky young woman is standing attentively beside the seated Peak Lord. This is that Fu Qiang character, one of Binghe’s favorite shijies on Qing Jing Peak, here to whisk Peerless Cucumber away for a one-to-one chat on the other transmigrator’s potential relationship to the House of Rejuvenation. Or maybe to give the kid a tutoring session on recovering memories from trauma or something! Shang Qinghua doesn’t know exactly, not having been invited to sit in.

“Shidi,” Shen Qingqiu greets coolly.

“Greetings, Shen-Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua returns, feeling sweaty already, but also weirdly giddy. He’s tempted to wink, but he’s pretty sure that would get him killed. “How are you? You look very well! Aha, how did those ‘other engagements’ go the other day? Meet with anyone? Have a good time?”

Over the top of his elegant fan, Shen Qingqiu immediately gives him a look that could probably kill a lesser man - or maybe a greater one, like someone who has more dignity and shame and whatever than Shang Qinghua does. Shang Qinghua doesn’t flinch. He assumes that the meeting with Yue Qingyuan went well! Which is great! Super great! If it had gone badly, he’s pretty sure that Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t even be setting foot on Qiong Ding Peak now - or at least would have been projecting “I’ll kill to get out of here and I’m mentally picking all my victims” hard enough to send all the Qiong Ding Peak disciples and cultivators off like panicked chickens.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Shen Qingqiu says, downright frosty now. “Shang-Shidi must have been paying too much attention to nonsense gossip again.”

“Ah, of course! Of course! My mistake, Shen-Shixiong! Please forgive me!”

Shang Qinghua looks to his fellow transmigrator next, to reintroduce them, only to find Shen Yuan making a very strange expression. Shen Yuan is looking between Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu kind of like he’s never seen them before. His mouth is even a little open and everything. It takes the kid a few seconds to realize that he has two Peak Lords staring at him and to swallow the strange expression.

- 

AN: Shen Yuan knows that 1) SQQ came to meet SQH personally immediately after their mission was over, 2) SQH stayed in bed the following day for a LONG time, and 3) SQH had a hickey on his neck. 

So when Shang Qinghua makes a reference to the meeting that SQQ had with Yue Qingyuan, almost flirtatiously asking if Shen Qingqiu “met with anyone” and “had a good time”, Shen Yuan is going to draw his own conclusions. 

Namely, that Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu might be sleeping together. 

After all, Shen Yuan doesn’t know about the YQY and SQQ backstory! Shen Yuan only knows that Shang Qinghua is weirdly friendly with PIDW’s most famous scum villain and that Shen Qingqiu apparently likes SQH enough not to be an asshole to Luo Binghe. Shang Qinghua kind of talks like they’re friend, so what if they’re... more than friends?! 

Meanwhile, Shang Qinghua cannot fathom anyone EVER considering that he and SHEN QINGQIU might be lovers. It’s not an idea that he is in a position to have because what the fuck?! 

I was tickled pink when I realized that things were in position to have the disciples think that Shangjiu is a thing. I was already planning on having them notice Shang Qinghua’s brand-new-relationship good mood. Shen Yuan may not notice when people are in love with HIM, but he did still read a twenty-million-word stallion web-novel, so he’s totally prepared to assume that secret affairs are happening for OTHER PEOPLE. 

- 

His fellow transmigrator hastily performs the appropriate greeting. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t reply beyond inclining his head, instead sweeping his eyes over Shen Yuan, who stands hilariously still like he’s facing down a predator, except for how the kid squints back a little at the Lord of Qing Jing Peak. Ha! That’s pretty fearless coming from someone still so unnerved by the man who would have Proud Immortal Demon Way’s most famous scum villain.

“Fu Qiang,” Shen Qingqiu says finally. “I have instructed Assistant Ma to set aside a private room for your discussion. You may take Disciple Shen there now.”

“Yes, Shizun.”

The other disciple gestures for Shen Yuan to follow and the other transmigrator hastily takes her up on that. As the disciples disappear, Shen Qingqiu rises and, without a word, leads Shang Qinghua into Yue Qingyuan’s office.

- 

AN: It’s tempting to try and make Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan actually develop more of a relationship than “passing acquaintance”, but the thing is that I can’t see either of them really going for it without being forced or without a very serious push. They’re both so prickly. 

- 

Yue Qingyuan greets him in a friendly manner, like he’s genuinely pleased to see Shang Qinghua and happy to help. Shang Qinghua greets the man in the same way. It’s nice! It also kind of feels like they’re both pretending the past few months of awkwardness, resentment, and avoidance never happened.

- 

AN: It felt a little more true to life and to the characters to have Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan just... move forward instead of getting into their issues with each other and what apologies may be due. 

It’s kind of like a mutual: “What if we didn’t talk about it?” 

And they’re both like, “Oh, thank fuck.” 

I think that if they both brew on it a bit more, they may eventually decide to try to assuage their respective anger or guilt by saying something, but right now they’re feeling raw and/or embarrassed, and don’t want to accidentally get into it again. So they’ll talk about work! They always have work to talk about! Work is more important than personal matters, so they’re just going to pretend everything is fine! 

- 

It’s not just the System who won’t let the Immortal Alliance Conference not happen! But, ahhh, Shang Qinghua can still dream of them actually managing to convince Zhao Hua Temple Sect and everyone else to call the whole thing off. He can dream!

Yue Qingyuan has this pained expression that says, “You’re not wrong, but I wish you were.” This guy knows what Shang Qinghua is talking about!

Shen Qingqiu has this expression that says something like, “I can only critique the accuracy of your assessment on the grounds that you may be giving our fellow cultivators too much credit in terms of common sense and cooperation. This annoys me immensely.”

“You have put a great deal of thought into this,” Yue Qingyuan says finally. “You received this news… when exactly… again?”

“Ah, yesterday morning?” Shang Qinghua answers.

 “While in bed with a demon lord,” he doesn’t elaborate. Nope! Not elaborating!

“I know it’s not- I’ll try to get more information, but everyone is still in the planning stages, and it’s not easy getting any information!” Shang Qinghua says defensively. “But, even with that, I thought, ‘Ah, my shixiongs will probably want to know right away!’ Someone will need to tell Zhao Hua to take precautions, at least?”

Yue Qingyuan visibly regathers himself and says, “It is better to know these things as soon as possible. Thank you, Qinghua, for this forewarning.”

“He’s very good at knowing these things,” Shen Qingqiu agrees, but the man’s gaze is like a very sharp pin and Shang Qinghua is but a lowly insect under it. “When might you be expected to know more about this?”

“Ah, I’ll have to get in contact with… ah, some people I know.”

- 

AN: Of course YQY and SQQ want to know more about where SQH is getting this information, but for all they know he might just have gotten a tip-off from one of his merchant contacts or someone in the black market. This has been brewing for a while between these demon lords and the cultivation sects. It’s really bad news, but it’s also not really that surprising. 

According to the Airplane Extras, when MBJ and SQH meet, Airplane offhandedly mentions that Mobei-Jun’s clan and Huan Hua Palace Sect have a serious grudge from a conflict at a previous Immortal Alliance Conference. In PINTWILF, this conference is why the IACs got cancelled and had to be recently “revived”. The coming IAC is the 3rd since this revival.  

Shang Qinghua has proven himself reliable enough by this point that YQY and SQQ will let him keep his informants close to his chest. Between SQH’s years of improved services (helped by actually getting his personal disciples to help him) and SQH’s interference in their personal issues, they do actually trust him. 

So, yeah, they think he’s a squirmy little rat man. 

But he’s THEIR squirmy little rat man who has come through in times of need. Also, SQQ, for all his glaring, might stab YQY if he started giving SQH a hard time about this. Sometimes a shidi just wants you to back the fuck off, YQY! Let him have his secrets! Even though SQQ absolutely wants to know SQH’s secrets and is on the verge of dying of curiosity. 

I am VERY MUCH looking forward to them finding out that Shang Qinghua has a demon prince for a boyfriend. That’s going to be fun. 

- 

“I have also been… considering the advantages of lessons and between Peaks to encourage both cooperation and… survival skills,” Shen Qingqiu says next. “Rarely does one become a master of all disciplines - the Twelve Peaks allow for many of our sect to become specialists, masters of one art - but it seems unwise not to be learned in the basics of as many life-saving arts as one is able.”

“A diversity of learning can be very beneficial,” Yue Qingyuan agrees immediately.

“My disciple, Fu Qiang, has become a very adept medic over the years, though this was in the hopes of avoiding visiting Qian Cao Peak. The head disciples of An Ding, as I understand it, have sought to take special lessons from Qian Cao and Xian Shu to improve themselves."

 “Ah, that explains how Hongpeng spied on Peerless Cucumber back when the little bro was still in Mu Qingfang’s clutches,” Shang Qinghua thinks. “And, ah, Shen Bro, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Wenjiao goes to Xian Shu Peak mostly to moon over pretty girls, especially my little sister-in-law.”

"There is also the example of Qi-Shimei’s most frustrating disciple, who must be routinely dragged away from Bai Zhan, but who has also apparently helped to improve her fellow Xian Shu disciples’ martial abilities.”

 "Ah, that's one of putting Qi Qingqi letting Luo Fanli and Liu Mingyan fight each other in order to hopefully wear them both out," Shang Qinghua thinks.

“Even if demons should not attack, though only a limited number of our disciples will be attending the Immortal Alliance Conference, it would nevertheless be beneficial to ensure that all disciples across the sect are well-equipped to keep themselves alive until the specialists arrive,” Shen Qingqiu finishes. “Shang-Shidi, as one of the most well-connected leading members of our sect, the organization of such an initiative would be best left in your hands.”

- 

AN: Okay, so I know that this is kind of a weird thing to be coming from Shen Qingqiu, but he’s grown a bit over the course of this fic! AND he’s totally coming at it from the perspective of: “I don’t have to cooperate or get along with anyone beyond what I’m doing now.” 

So SQQ is like, “My disciples are stupid. We should have more field medics.” 

And he’s like, “Some people’s disciples can’t fight for shit and we should make sure they know more self-defense.” 

And he’s like, “Liu Qingge’s disciples are animals. Someone at least teach them how to protect other disciples and how to not bleed to death, because he won’t. That man doesn’t teach them anything.” 

And he’s like, “Shang Qinghua, you do that. I don’t want to.” 

- 

Peerless Cucumber’s conversation with Shen Qingqiu’s disciple is long over, but apparently his fellow transmigrator didn’t just leave afterwards. Yue Qingyuan’s youngest assistant intercepts to politely point Shang Qinghua towards their waiting room. Shen Yuan is asleep in a chair, with one of his cultivation manuals open in his lap. Judging by his pose, Shang Qinghua is going to guess that the kid was trying some kind of meditation and ended up taking a nap by accident.

It happens to the best of them sometimes! Or at least to Shang Qinghua!

“Ah, I told you not to wait on me. Come on, bro, I don’t want to have to carry you back,” Shang Qinghua says, while jostling the kid awake. “You’re too big for that. My nephew is too big for that these days. Just because it would be nostalgic for me and just because I can doesn’t mean that I want to be carrying you around like a sack of vegetables.”

- 

AN: If Shang Qinghua can haul Mobei-Jun around, then he could pick up Shen Yuan no problem. Also, this is the bit where I was like, “Wow, I have very much made SQH into SY’s dad here.” 

Even SVSSS SQH gives me Uncle Vibes, to be honest. The man wants to pop into Bingqiu’s life, ask some nosy questions, be treated to a free meal (who doesn’t), tell some bad jokes, offer some terrible advice, complain about his workload, and then flounce off again with his boyfriend. SVSSS SQH seems to like being useful and appreciated and part of the group, but in a way where he’s not directly attached to anyone, you know? Give SVSSS SQH the benefits, but none of the responsibilities! 

- 

Shang Qinghua is kind of sick of this roundabout conversation and decides to bring out the big guns: a move taught to him by his extremely powerful sister-in-law, who has effortlessly defeated their resident War God. He knows the effectiveness of this technique personally, because Luo Jiahui has used it to defeat him many times. He puts on the best concerned face he has.

“Yuan,” he says seriously, looking the kid directly in the eye. “I’m not making jokes here about not skipping out on cultivating. It’s not always going to be fun - a lot of the time, it’s going to be pretty embarrassing and a little painful. Bro, I was an adult stuck in a teenage body, regularly getting my ass handed to me by actual teenagers. That was awful. But I really need you to keep doing it, even if you don’t become the next War God ready to challenge the protagonist, because I don’t want you to die. This shitty world isn’t safe. And if you want to be involved in these missions, then I need you to be able to carry yourself, or we’re both going to get trampled by some OP monster wandering out of an advanced chapter early instead of fixing anything here.”

Shen Yuan is having difficulty meeting his eyes. He keeps trying to force himself to look at Shang Qinghua and then looking away again automatically.

Shang Qinghua employs another of his sister-in-law’s immensely powerful techniques: he reaches out and puts a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “I will tell you stuff when I have stuff to tell you and when I can tell it to you. You’ve been super helpful, I’m going to need your help in the future, but I need you to be a little patient right now too.”

Shen Yuan nods. “...Fine.”

-

AN: Shang Qinghua: “I can’t believe that I’m tricking this person into thinking I’m a good person by being nice to them and looking after them and doing good things. I have learned this behavior for TRICKING PURPOSES only and have NOT accidentally adopted yet another kid.” 

- 

Shang Qinghua can’t answer the question right now! Leave a message!

He’s too busy replaying all the times he’s seen his nephew and his fellow transmigrator interact. Binghe did ask after Shen Yuan every time that he and Shang Qinghua talked, while the other transmigrator was on Qian Cao and after he came to An Ding, but… Shang Qinghua just thought his nephew was being polite and curious? Peerless Cucumber stands out! Binghe didn’t act too weirdly about it!

Luo Binghe is supposed to be a stallion protagonist with 600 wives!

Although… Shang Qinghua’s nephew has never really shown any interest in that kind of thing. Which Shang Qinghua has been pretty glad about! He doesn’t want to have 600 nieces-in-law! He also doesn’t want that for his nephew!

The protagonist of Proud Immortal Demon Way ’s harem was basically a snake pit of drama and desperation and decaying fantasies. For everyone who could read between the lines of empty papapa to see Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky’s tragic story of resentment and revenge, it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say the tyrannical, broken protagonist was like a black hole, dragging everyone else into orbit around this man who couldn’t really love anyone! You can take a blackened protagonist out of the Eternal Abyss, but you can’t take that abyss out of the blackened protagonist, right?

The original Luo Binghe didn’t take wives because he was in love. He took wives because he could! Because they were beautiful or powerful or useful! Because he pitied them! Because he liked being their savior! Because he didn't want anyone else to have them! Because he liked being an object of envy and desire and love! Because it was expected of him, as the man all the readers wanted to be, who was supposed to have everything a man could ever want!

 “...Ah, there are… some implications there,” Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky realizes, remembering just how half-hearted most of that harem bullshit was. “Maybe a bent man wrote a kind of bent protagonist by accident? Who knows?”

“Da-Ge?” Fanli says. “Da-Ge, didn’t you know?”

- 

AN: I’ve said this before, but there’s a meta argument to be made in regards to Luo Binghe and obligatory heterosexuality. 

Also, from what I remember, Airplane didn’t actually seem to care too much about Luo Binghe being interested in Shen Yuan. In the Airplane Extras, Airplane says that in the original version of PIDW that he never got to write, Luo Binghe actually ended up totally alone at the end of the story. He was apparently planning a pretty downer ending for Luo Binghe. But Luo Binghe ended up getting a huge harem instead because that’s what the readers wanted! 

So, my impression is, that when SVSSS Airplane first realizes that LBH is into men (and into SQQ specifically), he does a little bit of self-reflection and also reflection on PIDW, then just goes, “Huh. That makes... sense.” 

- 

“Though, aha, I can’t remember Shen-Shixiong ever really not being kind of angry at me and I’m not dead yet. I had to talk really fast sometimes, but I lived! Now go away.”

When Shang Qinghua looks up, all of his disciples are staring at him. They all look surprised, except for Shen Yuan, who looks embarrassed. Shang Qinghua would guess that someone cracked a dirty joke, but that doesn’t seem right.

"What?"

“...Shifu, how long have you known Shen-Shibo?” Chen Xuan asks.

“Since we were disciples? Ah, I think he hated me at first sight.”

“But you’re close now?” Lin Wenjiao blurts out.

“Closer, ” Shang Qinghua agrees warily. “Aha, don’t think that any of you can ask me for favors to do with Shen Qingqiu or Qing Jing Peak too! That’s not happening! Disciple Luo, Shen, get out of here before you give my disciples any more weird ideas.”

- 

AN: Okay, so what happened is that as soon as Luo Fanli and Shang Qinghua left the room, Shen Yuan was like, “...Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu are... very close? Are they...?” 

And SQH’s disciples are like, “Holy shit, are you asking if SQH and SQQ are romantically involved?!” And SQH’s disciples laugh in SY’s face because that’s RIDICULOUS. Which makes SY really embarrassed and defensive! SQH’s disciples ask why he would EVER think a thing like that. 

SY provides the evidence. It’s a reasonable conclusion! 

And then SQH’s disciples are like, “...Holy shit?!” 

And then SY is like, “Wait, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that.” 

But it’s too late. SQH’s disciples are already putting all the evidence together and there is SO MUCH EVIDENCE of something going on there. 

I know I refer to this ship as “Shangjiu”, but that’s mostly just to specify which Shen Qingqiu and I doubt that anyone in Cang Qiong Mountain Sect dares to call SQQ “Jiu” besides YQY. They’d probably actually end up calling it something along the lines of “The Premise” like original Star Trek: The Original Series Kirk/Spock shippers. (See Fanlore or something for more info on that.) 

Again, SQH cannot... CONCEIVE of them conceiving this idea. 

-

By the time that Mobei-Jun shows up at his Leisure House, Shang Qinghua is a little on the edge! Honestly, he’s kind of off the edge, dangling from a very thin branch just underneath the cliff’s edge, and that thin branch is making some very concerning noises! Sure, at least the demon lord isn’t late, but Shang Qinghua is suddenly reminded of just how intimidating Mobei-Jun looks! Also, he’s cleaned up his house and knows his sister-in-law knows he’s kind of a slob sometimes, but he’s so sure that she’s still going to judge his cleaning job! What if she blames Mobei-Jun for it? (She’d be right to blame him a little! The man can be kind of lazy and messy sometimes too!)

A cool hand at Shang Qinghua’s hip prevents him from walking around in circles, repositioning disobedient cushions and offending tables. Shang Qinghua looks up at Mobei-Jun, who moves his hand to where Shang Qinghua’s neck meets shoulder.

“Stop it,” Mobei-Jun says.

- 

AN: It’s really funny thinking about how all of Mobei-Jun’s gentle and affectionate behaviors towards SQH are totally learned. This does not come naturally to the man. If SQH was having a panic attack, Mobei-Jun’s first (panicked) instinct would be to bark at him to stop it. 

- 

“It’s just… Jiahui is… it didn’t have to be this way for us? I would have just helped her get to safety and left her to live her life without me, but she didn’t let that happen, even though her family wasn’t any good either, so why would she want another one?” Shang Qinghua tries to explain. “She chose me? She looked out for me. She helped me understand a lot of things. Even though she probably could have picked anyone else. I don’t really know where I’d be right now if she didn’t? Ah, probably… not talking to or trusting anyone ever? You remember what things used to be like.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never really liked any of the sisters I’ve had before very much,” Shang Qinghua admits. “Ah, but they didn’t like me either, so it worked. Anyway! It’s… important to me that things work out now because…”

 “I don’t want to choose,” Shang Qinghua doesn’t say.

He clears his throat instead.

“Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua forces himself to look up from his hands on Mobei-Jun’s collar.

“I am glad that you were not without someone to trust,” Mobei-Jun says, though it sounds like it takes effort. “Your sister has nothing to fear from me.”

Mobei-Jun has already made this promise, but it’s good to hear it again.

“Thank you, my king. I’ll, ah- I should go get her now.”

-

AN: Mobei-Jun is jealous. He is very, VERY jealous. 

BUT Mobei-Jun can also see some parallels here. Luo Jiahui is to Shang Qinghua in many ways what Shang Qinghua is to him. Mobei-Jun understands the importance of this relationship and of this person. He understands that Jiahui and SQH’s relationship is not romantic, of course, and understands her to be the “head of the family”, so he has to force himself not to act on his jealousy. 

I think that a part of Mobei-Jun might see jealousy as something very negative? Thinking about what I said about Mobei-Jun’s hang-ups surrounding consent and possessiveness possibly originating with his father being a wife-stealer, Mobei-Jun can’t act on his jealousy for the same reasons that he needs Shang Qinghua to make the first explicit moves. He wants Shang Qinghua to choose him and to choose him of his own free will. 

So, he’s jealous when he hears about how LJH chose SQH and SQH chose LJH, but he can’t act on it because 1) he loves SQH and 2) he’s (possibly unconsciously) terrified of becoming his father and creating resentment that will ripple out into his family potentially for generations. 

- 

It’s so, so weird to see his human sister-in-law sitting across from a demon lord. Luo Jiahui is not a tall woman and her cultivation is very good these days, but she’s not a warrior. Seeing the height and width differences side-by-side make them really obvious! Mobei-Jun is at least twice Shang Qinghua’s sister-in-law’s size! He has to be easily twice her weight!

When Luo Jiahui puts food in front of Mobei-Jun, Shang Qinghua gets huge “I dare you to not eat my food” messages! It took a really long time before Mobei-Jun seemed to accept that Shang Qinghua really wouldn’t take every available opportunity to hand him poison. Thankfully, however, Mobei-Jun has eaten Luo Jiahui’s food before! Shang Qinghua has shared his sister-in-law's food with the demon lord! Shang Qinghua also communicated beforehand that Mobei-Jun has to eat the food. No matter what!

So, Mobei-Jun eats the food and Shang Qinghua breathes a sigh of relief. Mobei-Jun even goes so far as to tell Luo Jiahui that she’s a good cook (above and beyond social interaction! Also delivered kind of awkwardly!), which his sister-in-law accepts with thanks (and also maybe just a little bit as her rightful due).

Luo Jiahui already knows the basics of Mobei-Jun: that he’s an ice demon, the son of the Northern Demon King, and he’s going to be the next Northern Demon King. She already knows that he’s a warrior and that his time is mostly spent tending to his duties, usually on his father’s behalf. She even knows that demon families can be kind of violently competitive and that Mobei-Jun’s family is no exception.

So, when she finally decides to speak seriously, she says, “My brother is very important to me. I have told him that if he is happy, then I’m happy for him. He has told me that you are very important to him.”

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is going to hold that revelation close to his chest for WEEKS. Shang Qinghua said that Mobei-Jun is very important to him! 

Juggling the tension of this scene was weird. 

Because, like, Mobei-Jun is not a kind or a gentle or a good person. He’s disdainful of humanity. It’s kind of a mindfuck for him to be having a meal with a strange human who is not of the things he has been raised to respect. 

Meanwhile, Luo Jiahui is fucking terrified of Mobei-Jun, dislikes him, and doesn’t want to like him. He’s a stranger who could destroy her family. He looks kind of monstrous. He acts strangely. 

But they HAVE TO BE CIVIL to each other for Shang Qinghua’s sake. 

So they are. 

Mobei-Jun tries not to make any scary moves around the soft human. 

Luo Jiahui tries to act like MBJ is a normal person and to be polite. 

They are both very out of their depth. 

- 

“...Shang Qinghua saved my life,” Mobei-Jun says, which is the first time he’s spoken without someone else speaking to him first. “Many times, he has done this.”

Luo Jiahui sets down her teacup, listening expectantly.

“Even when I did not trust him, and he did not trust me, Qinghua has always provided shelter and safety,” Mobei-Jun says slowly, solemnly. “Medicine, when I have been injured. Direction, when I have been lost. Company and loyalty. This is rare.”

“Yes,” Luo Jiahui agrees.

“The trust I have put in him has never been betrayed.”

Shang Qinghua kind of feels like he’s overheating here - like maybe his heart is melting! Mobei-Jun as a character has always prized loyalty above all! “I had no fucking clue,” he thinks. “Honestly, how the FUCK did I have no fucking clue?! Hindsight is incredible!”

“I would not betray him,” Mobei-Jun says, looking to Shang Qinghua directly. “My life has been his since the day we met.”

Shang Qinghua tries not to melt even more. Mobei-Jun is supposed to be an ice demon! What the hell is this?! It’s unfair! It’s embarrassing! It’s too much!

“...Good,” Luo Jiahui says, determinedly. “I’m happy to hear that. My hard-working brother needs someone to appreciate and cherish him.”

“Yes.”

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is like, “Humans use words. I need to use words. I need to be direct about this because humans are bad at understanding things.” 

And Luo Jiahui is like, “Oh my, you are very intense. Okay.” 

- 

Mobei-Jun nods. “I did not think a human would ever care for a demon child.”

Luo Jiahui frowns a little. “Oh?”

“I admire this,” Mobei-Jun amends, frowning back. “I do not know how humans are raised. It is good that your child has never had to doubt his safety here.”

“...Of course.”

“It is clear that your child is loved beyond his bloodline.”

“Of course,” Luo Jiahui insists, with an offended note in her voice. “When I found Binghe in that river, I didn’t know he was part demon, but I would have taken him in anyway! Whoever the parent is, whatever the parent has done, it’s never the baby’s fault. Even if a parent has done something wrong, then babies shouldn’t suffer for it. All children should be cherished.”

Luo Jiahui’s voice breaks a little, her eyes turning wet. Shang Qinghua fumbles for a handkerchief to offer his sister-in-law, which she accepts gratefully.

He wonders if she’s thinking about her stillborn baby. She doesn’t talk about her other baby very often, but she does sometimes. She told him once that she observes that day. It’s something that she insists on doing alone.

“...I was left in the human world as a young child,” Mobei-Jun says.

Shang Qinghua’s head snaps up. He knows that, but that’s because he wrote that. He has never, ever heard Mobei-Jun talk about it before.

“Oh, no,” Luo Jiahui says.

“I was nearly killed by humans,” Mobei-Jun informs them.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Luo Jiahui says.

“It was my uncle’s doing. He wishes to see me dead.” Mobei-Jun says this like it’s just another fact of life, not even an upsetting one, which kind of makes it one of the saddest fucking things that Shang Qinghua has ever heard the man say.

“That’s terrible,” Luo Jiahui says vehemently. “How rotten.”

Mobei-Jun blinks at her. His expression is still solemn, but the pause seems surprised.

Shang Qinghua almost wants to shrug. Yep, his sister-in-law is just like this!

“I have promised Qinghua that I will protect your son,” Mobei-Jun says to her. “I make you the same promise now.”

“...Thank you.”

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is like, “I understand you to be one of the rare humans who is not a piece of shit and who would have saved me as a child. I respect this. I don’t fucking understand it, but I understand you should be protected and that your child should be protected. I am doing this for Shang Qinghua and not because I have any personal issues surrounding the endangerment of demon children.” 

Luo Jiahui is like, “Oh, he’s soft inside! He’ll protect my Binghe. Okay, I like him now. I didn’t want to, but anyone who basically professes to be willing to die for my child and my brother has my reluctant approval.” 

- 

Shang Qinghua can’t help it. The energy in here is so weird! He laughs.

“My king, have you had that all this time?”

Mobei-Jun doesn’t say anything, he just frowns.

“Clearly he was waiting to return it in person, Houhua,” Luo Jiahui admonishes. “It’s not his fault that you took so long introducing us or surely he would have returned it sooner. Don’t make it out to be impolite.”

Mobei-Jun gives Shang Qinghua’s sister-in-law an approving look.

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is like, “Oh, she’s smarter than Qinghua. Good. (Not that my Shang Qinghua isn’t very clever, but he’s an idiot.)” 

- 

And sometimes it’s just nice to take a minute to sit back, relax, and see his disciples daring their shidi, his fellow transmigrator, to chug the spiciest soup on the menu.

“Ah, kids,” Shang Qinghua says to Luo Jiahui.

Luo Jiahui is making a very concerned expression as her sisters, Shang Qinghua’s head disciples, and even Liu Mingyan chant: “Chug! Chug! Chug!” Yeah, he should probably stop them! But why would he? If anyone throws up from this, he’ll just appear out of nowhere to scare the shit out of all of them and then make them clean it up. It’s fine. He says as much to Luo Jiahui.

“They’re old enough to know better,” she says, but she looks fond now. “Their shifu should have taught them better manners, hm?”

“Hey! Only… four of those are mine.”

- 

AN: Friends for Shen Yuan! Friends for Shen Yuan! 

Also SQH being like, “Oh, fuck, I really have too many kids.” 

- 

Luo Jiahui sighs wistfully. “It is nice having children in here again, even big ones who are supposed to be adults now. I’m so proud of how Binghe has grown, but I miss when he was little. I miss when I could pick him up and carry him around. Uncle Han’s daughter brought her new baby in yesterday. He was so cute!”

“Aha, don’t steal a baby to fill the empty nest, please!”

Luo Jiahui swats him. “I wouldn’t do something like that!” she insists, cheeks flushing pink.

- 

AN: Baby?! Baby for Luo Jiahui and Liu Qingge?! Maybe! 

#tossawary commentary #tossawary svsss #pride is not the word

[queeniewriteshockey]

With Your Head or Your Heart || Matthew Tkachuk + Reader

A/N: This story was written with the song This Feeling by The Chainsmokers as inspo. It felt like a very matty song. Or, perhaps it’s more a reaction from people to a relationship with Matty. Please let me know what you think. I love hearing your thoughts.  Requested: Y/N this is all my own mind refusing to let this rat go. It’s because of this that it was written in one day.  Word Count: 8,194

A chill runs through your body, making you groan as you chase the warmth again. You bury yourself deeper in the cocoon you’ve made for yourself out of blankets and squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. Perhaps if you try really hard, you won’t have to wake up and face the day. You already know the day is going to suck. You can feel the slight pounding in your head growing. It sounds like a drum section of an orchestra. The rhythm is steady; each pump of blood through your heart makes your head pound. The pulsing needs to stop.

The blankets pull away from you without your say, and your response is nothing intelligible. A tiny whine escapes your lips as you reach to stop them from going anywhere. You don’t want to get up. You want to stay where you are warm and comfortable. You want to stay surrounded by the warm scent of vanilla and sandalwood. You want…

Your mind stops whining for a second as you turn your face into the pillow and inhale deeply. The scent is warm and woodsy, not feminine at all. It’s not yours, either, your pillows smell like lavender and chamomile. You know this because you spray them nightly to help you sleep. A large part of you loves the smell of these pillows, but the logical part of you is screaming at your stupidity.

“Babe, come on, we gotta get up,” Matt says from somewhere, you’re guessing the end of the bed because the blankets are still being tugged away from you. He’s not trying very hard, though. If Matt wanted to, the sheets could pull them from your grasp without effort. He was strong enough.

“I don’t wanna,” you mumble into the pillow. Your reasons for not wanting to get up are two parts comfort and one part an unwillingness to face Matt and then your friends.

“I was going to make breakfast.”

You snort. Matt, make breakfast? Funny.

“Okay, I was going to order breakfast. Maybe you could stay and we could-”

“No,” you say, suddenly rolling over to the edge of the bed and sitting up. The room is bright, far brighter than you would like it to be, and the pounding in your head grows with the sudden movement. The evening before comes back to you effortlessly.

You’d gone out with a few of your friends and met up with Matt and a few of his friends. It was supposed to be relaxed and carefree. It was supposed to be fun. It was all of those things. When it came to Matt, you had a hard time saying no to him when he was so sweet and affectionate, which was always.

They tell me think with my head, not that thing in my chest.

“I can’t.” You can, but you can’t. It’s always the same response, and Matt knows it. You don’t look back at him when you stand to collect your clothing for the simple fact that if you see that dumb pout on his dumb face, you may finally cave and actually stay. It wasn’t because you didn’t want to stay. It was the exact opposite, truthfully.

You’ve known Matt for over a year now, and he’s never been anything but the nicest guy. He’s always there when you need a hand, and he’s fun to talk with. He makes you laugh, but more than that, he makes you happy. If only things were that easy, though.

“Yeah,” he says from behind you. “I figured.”

You shut the door to the bathroom on his words and close your eyes. You didn’t have enough to drink to feel sick to your stomach, but you feel sick nonetheless.

They got their hands at my neck this time.

Everyone and you do mean everyone has warned you about Matthew Tkachuk. You couldn't count how often you had been told by your friends and even some of his teammates, that he’s not a good guy to date. They all said the same thing; don’t get attached. He won’t stick around. So you keep your guard up and do exactly what they say. You don’t let yourself get attached. If only it weren’t also breaking your heart, that would be awesome.

In the bathroom, you busy yourself with cleaning yourself up and getting dressed. There’s a toothbrush in the cup that’s reserved just for you, and you do your best not to consider what that means. It’s purple - your favorite color. He went out of his way to get it for you. Though, when he gave it to you, you to told yourself not to overthink it. It was just a toothbrush. You’d made mention of wishing you had one once, and he’d remembered. You didn’t think he’d keep it, though. It sat next to his as though it belonged there.

You throw yourself together as best you can. You wash your face with a bit of water, trying to clear the smudging of your eyeliner so that you don’t look like a raccoon. The water helps to wake you up and clear your head. You run your fingers through your hair, catching a few of the knots created by sleep and Matt’s fingers before you pull it up into a messy bun and call it good.

You could take a shower, but truthfully getting out of there was the better option. The farther away from Matt, you were, the better you were able to think with your head, which is what you need to keep doing when it comes to Matt.

“All good?” Matt asks when you step out of the bathroom.

You nod. “Bit of a headache, but,” you shrug. That was the least of your worries. You wander out of the bedroom and into the living room in an effort to distance yourself from Matt and also to find your purse. Your phone is in there, which is how you call for a ride.

“Do you want a cup of coffee before you go?” Matt asks. He’s standing in the kitchen holding a kcup in his hand. “I can make you one.”

It’s such a tempting offer but again you shake your head. You’ve located the purse and the phone, thankfully. “I’m just going to call a Lyft and head home. Emma is probably worried about me.”

“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see ya when I get back, maybe?” It’s a question more than a statement. You feel bad for making him question you, but at the same time, it’s for the best.

“Yeah, of course,” you tell him while you call for your ride. He was leaving for a road trip in a few days, which was the reason for the night out last night. The first road trip of the year, after all. “Good luck, Matt. I hope you guys kill it.”

You place a kiss to his cheek before you leave, you can’t help it. You need that little bit of contact with him. When you slip out the door, you sigh softly and shake your head. He makes it so hard to keep a logical mind.

--

I'll tell you a story before it tells itself. I'll lay out all my reasons; you'll say that I need help.

“This is a bad idea,” Emma says from your bedroom. “I’m telling you Y/N; you should have said no.”

You’re standing in your bathroom, putting in a pair of earrings while making sure your makeup looks okay for the evening ahead of you.

“You’ve made your opinion perfectly clear, Em,” you remind her.

She’d been telling you for days to back out of the invitation to a team party Matt bestowed upon you. He’d been very clear that it was just as friends, but he needed a date so… You’d agreed. He was a friend, after all. You did like spending time with him. Plus, you liked his teammates. They were fun and entertaining. His reasons for asking you and not someone else made sense to you. He didn’t have a date,  and he couldn’t go alone, plus he didn’t want to go with just anyone. What if they were boring? What if he didn’t like them? At least he knew he’d have fun with you. He's a real smooth talker. But he sold you on the logic, and you shrugged off all the naysayers. Which, when it came to Matt, were many.

“It’s just a party, Em, a work party, no less. It’s fine. We’re friends, remember?” The statement seemed more like a place holder than actual information. It was something you’d uttered so many times, to yourself and your friends, that it didn’t even feel like a real statement. One of these days, you’d stop trying to explain yourself to everyone, but today was not that day.

She mutters something you can’t make out from a distance between you, but you hardly need to hear her descent. She’s been one of the biggest opponents of yours and Matt’s friendship from day one. You didn’t understand why and anytime you asked, she seemed to think “because” was a good enough reason. As far as you knew, there had never been an issue between Matt and Emma. He was always very kind to her, which was more than you could say for her. She made her dislike for him very clear.

She was part of the reason you held him at bay, truthfully. You valued your friends and their opinions. If they had a reason to dislike a guy, it was almost always valid. You held on to that knowledge every time you pulled away from him, but it was getting harder to remember.

“How do I look?” You ask, stepping out of the bathroom. Your dress is dark blue and silky; it sits off the shoulders with cuffed sleeves. It tapers to the waist and flairs at the hips to flow gently to the floor. You should pair it with heels, you know, but you decided to go with a pair of silver flats because you preferred to preserve your feet. You didn’t really like heels anyway.

“Too good for him,” she says as she hurries off the bed to inspect you. Your hair is pinned up in some complicated do that Emma had created. It's some sort of french twist with a sweep of your bangs across the forehead and wisps of hair curled around your hairline. It was an important party, so you had to look elegant.

“Well, thank you,” you tell her with a smile. You’re excited and nervous about the party, but you try not to let that show.

“I like these,” she says as she reaches for the earrings you’d been messing with. “Where did you get them?”

“Uh,” you hesitate, “Matt gave them to me.” The silver teardrop earrings had been a gift from him as had the delicate necklace that matched. He’d gifted them to you before you’d agreed to go to the party with him. It had been his way of asking, which was incredibly sweet of him and power move you told no one about. You may have picked the dress out specifically to go with the earrings, but you weren’t going to admit that to Emma. She’d likely die from her eye roll.

“Well, how about that,” she says softly, “he has a little bit of taste.”

“Rude,” you tell her. You know she doesn’t care about insulting Matt, but that statement wasn’t exactly friendly to you either. What did it say about you if she thought he had no taste? He seemed to like you well enough, at least.

There’s a knock on the door of your apartment, making the two of you turn in the direction of the sound. You both know who it is, but you don’t move to get the door. He’s annoyingly on time.

“I’ll get it,” Emma says. She grabs a silver shawl from the corner of your bed before she heads out,  “Here put this on. Give me a few minutes and then come out. He needs to wait.”

“Why?” You ask, but she waves the question off and heads out of the room. The shawl is beautiful and utterly impractical for Calgary in the wintertime, but beauty didn’t listen to the temperature, plus you were going to be indoors, so it hardly mattered.

You heard Emma answer the door, and Matt great her. She’s as civil as you’ve ever heard her, but it’s his voice that causes you to suck in a deep breath. He’s the kindest he can be to her, never anything but, despite the fact that she makes it hard for him.

“She’ll be out in a minute. Don’t get comfortable.” Again, rude. One of these days, you’ll need to find out just why she doesn’t like Matt.

From your spot in your room, you slide the shawl over your shoulders and retake a deep breath. You smooth down your dress to give yourself something to do before fixing your smile on your gently painted lips and walking out. Matt’s standing by the door in a beautiful grey tux and a white shirt; his bowtie matches your dress almost perfectly. The two of you are practically reversed in colors. He’s silver with blue accents, and you’re blue with silver.

The smile that spreads across his lips when he sees you is almost blinding, and it makes you blush. “You look beautiful,” he tells you. The honesty in his voice makes your heart skip.

You could curse him for the way he makes you feel. Little butterflies tickle your nerves, and all you can do is smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” you tell him, trying to play off the nerves. He looks better than not so bad. He’s the most handsome you’ve ever seen. Perhaps this was a bad idea.

He laughs at the backhanded compliment and shrugs, “I had help,” he admits. “Johnny’s girlfriend is responsible for this.”

“Of course, she is.” You should thank her next time you see her. Or maybe you should kill her. “You’d be a mess without the women in your life.”

“Don’t I know it.” The fact that he doesn’t even argue with the statement makes you laugh. One of the biggest reasons you liked Matt was because of how he treated the women in his life. Everyone was always cautioning you with him, but from what you’d seen, he was extremely loving and kind to the women he loved. It wasn’t just any man that would gush about his baby sister the way Matt did.

“Shall we go?” He holds out an elbow to you like a perfect gentleman, and you take it willingly.

“Yes, we shall.” You turn to Emma to say something, but she doesn’t let you.

“Have fun,” she says before you can say anything.

“We will. Don’t wait up.” Matt says with a big grin on his face. Okay, he’s doing that to annoy her now. That, he was very good at. It wasn’t just Emma he annoyed, either. All of your friends thought he was a pest.

You tut at him and push him out the door before Emma can respond. “You like seeing her get pissed, don’t you?” You ask as the two of you walk to his car. He wasn’t mean to her, never mean. But he did know how to poke a sleeping bear without getting bitten. It was a talent of his, both on and off the ice.

“It gives me great pleasure to see her eyes get wide and her nostrils flare.” He laughs. “I’ve never done anything to her; she hates me for no reason.”

“You’re hopeless.”

He opens the passenger side door for you, a grin on his face. “Yes, but you love me anyway.” He places a kiss on your cheek and stands back to let you take your seat.

“You think mighty highly of yourself, mister,” you say instead of debating his statement. You’re not sure what the truth is where your feelings for him are concerned, and you don’t want to figure it out. It’s best to leave that on the ground and kicked under something.

The drive to the party is filled with the two of you ‘discussing’ read arguing over the music in the car. Matt takes the very mature stance that the driver picks the music, but you maintain that as the passenger, you control the radio while he focuses on not killing the two of you. Neither of you wins the argument, though. The whole drive is spent skipping each other's choices of songs and stations. It always goes like that, though.

We all got expectations, and sometimes they go wrong. But no one listens to me, so I put it in this song.

As it turns out, the party is more of a charity event than a real party, but it’s interesting to see the big to-do the Flames turned it into. The event itself is as beautiful as you expected. It’s elegant and understated. The decore is blacks and whites and golds, and the music flows like the alcohol. Probably to loosen donors’ wallets. Neither of you is drinking, which means both of you get to remember the chaos the rest of the team causes during the party. That was, in your opinion, the best part of going.

Noah slides up to you about an hour into the party, after Matt’s wandered away for a second because he has to rub hands with some remarkable people. Such was the life of the future face of the Calgary Flames, you suppose.

“Enjoying yourself?” Noah asks. His smile is loose, and his eyes heavy-lidded. He has been drinking; that is clear.

“Yes, actually.” You’d already been out on the dance floor a few times with Matt. He’d shocked you the first time he’d asked you to dance. Honestly, you’d laughed at him and questioned his ability to dance, but he was decent, and it was easy to forget where you were when the two of you were pressed together, moving as one on a dance floor. It was easy to lose yourself in him anyway.

“Saw you on the dance floor. You looked like you were having fun. So did Chucky.” You hate that nickname, but it was one you’d gotten used to hearing. Chucky was a killer doll. Matt was not Chucky. Not to you.

“Well, I’m glad he’s not regretting bringing me.”

Noah scoffs. “Like that’s ever possible. He’s been talking about this for weeks.”

A blush creeps up your neck at Noah’s words. You wish you could blame it on alcohol, but you’re stonecold sober, so it wasn’t that. No, it pleased you that he was excited to take you to the party. He was excited to have you as his date.

“Hey,” Matt says beside you, suddenly making you jump. “You trying to steal my date?” He askes Noah as he puts an arm around your waist.

“Of course,” he says, “she’s too good for you, anyway.”

“He has a point,” Matt says, looking down at you. “You’re way too good for me. But, this chump has no room to talk.”

“Do I get a say in this?” You ask as the two ping pong chirps back and forth over you. “Because I think I’m going to go find Johnny. I like him better than both of you.”

Matt laughs and places a kiss on your cheek. “I think I saw him over by the bar.”

You slip from his hold, give him a mock salute, and head in the bar's direction. You weren’t joking when you said you wanted to find Johnny. Noah and Matt were joking around, of course, but it still felt weird to have both of them arguing over who you were too good for. Were you too good for Matt? Or was he just bad for you like Emma always said?

“Hey, you,” Johnny says when you finally find him. “I thought I saw you around.” Johnny hugs you as a greeting, and you return it warmly. “Where’s your menace?”

“He’s not mine,” you say quickly. “He’s over talking to Noah.” He wasn’t yours. You had to keep it that way. You don’t argue with the fact that he is a menace. You do know Matt, after all.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course.” You’d be having more fun if you could drink, but you needed a clear head about you. It was a resolution you’d picked up before the holidays because when it came to Matt, a clear head was necessary. You often found yourself in trouble because of him if you didn’t keep a clear head. “Matt’s a perfect gentleman, and this place is gorgeous.”

“It’s a bit stuffy for my liking,” he says with a shrug, “but it seems to have the effect the organization is looking for. Are you going to the after-party?”

“After-party?” You ask because no one’s mentioned an after-party.

“Chucky, didn’t tell you?” Johnny asks, his brow furrowing. “Maybe he’s not going either.”

“Maybe,” you say. Or maybe he just didn’t want you to go with him.

The sick feeling you’ve learned comes with your feelings for Matt come back but this time it’s a little different. Disappointment, maybe? Or was it more? Was this what Emma was trying to warn you about? It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. Both of you made it clear that this was just a friend’s date. Nothing more.

Matt finds you shortly after Johnny vanishes into the crowd, leaving you to your thoughts. “Hey,” he says with a smile. It faulters when he sees you, though. “Are you okay?” He asks. The concern in his voice does nothing to make you feel better.

“Uh,” you say with a shake of your head. “I don’t feel well.” It wasn’t a lie, but you didn’t know how to tell him why you didn’t feel well. “Maybe dinner didn’t agree with me.”

“Do you want me to take you home?” His hand rubs your back, comforting you.

“Yeah. I think I want to lay down.”

He doesn’t even bother to make his rounds to say goodbye. He waves to Noah and that’s it. Before you know it, the two of you are outside and headed toward the car.

“Do you want to go home or back to my place? I’ll let you have the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

If you went back to his house, it meant he couldn’t go to the after-party, but you didn’t really want to be around him at the moment, either, so you shook your head. “I want my bed,” you tell him. You just wanted to lay down and forget the evening happened at this point.

You can hear Emma’s I told you so, and it doesn’t help matters at all. You want to scream. This was why you kept him at arm’s length. This was why everyone warned you about him.

“Let me walk you up,” he says when he pulls up to your building.

“No, it’s okay. Go back to the party, Matt. I’ll be fine.” You open the door and step out of the car before leaning down. “Thanks for taking me,” you say politely because you aren’t rude, and you don’t want him to know that anything is wrong.

“Thanks for coming with me. We should do it again.”

“The party?” You ask, confused.

“No,” he says with a laugh. “The date. But like, maybe a real one.”

His statement throws you off-kilter. You can’t help but blink at him. Confusion must show on your face because suddenly, he’s backtracking.

“Or, not,” he offers. “Obviously, if you don’t want to…”

“I don’t feel well,” you tell him again. “Good night Matt.” You close the door without answering him about a real date. You’re more confused now than you were before.

When you get into your apartment, Emma is waiting for you. She’s shocked to see you home so early. You tell her the same thing you told Matt and escape into your room to wash the evening off.

When you finally settle into bed, you grab your phone to dig through the notifications you missed. You’re shocked to find a text from Matt.

[[Feel better, angel]] is all it says. It leaves you more confused than before and maybe feeling a little guilty.

I'll tell them a story; they'll sit and nod their heads. I tell you all my secrets, and you tell all your friends.

You thought things with Matt would be a little strained after the party, but as it turned out, he didn’t go back to the party. He didn’t go to the after-party, either. He went home and did exactly what you did. He watched TV and relaxed. You know this because he kept texting you during the night, making it difficult for you to rest, which you pointed out. Of course, that led to his “well if you’d just stayed here…” Comment. He really was hopeless.

You let Johnny’s comment about the after-party fade into nothingness. It took a minute to do so because the running commentary by Emma fueled the doubt that plagued your mind. She never failed to tell you just how much she didn’t think Matt was good enough for you.

“He’s going to break your heart,” she says one day while the two of you sit in a cafe. “He’s notorious for it, and you’re just gonna end up being another notch in his bedpost.” She doesn’t seem to care that it’s your feelings, not his, that she’s hurting.

“He doesn’t have my heart to break, Emma,” you remind her for the millionth time. If you say it enough, maybe it won’t be true. Lately, he’s done nothing to make you question him, but you’ve also made sure to keep your distance with him. No more fake dates or dubious evenings that end up in his bed.

“Yeah, okay,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone with these lies, Y/N. I know you. I can see it in your face.”

You don’t like it when she contradicts you or points out your lies. If you say them enough, maybe they won’t be lies. Possibly, you’ll believe that you aren’t at least getting attached to Matt. Maybe.

Your phone chimes beside you, and you glance down to see the message that just came in. It’s not exactly rare to get a message from Matt anymore. Since the party, he’s been a permanent fixture in your messages. The two of you seem to talk more now than you have in the year plus that you’ve known each other. He even facetimes you sometimes when he’s on the road.

Text messages and even facetime are safe. You don’t have to guard yourself against him or your feelings when you’re not physically face to face with him. It’s easier to keep the barriers up. Arm’s length can be a country or two long.

“Is that Matt?” Emma asks before you reach for the phone.

“Yeah,” you tell her. “We’re supposed to exchange holiday gifts today before he flys home for the all-star game.” You were over the moon happy for him and so proud when you’d heard he’d been picked for the games. It was a huge accomplishment and one he rightfully deserved.

“I hope you got him a lump of coal,” Emma says bitterly.

“Emma,” you scold. “I didn’t get him a lump of coal.” You’d spent the better part of two months racking your brain for a suitable gift for the idiot. His birthday and Christmas were in the same month. Annoying. But you’d had time because the two of you had decided to do gift-giving in January. Partially because of his schedule and partly because you’d gone home for the holidays to see your parents.

“What did you get him?” She asks, her eyes narrowing skeptically.

“I’m not telling you!” You’re defensive of the way she questions you. Matt was stupidly hard to shop for, honestly. What do you get a hockey player who can afford to buy whatever he wanted? It was unfair, really.

“Fine, whatever. I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like he’s anything special. I’m sure by this time next year; he won’t even be a part of the conversation.”

Hold on to your opinions, and stand by what you said.

You stand, suddenly, tired of this conversation. You’ve been tired of it for months. “Stop it.” Your anger boils beneath the surface, which makes keeping your tone level difficult. “I know you hate him; I know this. You’ve made that very clear, but he’s my friend. Why can’t you just respect that?”

It was your mistake to make; it was your life to mess up. He was your friend, not hers. She holds her hands up in surrender but doesn’t say anything. You were tired of everyone hating him. You just wanted to be able to make your own choices when it came to him. No one was willing to let you, though.

“Sorry,” she finally says, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I’m worried.”

“You’ve made that very clear, and I’ll keep it under advisement, but please, keep your opinions to yourself.”

She nods in agreement. It’s probably the best you’re going to get from her.

“I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I hope he likes the gift,” she says as her goodbye.

You do too, but you can’t focus on that. You’re too angry to be positive at the moment, and her comment just bugs you even more. He probably won’t, you think. That’s probably what she meant. It’s fine. If he doesn’t like it, he can return it or give it to goodwill. It’s his choice.

In the end, it's my decision, so it's my fault when it ends.

The two of you meet up at an outdoor ice rink to enjoy a little recreational skating and a bit of hot cocoa before exchanging the gifts. You had wanted to keep it informal because it was safer that way. Outside and around people was always safer when Matt was involved.

It was so easy to forget everything everyone warned you about when it was just the two of you. He was so loving and sweet with you. He never made you feel like you weren’t exactly who he wanted to be with when he was there. He never made you feel like you were an afterthought or a chore. He always made you feel special.

“Hey, Angel,” he says with a grin when he sees you. He’s got a toque over his curls, and his skates hanging from his shoulders.

“Hey Matty,” you say, matching his grin. Your little gift bag is swinging from your finger, and your skates mirror his.

“You okay?” He asks because somehow, he can always tell when you’re not in the best mood.

“I will be,” you tell him honestly, “Emma just irritated me today.”

“Of course, she did. I’m tellin’ ya. That girl has issues.”

You sigh. Between the two of them, you can’t handle it. Matt had become more vocal about his issues with Emma lately, and you just didn’t have the energy to battle either of them. “Please,” you ask softly, “can we not talk about her?”

“Sure. This is an Emma free zone starting. Now.” He sits down and pulls you with him so that you can put your skates on.

“Thank you,” you tell him before focusing on getting the skates on and out onto the ice.

The moment the two of you are out on the ice, all the annoyance with Emma fades away. You find yourself lost in the crowd of people doing the same thing you’re doing. There are a few kids that recognize Matt, which means you're dragged into being a photographer so they can have a picture with him, you don’t mind, though. It’s hard to care when the smile on his face is so genuine. He doesn’t turn a single kid down for a photo or an autograph.

A couple of the parents have to usher their kids away so that “he and his girlfriend can spend time together”. You correct a few of them, but your protest falls on deaf ears.

“Would it be so bad,” he asks, wrapping an arm around you as the two of you make a loop around the rink.

“Would what be so bad?” You ask because you’re not sure what he’s referring to.

“Being my girlfriend.”

You laugh at the question but stop when he doesn’t join in on the joke. “Matt, I can’t be your girlfriend.”

His brow furrows, and his lips press into a thin line, “why’s that?” He asks as though he doesn’t know. As though he actually thinks its a good idea.

“It wouldn’t work. You’re… And I’m…” You didn’t know how to finish either of those sentences, so you let the statements fall where they were.

“I’m what?” He asks, turning to look at you while he skates backward. “I’m what, Y/N?”

“You’re just…” Emma’s words run through your head. Player. Heart breaker. Womanizer. Anything and everything bad that she could think of to describe Matt ran through your head. She never listened when you told her he wasn’t like that.

“You can’t tell me there isn’t something between us,” he says more forcefully.

“Can we not do this here?” You ask. There are people around. It’s public, and he’s a public figure. “Matt, let’s talk about this somewhere else.” You slide into the wall of the rink, hoping to coax him off the ice, but he doesn’t exit.

“Naw,” he says suddenly. “I don’t think I want to. I don’t need a change of scenery for the “it’s not you, it’s me” conversation. It’s cool. Message received.” When he does exit the rink, it’s without you. No matter how much pleading you do, he doesn’t listen.

You don’t follow him off the ice. You don’t know how to make this better. You don’t know what to say or do. This isn’t how the day was supposed to go. You were supposed to exchange gifts and get cocoa and have fun with your… He was never just a friend. You both knew that.

By the time you drag yourself off the ice, Matt is long gone. You change out of the skates and pull your bag and shoes out of the little locker you’d bought to keep everything in. His gift is in there, mocking you, but worse than that is the little card that Matt must have put in there when you weren’t looking. It wasn’t torn up or anything, so he must have done it before you wrecked everything.

Do you open it? Or do you just throw it away?

You glance around the rink, wondering if Matt is still there, but you don’t see him. The card taps on your fingers as you walk out of the rink, your gift to him hangs from your wrist, and it burns you where it sits. Guilt wells up inside you, but you try not to let it eat you alive. You never expected this, honestly. Every time you considered the possibility of being Matt’s girlfriend, you were reminded of all the reasons you shouldn’t let yourself fall for him.

Maybe… Maybe those reasons didn’t exist.

In your car, you sit silently, debating a few things. You could text him and apologize. You could go home and forget all of this and let it end where it is. Wouldn’t it be better for both of you if you did? He was mad, obviously, and truthfully you felt like maybe he had a reason to be. The two of you were more than friends; you always had been. You wanted to be his girlfriend. You did. You had from almost the moment you met him.

Out of habit and curiosity more than anything, you slid the envelope to the card Matt had left open and pulled the card out. It was a simple card, solid of color with little gold filigree on it. Happy Holidays is scrawled on it. When you opened it, a ticket fell out which forced you to abandon the card and open the other envelope. A plane ticket to St. Louis sat nestled in the fold, your name on the boarding pass.

The card itself simply reads, “Come see me, Love Matt.” It is more than you can take. Tears fall from your eyes, and you scream in anger. You’d let everyone around you make your choices for you, and you’d ruined probably the best thing you’d ever had without even knowing it.

The drive home dries the tears, but it does nothing to change your mood. Heartbroken isn’t even the right word for how you feel. You feel like utter shit. They’d told you he’d break your heart. They didn’t tell you you’d break his; they didn’t prepare you for the fact that you were the one not good enough for him. Did any of them even know him?

Walking through the door of the apartment takes all the strength you can muster. You don’t want to see Emma right now. You don’t want to deal with her, but it doesn’t matter. The moment she sees you, she’s out of her seat and wrapping you in a comforting hug.

“What happened?” She asks. “What did he do?”

“Nothing,” you tell her. “He did nothing. He… Asked me to be his girlfriend, and then,” you handed her the ticket and walked away.

She looks at the card, and the ticket you’d just handed her in confusion before turning around to talk to you. You were already on your way to your room, hardly paying attention to anything.

“Wait… I’m confused. Are you going?” She follows you into your room where you face plant into the pillow.

“No,” you tell her. Your words are muffled, and you make no effort to change that. If you look at her, you’ll cry. Or yell at her. She’s one of the voices in your head, cautioning you where Matt is concerned.

“What happened?” She asks again, this time more gently. Her hand rubs your back. It’s meant to comfort, but all it does is make you cry.

“He wanted me to go to St. Louis with him, but he never got to tell me. I ruined everything, Emma. Everyone kept telling me he was going to hurt me, but” You turn your head to look at her, “you didn’t see his face, Emma. I’m the one that hurt him.”

She sucks in a deep breath through her teeth and falls silent. Her hands rub circles into your back while you lay there and cry. You’re thankful that she doesn’t have anything to say this time. You don’t need her condescension or her help. You just want to lay there and hate yourself in peace. The migraine you’ll end up with will be well deserved after all of this.

At some point, sleep takes you, but it’s fitful. It’s been a long time since you’ve cried yourself to sleep, but you can’t help it. You loved him, even if you didn’t allow yourself to say it out loud, or in thought for that matter. You never considered your life without him. You never thought that was an actual possibility. He was always there for you, and you thought he always would be. You wanted him to be there for you.

“Okay,” Emma says loudly, pulling you from your sleep if that’s what it was. “I know how to fix this.”

“Fix what?” You ask. Your voice is raw from all the crying and the screaming you’d done in the car. It hadn’t been very mature, but it had made you feel better in the moment.

“This thing with Matt.” She lovingly flicks you. Almost as if to say get with the program.

“There’s no fixing this,” you tell her sadly. You didn’t see any way of making this right. He was gone, and he wasn’t going to come back. Not to you, anyway.

“No, you’re wrong. You still have the ticket, so…”

You sit up slowly, needing to be upright for this conversation because you were having a hard time following her at the moment. It wasn’t just because you had a headache, either. Was Emma trying to help fix things? She hates Matt. Why would she try to help?

“Guilt,” she says. “This is my fault.”

You didn’t even realize you’d spoken, let alone asked her a question.

“Look, I’m not a big fan of his, but you clearly like him, and I can’t really deny that he liked you, either. So… We fix this. Maybe…”

“Are you suggesting I fly to St. Louis?” You ask.

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. You have the ticket. Unless he’s canceled it, the flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. You could…”

“What if he’s canceled it?”

“He hasn’t.” She’s so damn sure of it it’s hard to argue with her.

“What do you say? Should we get you packed?”

“What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if I get there and he won’t see me and I’m just… there?” The idea of him rejecting you in a completely different city is worse than any nightmare you’ve ever been subjected to. You’ve already broken your own heart, did you want to let him do it too? Perhaps you deserved it.

“Y/N,” Emma says with a sigh, “stop it. You listened to me before, listen to me now.”

“But, you were WRONG before!” You remind her.

She waves her hand at you as though your argument means nothing. “But I’m not now. Go to St. Louis. Find him. I’ll text Noah and ask what Matt’s room number is and everything. It’ll be okay. We’ll fix this.”

You’re skeptical about this plan, but you have nothing to lose, so… why the hell not. “Okay. Okay, sure. Yeah. I’ll go to St. Louis.”  

-- They tell me think with my head, not that thing in my chest. They got their hands at my neck this time.

He didn’t cancel the ticket, though why you have no idea. If it had been you, you would have canceled it right away. You would have tried to get some of your money back. Perhaps Matt didn’t care about the money. He was rich, after all. A plane ticket probably didn’t even register to him. For whatever the reason, you’re grateful to him for not canceling it. It would have made getting to St. Louis a lot more complicated.

While you nursed your lovely headache, Emma had packed your bag, but you’d given her a few instructions on what to pack. Once you are packed, the rest of the evening is spent listening to Emma apologize for being so awful about Matt. You want so badly to be mad at her, to hold onto that anger and blame her for all of this. She was trying so hard to fix it, though. You could see that.

She’d even taken you to the airport and made sure your boarding pass was still working. At the security gate, she hugged you and apologized one last time before sending you on your way through.

Once you’re seated on the plane, it sets in that there is no going back. You’re actually going to St. Louis to what? Confess your love for Matt? This sounds so ridiculous, but it’s precisely what you’re going to do. Music keeps your mind occupied on the flight and through the connection. It’s a playlist that Matt put together for times when the two of you couldn’t agree on the station in the car. It had a bit of both your favorites. The thoughtfulness tugged at heartstrings you didn’t know existed. A few times you felt the tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, but you’d cried enough already. You didn’t want to do it again.

Landing in St. Louis was both exciting and terrifying. You had no idea where you were going, but you made it work by asking for directions and finding the little maps all over the airport. Finding a cab was an adventure. The place was a madhouse; it was the all-star weekend, though, so that explained everything. Your taxi driver was a very nice man, friendly and communicative. You told him where you needed to go, and he got you there without any trouble. You tipped him very well and hoped against hope that you wouldn’t need another one in a few hours.

Noah had come through for you with the name of Matt’s hotel and his room number. He was a good friend. You should set him up with Emma. Maybe it would soften her heart to Matt a little… if this whole thing turns out alright, that is. Which, it very well might blow up in your face more spectacularly than the skate rink incident. Yes, that’s what you’re calling it now.

You bypass the check-in counters and go right for the elevators to get to the floor you need. The hotel is chaotic, and it’s easy for you to slip through everything. You knew from Noah that a bunch of the hockey players were staying in the same place. You’d thought, maybe, that Matt would stay with his family, but Noah had assured you that he would be at the hotel.

The hall that led to Matt’s room was deserted when you arrived, which was a blessing, honestly. If it had been swimming with players, you might have lost your nerve. As it was, your hands shook when you stopped in front of his door. You didn’t know if he was in there or out with the guys or doing something with his family. Honestly, you could be standing there for hours and never see him, but you needed to knock, or you’d never know.

The sound of the knock echoed through the empty hall, and you held your breath, waiting for the door to open. Or not. It felt like you stood there for an eternity before the lock on the other side clicked, and the door pulled open. Matt stood there in a pair of shorts and hoodie, his eyebrow raised in your direction.

But you're the one that I want if that's so wrong Then they don't know what this feeling is like

Confusion glosses over his features before his face turns to stone. “Y/N?”

“I’m so sorry, Matt.” You say instantly. “For everything. I didn’t. I’m so sorry.” You were going to cry again, which you told yourself you wouldn’t do, but it’s so hard when he’s standing there looking at you.

He reaches for you, and you let yourself be pulled into his room. His arms wrap around you, and he holds onto you while you cry. It doesn’t seem fair that he’s comforting you after how you’d treated him. He shushes you and presses his cheek to the top of your head. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “I’m sorry I got mad and stormed out. I shouldn’t have… You’re allowed to say no to being my girlfriend.”

You pull back from him and shake your head. “I don’t want to say no, Matt. Really. I never wanted to say no. I just. I was scared because people keep telling me that you’re no good for me.”

“Emma people?” He asks.

You can’t lie to him, so you just nod. “But she’s the reason I’m here. She told me to fix it, so I’m trying. That’s why I’m here. Matt, I love you, and that scares me bc I don’t want to get hurt.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says softly. “I’ll try my best not to. It’s as good as I can give you.” Very few people set out to hurt the other in a relationship. His offer is as good as it gets. “If, that’s what you’re saying.”

You laugh through the tears and nod. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. I want to be your girlfriend, okay? I love you.”

He pulls you close and pressed his lips to yours. It’s forceful and firm, but it softens as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank fuck,” he says against your lips. “It’s about time we made this official.”

You laugh at his words before pulling him back into a kiss. You choose to focus on that rather than the rest of the relationship. That will come in time. The two of you need to discuss things, you’re sure, but the time for talk is later. Right now, you want to get lost in him. You want to put the hotel bed to use, and you want him to show you around the city he grew up in.

All in good time, though. You have plenty of it, after all.

#matthew tkachuck #matthew tkachuk imagine #calgary flames imagine #NHL Imagine #hockey imagines

[midnxghtsunwrites]

SMOKESTACKS | 4, PAT-A-CAKE

previous chapter

SKIP TO OCTOBER

"WAKE UP, ASSHOLE!"

Jax is jolted awake by his mother's loud voice and heavy hand. She'd slapped his jeans-covered calf with her freshly done nails and dropped her handbag beside him. The run that the Sons did last night did nothing but feed into Jax's exhaustion. As President, he was meant to be on guard at all times but nobody ever really sees Gemma Teller-Morrow coming.

The man rubs a hand over his face, his ring cool against his skin. He rises from his position on the bed and glares at his mother, "What the hell is your problem?" His voice was gruff with exhaustion. He left when the sun was still high in the sky and returned when the sun was beginning to rise.

Gemma looks taken aback, "Where are your manners, you jerk?"

Jax resists the urge to roll his eyes but he just wants to go back to sleep, "Sorry," He corrects himself, popping his neck, "Rough night."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Gemma hums as she chews on her gum, "I got some stuff to handle at the shop. You gotta pick up Thomas from daycare and Abel from kindergarten."

Jax glances at the clock on his side table, ready to argue that it's too early for that, only to see that it's past four. "Shit," He mumbles before jumping to his feet. Passing the kutte on the dining room chair, he grabs the keys to his truck and turns to his mother who was following behind him.

Taking in the mischievous smirk on her face, the man furrows his eyebrows, "What's up with you?" He pulls on his hoodie despite living in California just days before Halloween.

Gemma tilts her head at her son's gaze. For the past three months, she'd gotten closer to Abel's teacher, often engaging in conversations about the little boy that would veer off into more personal topics. And by personal, she means sharing cobbler recipes and cooing over videos and pictures of Abel and Thomas when they were younger.

After Tara gave birth to Jax's second son, Thomas, she tried to rat and take the boys away from the MC President only for him to run her out of town without them. Of course, she didn't go easy so Jax was left to threaten her — either go voluntarily or in a body bag. He kept his boys and with the help of his mom, they'd been raising them for the past year.

Now, Jax deserves some love coming from someone that doesn't have a problem with his status. And that might come in the form of a kindergarten teacher. The only reason it took so long for her to start meddling was because she had to make sure that Nadine is a good person with no ulterior motives for being in Charming. Gemma doesn't know if she'll be okay with Jax's presidential status or what, but it's worth a try.

Gemma doesn't have to do shit at the shop. This ruse is to get Jax to finally meet the woman. It'll be a surprise for them both considering Gemma said nothing to the teacher about Jax picking Abel up.

"Nothing, baby, I just think Abel will be very excited to see his daddy." She plays it off, before cradling her son's face and pressing a kiss to his cheek, "Later."

"Later, ma."

NADINE STOOPS AT THE DOOR OF the classroom, playing Pat-A-Cake with Abel. It was an hour past the time everyone was picked up. Well, everyone but Abel Teller here. Nadine had no qualms about staying after school to wait with him until Gemma picks him up, but she finds it unusual that she's so late.

Gemma is usually the first one in the door.

"No, you're supposed to —" Nadine says with a giggle as she tries to show Abel how to play the hand game that goes with the nursery rhyme, "There you go, you got it!"

The game goes on for a little while longer before the door to the kindergarten building is pushed open and a blond man dressed in a black hoodie and baggy jeans steps over the threshold. In his arms is a boy younger than Abel by about two years — they look very much alike. The man's hair is slicked back and a smile is wide on his face when his blue eyes set on Abel's.

For a second, all Nadine can think about is how crazy this man must be to be wearing a thick, black hoodie in the heat of California. Maybe he's used to it.

"Hey, little man," The man greets the boy. Looking at him, Nadine can see the resemblance — must be his dad. Abel rushes over to his dad and brother and jumps into his arms. With sheer strength, the man lifts both of his boys into his arms and kisses Abel's forehead.

"Daddy!" Abel squeals, excitedly. Nadine watches silently from her corner of the room. She stands and grabs Abel's backpack, waiting for the right moment to step over and hand it to them.

"Hey, I'm sorry for being late." The man apologizes to his son as he puts him back down so his feet hit the floor, "You had fun at school today?"

Abel nods eagerly as he looks back at his teacher who sends him a small smile, "Yeah, Ms. Parker taught me Pat-A-Cake!"

The man follows his son's gaze and looks to the woman standing by her classroom door. Taking this as her cue, the woman steps towards the man and his children, a meek smile on her face.

The closer she gets, the more attractive this man is. Damn. His face is rugged, a bright white smile on display and beautiful blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight. While his hair is slicked back, it still looks soft and tempting to run her hand through. "Nadine Parker." Instead of sticking out her hand for him to shake, she extends the arm with Abel's backpack.

The man moves in a suave motion, taking his son's bag into his grasp. He takes a hold of Abel's hand in the same grip and tilts his head at the woman.

"Jax Teller," He greets her.

Nadine smiles in greeting before turning to the young boy in his arms, "And you must be Thomas."

Jax glances down at his son and motions towards the teacher, "Say hi, little man." Thomas waves quietly. The two stir in silence for a millisecond before Jax continues, "Sorry for being so late and thanks for watching Abel."

Nadine shrugs, "Don't worry about it, stuff happens. I understand if you were late."

Jax nods and smiles a bit at her understanding nature. Looking around, he scans the empty area seeing that she was the only one there, "You good here alone?"

"Yeah, I have Ted the Janitor to keep me company," Jax's heart skips a beat at the sound of her soft laugh. Nadine was too caught up in her joke that she doesn't even see when his jaw clenched in interest, "Sorry, that was a bad joke."

Jax chuckles, "You're hilarious, Nadine. Don't worry."

The woman in question fights the heat that creeps up her neck and settles on her cheeks. Luckily, she's dark enough for it to not be visible.

The two sink into another bout of awkward silence. Jax's charming nature is suppressed in the presence of this soft-spoken woman, which surprises him in ways he didn't even know was possible. He scans her face before he feels a tug on his hand.

"Daddy," Abel speaks up, looking up at his father, "Can we go get ice cream now?"

Jax tears his gaze from the teacher and looks down at his son, "You up for ice cream right now?" His question was in the form that all babies receive questions — hypothetical.

"Yes, daddy," Abel nods eagerly.

Jax looks back to the teacher with a smirk on his face, "The boss has spoken."

"It seems he has," Nadine nods along, a smile growing on her face, "You guys have a good night."

"You too, Ms. Parker," Abel lets go of his dad's hand and hugs Nadine. She almost audibly awes before realizing how weird that would be. She doesn't even notice Jax staring at the two with a look of interest clear on his face.

It's only when Jax tells her goodnight and walks out the door towards his car that he realizes why his mother sent him here today.

He's not surprised — she's always sticking her nose somewhere.

TAGLIST

@gwenspacy @complacentviawattpad @dollyhoess @rosenoirwrites

#charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller imagine

[thiswasinevitableid]

winter prompt fill 29, indruck, sfw?

29. i should’ve done my shopping a month ago but now i’m running around last minute and when i enter your store, i’m absolutely frazzled. help me.

(Pinecone is borrowed from harrisonator’s fic “Monster Mash”)

Working at Kepler Petco isn’t the worst thing, even during the holiday shopping hellscape months. It’s not like anyone is getting in fistfights over cases of Fancy Feast. Which is why, on the 22nd of December, Duck is unprepared for the sudden sound of hands on hitting the countertop. 

“I need help.” The guy’s about his age, silver hair going patchy black near the top, pink and white striped sweater around his neck and a massive sweater hanging off his lanky frame. His red glasses barely conceal brown, anxious eyes. 

“Sure, what’re lookin for?”

“Rat treats, the kind that won’t make them ill.”

“Can handle that, right this way.” Duck leaves the counter and leads the guy back to the small mammal section. As they go the man spins a ring on his index finger, flushing under the merciless heating vents. 

“I’m sorry for the dramatic entrance. I have a mountain of things to do today and your store closes first.”

Duck glances at the AKC branded clock on the wall, which shows 12:30 p.m, “We close at five.”

“Yes, I know, but I really cannot overstate how behind I am on my Christmas shopping. Or, well, holiday is more accurate, since Joseph celebrates Hanukkah, which means I’m already late on that.” He sighs, runs a finger with chipped black nails through his hair.

“Big family?” Duck points to the row of snacks, grabs the man a basket from the end of the aisle when he starts piling them into his arms. 

“Lots of friends. We’re having a party tomorrow and I completely forgot about it until today. I know it’s ridiculous to forget about a holiday where you can’t turn around without being slapped with a reminder of it, but my brain doesn’t always work in the way I’d like it to.”

“No judgement here. Once forgot my sisters birthday until the minute my mom asked if I could get some candles for the cake after school.”

“Oh dear.” The man smiles, the expression shifting from odd to shy when Duck meets his eyes, “thank you for your help.”

Five minutes later the guy heads towards the register, then stops, backtracking to the display of rats, mice, and hamsters. Duck joins him in case he has questions, and to steal another look at his singular features. They’re not handsome on the surface, but something about them draws his eye back over and over. He’s just in time to hear the man cooing to a pair of brown rats.

“...so lovely, aren’t you just charming? If I could I’d take you home but space is limited. Oh” he blushes when he sees Duck, “I’m, ah, ready to pay now.”

“One of your friends got rats?” He indicates the pile of treats the man is buying.

“Hmm? Oh, no, these are for Luna and Emperor, my rats. I wanted to get them presents too.”

Duck can’t decide if the fact the guy prioritized spoiling his pets on the day he had to buy a bunch of gifts is adorable or worrying.

“As I said, I came here because you close first. And I, ah, I like spoiling them. It’s nice to know exactly how to cheer another living thing up.”

“I get that. Pinecone, that’s my, uh, my cat, gets more treats a month than I do.”

“Someone ought to buy you a few, then.”  The man murmurs, handing over his debit card. 

Duck, caught up in the mechanics of fighting with the card reader, doesn’t realize he’s being flirted with until the man is no more than a silver head merging into the throng outside. 

He’s lowkey annoyed with himself the rest of the day; he’s been in the market for a cute guy, and while his mystery shopper may not be Ryan Gosling, but Duck wouldn’t mind getting his number. 

Since he opened today, he gets off at three, decides to swing by Crate and Barrel in case the apron he thinks Barclay might like. There’s small hallways dotted through the mall, leading to exits or to backrooms.  As he passes one, he gets a glimpse of silver hair and a vibrant scarf. That’s the only good part of what he sees; the man from earlier is pressed close to the shiny wall, trying and failing to get his breathing order.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

He jolts, registers who’s speaking, and looks at the ground, “N-not really. I, part of the reason put this off so long is I can get incredibly overwhelmed in crowds sometimes, and yes I know that makes coming here three days before Christmas even worse an idea but I thought maybe I could handle it, but I’ve only managed to buy two of the gifts I need because I cannot focus with everything going on and, and I’m sorry, here I wanted to charming around you and now you’ve seen this and-”

“What would help?”

“I, I’d like to go somewhere quiet, but there’s nowhere, even the bathrooms are packed.”

“Do you, uh, want to come sit in my car for a bit? I can run the heater so we don’t freeze.”

“That’s really alright?” The question is so small and vulnerable he wants to tuck it into a shoebox to keep it safe.

“Yeah. C’mon, I’m parked on this end.” 

It’s snowing on and off as they walk to his car, and as he gets it running and turns on the heat his passenger finally pulls his clenched hands from his pockets; one holds a fidget cube, the other a very small, plush moth.

“I tried so hard to prepare for every possible future.” Is what he gets as explanation. The man sets both items in his lap and shuts his eyes, breathing slowly in and out. Duck says nothing, opens his phone and plays two rounds of Plants vs. Zombies before he hears anything at all from beside him. 

“Would you mind turning the radio on, at a low volume?”

“Any requests?” Duck hits the power button.

“No talk radio.”

“Can manage that.” He fiddles around and finds the alternative station. Even it has Christmas songs interspersed with the usual mix. 

“Is your name really Duck?”

He wonders if the guy is omnipotent until he remembers his nametag.

“It’s a nickname.”

“I’m Indrid.” He opens his eyes, “thank you for letting me come here to calm down. I may actually manage to succeed in my quest now. It’s so hard, I actually enjoy being out around the lights, the feeling of so many people being happy or trying to do kind things for each other. But it’s easy to get overwhelmed, especially when I’m alone.”

“Would it help if you weren’t?”

“Possibly, but I couldn’t ask you to spend even more time in that mall given you work there.” 

“Got some last minute shoppin to do myself. Besides, if you get stuck on a gift, I’m pretty damn good at comin up with ideas.”

“Thank you.” Indrid smiles, excited, and that settles it: Duck is asking for his number after this.

They brave the crowds and the holiday cheer blaring across the speakers once more. The first stop is a store selling housewares, including a pair of small succulents that Indrid deems worthy of giving a friend as he listens to Duck talk about his part time job at the National Forest, laughing when Duck mentions last weeks run-in with a pissed-off migratory bird. 

The next few stores are no help, and they opt to take advantage of the lull between when people are done with school and when people are done with work to hit up the coffeeshop, Indrid ordering a white chocolate peppermint mocha and promptly getting whipped cream on his nose. Duck is tempted to kiss it off, settles for handing his new friend a napkin while he talks about his recent return to Kepler after traveling around the country in a Winnebago, selling his art at shows. As luck would have it, the store has a shelf devoted to artisan or local coffees, and they’re each able to find one for someone on their list. 

Macy's proves more treacherous, and once five o’ clock hits even Duck is feeling cramped. Indrid is tensing, his replies getting short or far off, and just as Duck is about to offer to dip out again, chilly fingers link with his own.

“Is this alright?”

“Better than alright.” He grins and Indrid holds tighter, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth as Duck guides them into a less crowded corner. The do eventually find some high quality hiking socks that Indrid buys, only letting go of Duck in order to pay. 

They reward themselves with dinner at Johnny Rocket, Duck hopping over to Indrid’s side of the booth to see pictures of Emperor and Luna, and show off the photos he has of Pinecone hiding under his ranger jacket. 

“One more stop, thank goodness.” It’s going on seven and Duck has to say he agrees; he loves being around Indrid, but his feet are killing him and he’s had “Jingle Bells” stuck in his head for an hour. 

Indrid’s last item is at Crate and Barrel, and Duck laughs when the other man goes straight to the aprons. 

“You got good taste, I’m gettin’ one of these too. Barclay said he needed a new one.”

A fine-boned hand freezes mid-reach, “Did you say Barclay?”

“Yeah?”

“I am also buying this for a Barclay. Is your Barclay, by chance, dating someone named Joseph and hosting a party tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

They stare at each other, frozen long enough that another shopper passes between them. Then they double over in sync, Duck wheezing out a laugh while Indrid cackles. 

“Holy shit, we’ve been shoppin for the same folks!”

“Barclay mentioned there’d be new people at the party but I never thought one of them would be such a catch.”

Duck gets his breathing in order, steps across the faux-hardwood and takes Indrid’s hand.

“Hey, Indrid? You wanna be my date to the party tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.”

“....wait, fuck, which one of us is gonna give him the apron?”

“You can, I have another idea for him. Consider it an early present from me.” Indrid tease. 

“Sugar,” Duck slips his hands into Indrid’s back pockets, smiling up at him, “you might just be all the present I need.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #winter fills #fluff #meet cute

[exauhstedsunflower]

So, I’m writing Marvel now…

The thing is, Marvel is a special interest for me. Has been for a long time. The MCU while it has its downsides (I will never forgive them for what they did to Steve Rogers.) is one of my favorite movie franchises of all time. It’s a crime that I haven’t written any fics for it yet, honestly.

This isn’t nearly finished, and I have no idea when it will be or how long it’ll be. It doesn’t even have a name or full plan yet. But it’s a fun project for me. I want to explore the fact that Captain America is from the 40’s, however when he wakes up he is still in his twenties. He’s technically the youngest on the team while simultaneously being way older and being treated as way older than everyone around him. It picks up during the first Avengers film and is written from Tony’s POV. (Again, so far. It’s not done and I could still switch POV’s every once in a while.)

All that being said, enjoy!

Steve hates him. He hates Tony. Tony Stark. Son of his old friend, Howard Stark.

The old bastard was right, isn’t that just ironic.

Endless fights over Tony being a disappointment. Being nothing like the Greatest Man Howard Ever Knew. Howard never shut up about the great Captain America, so of course Tony knew this was coming.

Tony had tried when he was younger, he did. He’d tried to be better, braver, stronger, faster, witty in a way Howard would appreciate. But after a while he’d realized that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he’d never live up to what Howard wanted from him. Howard said daily that Captain America, Steve Rogers, would be disgusted by Tony. And Tony had just about recently decided that he was moving on from all of his daddy issues and metaphorically telling Howard to shove his criticisms very far up his ass. And, isn’t this just the kicker, Steve Rogers is right in front of him confirming it all.

“Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?”

Exactly what everyone thinks I am, obviously.

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”

What? He’s not about to make it easy on Captain America of all people. If anyone can handle his sass, it’s the so called bravest man who ever lived.

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you. Yeah, I've seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.”

Wow, okay. He’s really laying it on, isn't he? He must be really pissed. In all honesty, Tony hadn’t thought it would be so easy to get to him. Or, rather, to get him to a point where he’s actually making personal, cutting blows.

Still, Tony doesn’t want to cause an actual fight. If he wanted that he’d have started off a little more strong, like how Rogers is. What with all the steam coming from his ears. Howard hadn’t mentioned the potentially problematic short fuse in all his ramblings. Whatever, just keep deflecting and find a way to defuse, then. He’s been around long enough to know when the right time to fight is. Currently they have a volatile, murderous psychopath who obviously wants them all fighting on board, so now is not a good time.

“I think I would just cut the wire.”

There, nice and simple. There’s no way Mr. Short Fuse can turn that into-

“Always a way out... You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”

Now he’s done it. He’s honestly tempted to say ‘Or what?’. Just curiosity speaking, what would Rogers do? And, another thing, Tony has never claimed to be a hero. Sure, he’s saved a few people, and yeah, he’s trying to save the world currently, but the hero label was all but thrown at him the moment he came out to the world as Iron Man. He doesn’t want to be a hero, all he wants right now is for Rogers to get off his damn high horse.

“A hero? Like you? You're a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle!”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Truly, he hadn’t. He’s supposed to be actively diffusing the situation. But honestly it was an achievement he’d gone that long without actually retaliating. You can only push a man so far-

“Put on the suit, let's go a few rounds.”

He’s not succeeding in his endeavor to not fight Captain America. His dad is likely screeching from his penthouse in hell.

He moves away from Rogers just in time for the locator to go off, signifying that they’ve found what they were looking for. This is followed by an argument about who is going to get it, a rather horrifying revelation that his new best friend besides Rhodey, Pepper and Happy, (Yes, he has claimed this already, he just has to convince Bruce.) has tried to kill himself, and then suddenly Captain America is trying to fight him, again.

“Put on the suit, let’s find out!”

“I’m not afraid to hit an old man.” He replies calmly, though a little heated.

It’s just oh so ironic, (This whole conversation has been filled to the brim with irony.) that as Tony says that he laments how immature they’re acting. Seriously, the guy’s in his nineties, why is he pulling Tony into this? The irony strikes him then and there, as he’s watching Rogers get all riled up. Captain America is practically a kid.

It’s kind of funny to think about. Captain America, the man out of time, he’s only in his twenties. Tony is twenty years older than him, mentally. Now it’s not about fighting his fathers old friend. It’s not even about the fact that this is Captain America, and how anti-patriotic it would be to deck him.

No, Tony wont fight a twenty-something year old. It’s not dignified. It wouldn’t even be fair. Rogers hasn’t had the time to fully develop patience like Tony has. His brain hasn’t aged just as his body hasn’t. No wonder he has such a short fuse, Tony was the same way when he was young.

Something explodes while his brain is having this revelation, and he realizes that this is an attack. Good thing they weren’t fighting each other, then.

Steve helps him up after they’re both thrown across the room from the blast.

“Put on the suit.”

Tony nods, finally agreeing with the man on something.

“Yep.”

-

Of course they would end up working together to fix the turbine. That’s the way the world works. Rogers hates Tony, and Tony won’t fight him, which seems to be making Rogers more angry. But now all of that has to be put aside for the greater good. Hopefully they’ll be able to do this before another turbine goes down and the whole boat falls from the sky.

“What’s it look like in there?”

Tony really needs this to go well. Surely Rogers can’t be too inept with technology. He’s young, young people are the future of technology! He even understood the Wizard of Oz reference earlier, so he’s sort of up to date, right?

“It seems to run on some form of electricity!”

So much for his optimism. Despite the feeling that this is going to end horribly, his mouth quirks a bit. That’s why it had taken him so long to put together how young Rogers actually is.

Still, this has to be tough for the guy, he’s clearly out of his depth here and is trying to help.

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

He teaches Rogers how to fix the relays, which takes some time given that he can’t personally guide the project. He’s a bit busy clearing the debris from the turbine and trying to keep up with the flying boat’s speed enough to stay beside it. You would think they’d stop moving so he can just hover and do repairs, but no! Although he does suppose that there is quite a bit of commotion happening inside too. Enough to warrant not slowing down, maybe.

“Even if I clear the rotors, this thing won't re-engage without a jump. I'm gonna have to get in there and push.”

“Well if that thing gets up to speed, you'll get shredded!”

Aw, he’s worried. Asshole.

Does this count as laying on the wire? Is this technically superhero-ing right now? Is this enough to prove to Rogers he has the right intentions? He hopes so.

“Then stay in the control unit and reverse polarity long enough to disengage mag-“

“Speak! English!”

Tony nearly laughs. He hadn’t realized how charming Rogers actually is, underneath all of the high and mighty hero stuff.

“Unless, Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect”.

“Well, if he could do that he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet.” Bruce responds, understanding every word. Oh, Tony might just be in love.

“Finally, someone who speaks English.”

“Is that what just happened?”

It was a sly little comment, but it was there. He should have picked up on it at the time. Captain Rogers is funny.

“See that red lever? It'll slow the rotors down long enough for me to get out. Stand by it, wait for my word.”

He watches the man jump over to the lever, landing a little too close to the edge for comfort. Then instead of dwelling on the fact that he was concerned for Captain America’s safety, he goes into the turbine and starts to push.

While he’s pushing, there’s some gunfire. Also some rushing coming from Director Fury in his earpiece. He wonders if anyone has come out to help Rogers, and then realizes that obviously Rogers can handle himself, so why would anyone? Eventually the turbine feels like it's moving faster than him, so it’s time to get out.

“Cap, I need the lever!”

“I need a minute here!”

Uh oh. That won’t do at all.

“Lever! Now!”

This is so not how he wanted this to go. He falls into a rotor, and slides down into the bottom part of the turbine. He is so screwed. He’s going to break his spine, or his neck. He’s going to die fixing a boat engine. Engine’s are his bitch, he can’t die fixing an engine!

Suddenly the rotors let up, and it only takes Tony a split second to fly out and assess his damage. His suit’s going to give out on him. Any second now surely. He should get out of the air-

Loki’s men are on Rogers with guns, how is that a fair fight?

At least, that’s what he thinks before he tackles one and takes them right through the side of the boat with him, finally hitting the ground and letting the suit turn off.

He can’t quite see anymore, and he can’t quite tell if it's the suit or his eyes that are damaged. He was knocked around quite a bit. Maybe it’s a concussion? He hopes it’s temporary, he can’t work if he’s blind.

Actually, scratch that. That sounds ableist. It also sounds like he’s doubting himself, which he’d never do. He very much can work if he’s blind. Plenty of people do it every day.

He feels tired, a bit hazy. He’d been knocked around maybe too much. Is Steve okay? He looks up, and the captain is jumping back into the ship. Good.

Definitely a concussion, he thinks, letting his head fall back and passing out.

-

Coulson died. Loki killed him.

Tony hasn’t been on this boat for too long now, but he’s starting to think this is a suicide mission. Agent Coulson was Pepper’s friend; how’s he going to tell her? How will the news reach the cellist he was involved with?

“There was an idea, Stark knows this, called The Avengers Initiative-”

He hasn’t been listening, and was honestly okay with the numb indifference of his thoughts. Anything not to hear Fury’s words. Lies, honestly. There’s no excuse for the arsenal that was being built, regardless of if Fury hadn’t bet on it in the first place. And now- what? He wants to use Tony and the others as the replacement arsenal? They can’t even save one agent, let alone the world.

“…to fight the battles that we never could. Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea, in heroes.”

Tony stands, unable to hear anymore of this. Tony’s no hero. If Coulson was smarter, he never would have believed in heroes in the first place.

-

“Was he married?”

He looks at Rogers, at his attempt at starting a tough conversation. He sees why everyone likes the guy, really. Even after their almost-fight he comes to attempt to comfort Tony. Tony, for his part, isn’t even sure why he’s taking Coulson’s death so hard. It’s not like they were friends.

He just- well, it feels like this death is on him.

“No. There was a uh...cellist, I think.”

There’s no one to inform about his death. No one to send condolence flowers to. Pepper might mourn, his coworkers may also. The cellist… well, she won't be able to pick up their fling again.

.

“I'm sorry. He seemed like a good man.”

Steve Rogers has a good heart. He may be quick tempered, but he has a good heart.

“He was an idiot.”

“Why? For believing?”

For believing in them. Believing in this stupid, sorry excuse for a team.

“For taking on Loki alone.”

“He was doing his job.”

Oh, yes, defend the dead guy. Make this argument harder. It was easier to hate Rogers earlier, when he was being irrational.

It circles back to there not always being a way out, and Tony thinks that’s bullshit. He doesn’t take well to being told things are impossible or unavoidable. If something isn’t going to work, he makes it work. Coulson should have thought ahead. He should have waited. He should have-

Better not go down that avenue.

He starts to walk away, and Rogers compares them to soldiers. Right, that makes sense. That’s why Rogers took the death so calmly. He was a soldier in a war. He’s used to losing people and having to move forward immediately. He probably has already figured out how not to blame himself for every death he’s ever witnessed.

“Right now we've got to put that aside and get this done. Now Loki needs a power source, if we can put together a list…”

Tony briefly wonders if it's healthy to compartmentalize like that. It can’t be. But then he spots the blood on the wall and his brain moves on to another thought. Rogers is right, anyway. They need to focus.

“He made it personal.”

“That’s not the point.” Rogers replies, not catching the point just yet.

“That is the point. That's Loki's point. He hit us all right where we live. Why?” He needs to explain. The man will get it if he explains. Sometimes he forgets that not everyone’s brain does the jumps his own does.

“To tear us apart.”

“Yes! Divide and conquer is great, but he knows he has to take us

out to -

win, right? That's what he wants. He wants to beat us and he wants to be seen doing it. He wants an audience.”

“Right,” He’s catching on, thankfully. “I caught his act at Stuttengart.”

“Yeah. That's just previews, this is opening night. Loki's a full-tail diva. He wants flowers, he wants parades, he wants a monument built in the skies with his name plastered…” Tony stops, revelation forming. Steve looks fully interested in wherever this is going.

“Son of a bitch!”

“What?”

“Big ugly building in New York!”

Rogers’ eyes go wide, “Let's go.” He orders, Tony already moving.

-

The battle was terrifying. There were aliens, gigantic half mechanical half flesh monsters flying around, and a murderous Norse god intent on taking control of the chaos and coming out on top. Tony wonders why NASA or SHEILD has never claimed to have seen the species this army is made up of before. These guys don’t seem very low key, what with all the planetary destruction. He doesn’t believe for a second that no one knew these things were out there.

He makes a mental note to hack the department of defense after he’s eaten his shawarma.

Tony never prepared for this. The only people who were even remotely prepared tried to nuke New York. And then Tony the not-hero, thank you very much, had to fix that problem on top of the other very pressing one. The other problem being aliens. Aliens invading the earth.

Aliens, Jesus Christ.

Afterwards, Loki gets taken to Asgard with Thor via Beam Of Light™️. Fury says the Avengers are all free to go. But Tony does extend the offer for the others to stay at the tower. They can if they need to, not forever or anything. But, if they want to stick around and help clean up the mess. Someone’s gotta, you know?

Romanoff took the offer. Then Bruce because he wants access to a lab like Tony can offer and totally not because he’s excited about their new friendship. Then Clint, who would like to stay close to SHEILD; then begrudgingly, Steve Rogers, who admits that he can’t quite afford life in New York City but would like to stay here. And suddenly the Avengers are piling into Tony’s penthouse, exhausted but still helping get rid of all the broken glass.

He goes to his lab as soon as sleeping situations are settled. (Natasha takes a guest room, Bruce gets another one, Clint and Rogers take the living room.) There’s no need to stick around. The superhero’s crashing in his guest rooms and living room are cleaned and fed, New York is saved (and subsequently the world.). Besides, he needs to start working on better living arrangements if these guys are going to stay. He gets half way through Natasha’s layout for her floor, when Jarvis lowers his music.

“What gives? I was just getting into a groove here!”

“It seems you have a visitor, sir.”

His head whips around, expecting Pepper, but instead he finds Steve Rogers standing on the outside of the glass door looking like a lost puppy in designer hand-me-down sweatpants. Tony sighs, Pepper won't be in until tomorrow. He’d had to do a lot of bribing to get the New York Airport to let his jet land. They have to clear some debris from the runway, fix some of the landing gear, that stuff.

“Shall I let him in, sir?”

“What? Yeah, yeah. Yes. Let the captain in, open the door.”

The door unlocks, allowing Rogers to step into the lab. He looks around in wonder, the exhaustion from the day being covered by the inquisitive nature of humans.

“What’s up, Cap?”

Rogers startles, having gotten distracted by the tech in the room. Then hesitantly, he speaks up.

“This place is really swell, Tony.”

He sounds like he means it so genuinely that Tony doesn’t make a remark about the outdated word choice.

“Well, it’s no flying boat, but it’s home. Speaking of, you’ll love this. Dum-e! C’mere boy!”

If Rogers looked amazed before, he looks absolutely awestruck now.

“Did you make him?” He questions as he reaches out to pet the robot. Dum-E nuzzles his hand and Tony smiles a bit at the sight.

“Yeah. Made Jarvis too, right J?”

“Yes, sir.” Rogers jumps at the sound of Jarvis’ disembodied voice.

“See? They get along too well though. They’ll surpass their old man one day. Too much plotting happening while I’m gone.”

Rogers laughs, “See, now, I would have thought you'd be all for the minds of the future.” He comments sarcastically.

“And usually I’d agree, but I don’t think I’d be happy if the new robot overlord was Dum-E. And hearing you, a twenty-something year old, tell me that the flying boat engine ‘runs on some kind of electricity’, settled it for me. I have no faith in the future of technology.”

The other man snorts, “I’m not exactly a prime example of the youth, man.”

Tony puts up a finger, “Ah, see, I’d believe you if you didn’t just call me ‘man’. I’m gonna start calling you kid.”

Rogers rolls his eyes, ignoring how that prompted a mock scolding on rolling his eyes at his elders. He then sees the current work in progress on Tony’s work space.

“Is this what you’ve been doing down here?”

Tony’s eyes follow Rogers as he walks over to the plans and starts reading them over.

“This is so nice. There’s a floor for each of the Avengers in here! Even Thor and I!”

“Yes, God’s need sleep too. At least I think they do. I’ll have to ask, actually. -And, also, why wouldn’t you have one?”

Tony watches the man's eyes widen as if being caught saying something he hadn’t meant to say out loud. Although as soon as the look of panic shows it’s gone, Rogers turns to hide himself in the plans again.

“Look, I know we didn’t start off on the right foot.” He starts, quieter than before.

Is… is Rogers attempting a reconciliation right now? Tony thinks back to all the thoughts he had earlier, where Howard may have had a fit. And how fitting he thought it was that Captain America hated him, although he wasn’t entirely happy about it. But this might be worse, actually.

“I believe you were being beaten up when we met, actually. And then I swooped in and saved you.”

Rogers immediately regains his volume, “Swooped in and saved me doesn’t sound entirely right.”

“This. Coming from the guy who still calls things swell? I think I’ll keep my phrasing.”

“I had him! You can't save someone who is in control of the situation!”

“You call being beaten up being in control? Please elaborate.”

“I was not getting beat up. I was holding my own.”

“Sure, kid. Is that a bruise?”

Rogers immediately starts feeling around his face. This is hilarious for a number of reasons. One, he has super healing and any bruise would have been gone by now. Two, Captain America looks far more worried about a bruise on his perfect face than when he was saving the world.

“Where?”

“Right- yeah, right there. Where Loki absolutely had the upper hand!”

That comment startles the older/younger man into stunned laughter.

And thats all I’ve got!! Thank you if you made it this far.

#Marvel #marvel mcu #tony stark #steve rogers #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #Avengers #marvel’s the avengers #bruce banner #hulk #natasha romanoff #Black Widow #Thor #loki #clint barton #hawkeye

[venomous--fics]

Requested by anon: Hi, can you write Eddie Brock x reader when she gives him the silent treatment after a fight, please?

A/N: I think I had a bit too much fun writing Eddie in this. thank you so much for your request! If you have anymore, feel free to drop them in the inbox! Also, sorry if it seems a bit short!  and lame. <3

If you were being honest, the fight wasn't that bad. It's just that Eddie was being such a jackass and not listening to anything you had to say, so, you decided to just say nothing at all. He didn't notice at first as he had stormed into the bathroom to take a shower and hopefully relax. 

You, on the other hand, had decided to just go to the living room, plop down onto the couch, and turn on some shitty tv show. Just your luck, it was some stupid game show. Normally you and Eddie would try to answer the questions right, more often than not, you were right. Sometimes Venom would get involved, and then mope when he couldn't get the stupid human answers right. It was honestly adorable, seeing as he did try his best to impress both you and Eddie.

You tried to just enjoy the show, but of course, Eddie had to finish his shower rather quickly and soon he was sitting on the other end of the couch. He tried to make small talk, seeing as it was always easier for him to apologize after he's made you chuckle a few times.

You rolled your eyes at him and started flipping through the channels. Movie, movie, show, movie, oh that looks interesting, movie, show, show- Nothing seemed to grab your attention, so you dropped the remote next to Eddie and grabbed your book off the table and flipped it open. You weren't going to read, you were just going to look like it, so maybe Eddie would notice.

"Hey, what about this movie? A Dog's Purpose? You said this was a good one." Immediately after clicking on the channel, Eddie regretted it, "Oh shit, it's sad."

You flipped a page, not even looking at the tv.

"Hey, maybe we should get a dog."

You looked at him from the corner of your eye, very tempted to ask if you guys really could have a dog. You had to resist the urge and you glanced up at the tv. Bailey was a police dog- Well, technically his name was Ellie now- Well, she. Oh man, German Shepard are really cute..

"I think we'd get like...A Yorkie or something? Nah, that's just a hairy rat- What about a lab? Pitbull?"

You sniffed a little as you looked back down at your book. You wanted five dogs, and you had their names picked out, but you would never tell.

"You aren't answering," Eddie said, still looking at the tv as he set the remote down, "Something tells me that you're just...Not gonna talk." 

You quietly shut your book and got up, going to the fridge to get something to drink.

Eddie awkwardly turned around and looked at you, "I'm sorry. I know, I know, that doesn't make it better, but, I -"

"You're an ass, Eddie."

"Thank you, V, I was getting there."

"Just speeding up the process."

You had gotten a rather mature choice of drink, the last juice box from the back of the fridge. You poked the straw through the hole and took it with you into your shared bedroom, nicely shutting the door behind you.

"We don't need a dog, Eddie." Venom spit rather rudely, "You're already in the doghouse."

Eddie sighed as he looked back to the tv for a moment. Maybe you just needed some space and time. Maybe he was supposed to think about what was wrong and talk about it? he wasn't really sure what to do, you've never given him the silent treatment. He didn't really like it

It made him feel more anxious than it should have. It was almost like an itch he couldn't scratch. He gave himself a few minutes to think before he eventually shut the tv off and quietly made his way into your shared bedroom. 

He almost felt like a child who had a bad dream. but in reality, he just wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. He snuck in and closed the door behind him, making sure to extra quiet. You were still awake, your lamp was on, you were reading your book. You had looked up at him when the door softly clicked. 

Eddie immediately caved, "Okay, babe, look, I'm sorry...I know I can be an ass sometimes, and I don't mean it..I'm just-"

Eddie collapsed onto the end of the bed, face buried deep into the mattress, voice muffled.

"-I just suck at this! I suck at everything like a little... Sucker!god, sometimes I can be such a hardass! And then I'm just too stubborn to... Y'know, not be like that."

Venom, knowing he was not in trouble, slithered up the bed like a little snake and wrapped himself around your arm, "For the record, I didn't tell him to say any of that."

"No?" you said in almost a whisper, so Eddie wouldn't hear you.

He wiggled his small snake head to indicate a strong no. 

"-And for the record, I do have a lot of feelings, I just... I don't know how to be open so sometimes I just like to argue because that seems easier than just talking about how I feel or whatever.. God, I can be so stupid sometimes."

You rolled your eyes dramatically again as you moved your book off to the side and you gently laid on your stomach, and got as close to Eddie as you could. 

"I don’t mean to be stupid, I- I'm just repeating myself. I'm sorry. I just want you to talk to me, and I thought if I could be really honest, maybe that would work? I sound like a baby, but, I just love you a lot and deserve better than us two losers."

You smiled softly, resting a hand on the top of Eddie's head, and just purely as a reaction to your touch, Eddie used his hands to tap your arms, trying to figure out where your face was. He knows he could've just lifted his head, but he got the reaction he wanted as he carefully cupped your face. You giggled.

You sighed happily before you finally spoke up, "Eddie, you're not stupid."

"I'm not?"

"No. You are stubborn, though. You that right, so, see? You are pretty smart."

"Thanks."

"Would you look at me?"

A moment of silence passed before Eddie lifted his head off of the mattress and looked at you, "Yeah?"

"Sorry about giving you the silent treatment, and I'm sorry about the fi-"

"The fight wasn't your fault. It was mine."

"I can't even remember what we were fighting about, if I'm honest." you smiled softly, "But either way, I'm still sorry."

"I'm more sorry than you are." Eddie replied.

"I'm ten times sorrier than you."

Venom would've rolled his eyes if he had pupils to roll, but for the time being he could just look annoyed. He wasn't really, there was no place he would rather be.

You leaned forward and pulled Eddie into a cute little kiss, which he gladly returned. This would go on long enough to annoy Venom. You could sense that he was feeling left out, so you pulled away from Eddie and looked at the alien that had made himself comfy on your arm.

"Don't be so salty."

"Don't be ridiculous. I am not.. Salty. I am gooey."

You ran a finger under his cute little blob head and planted a small kiss on his tiny little forehead, "I love you too, silly."

You saw the fearsome Venom's eyes go wide and you could've swore he turned a slight shade of pink. Eddie chuckled too, and kissed his small forehead as well. Venom literally turned a brighter shade of pink.

He looked so shocked as he looked at both of you with slight confusion. His shock turned into excitement as he wiggled around, "Again."

You and Eddie shared a look before shrugging in unison. You both leaned in and gave Venom a few more kisses. Along with being pink, you swore you heard a tiny, child like giggle escape the alien.

Certainly not how you saw your night ending, but it was fun nonetheless.

#venom imagine #eddie brock imagine #eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x reader

[domesticblisss]

Näher | Pt.02

Walter x Female Reader (Nicknamed ‘Hase’) Mob AU! Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word Count: 2048 Warnings: Smut. Pussy eating, fingering, cum eating, cum play.  Pt.01

“I’ll ask you again, do you want power, little hure?”

“I need to think about it.” My body betrays me, and I let out a little moan when he continues to stuff my pussy with his cum. 

“You need to think... it’s okay. I know it’s a hard decision to make.” he says as he brings me close to his chest, my head laying there. It’s a surprisingly tender moment, he tangles his fingers in my hair as he peppers soft kisses on my forehead. He slowly takes the two fingers from inside me, placing them in front of my lips, a silent offer for me to suck them clean, one I take without thinking twice. He kisses me after I cleaned his fingers and I see the biggest smile I have ever seen him let out.

After this little moment we shared he helped me get dressed again, brushed my hair with a brush he had on one of his drawers and insisted one of his guys had to take me home, even with me telling him I could catch uber. 

“You have Axel’s number, whatever your answer is, make sure to call him to let me know. But just know I look forward to seeing you again.” he finishes with a kiss and let’s me get inside the car. 

I’m thankful this little rendezvous happened on a friday, so I can sleep in and gather my thoughts. 

I woke up to a dream where I’m with Walter again, his lips all over my body, his hands in all the right places... I think my subconscious is trying to tell me something. 

I’m not going to lie, I’m very tempted into accepting his offer. It’s not like I need the money, I have a good post in a nice company that lets me lead a very comfortable life and... and... well, my life is boring. I barely have time for myself, I can’t even go out and have fun anymore because I’m either staying late at work or all my energy is drained. I haven’t had a good fuck in like two years at least and Walter was able to ruin me for everyone else, man or woman, in one night. Imagine it being a constant. 

It’s 10am and I decide to call Junior. I need to know what they do exactly before I turn my life upside down and get into this. He answers after the third ring, his voice all groggy from sleep. 

“Mein Hase, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you need any help?”

“Hey dipshit. Were you still sleeping? Dude it’s 10am already!”

“Well, I had a busy night okay.” I could feel the smirk growing on his face. 

“Yeah, the ’hottest chick’ right? Look, I need to talk to you, ask you some stuff and it needs to be in person. Can you come over?”

He sighs before answering me. “Yeah Hase. Give me about forty minutes to get ready and I’ll be there.”

In exact forty-five minutes I heard a knocking on my door and I open to see Axel standing there, a sleepy look on his face. I offer him coffee and breakfast, which he happily accepts. 

We sit by the living room’s centre table and I take my time to start questioning him. 

“Look, I know we haven’t seen each other in ages, but you do understand you have a big space in my heart, right?”

“Mhm, and you have in mine too.”

“Good! So... I’ll ask you a few things and I want you to be honest with me, please tell me the truth. You know I would never rat on you to anyone. And I’ll tell you why I’m asking all of this when this is over, okay?”

“I think I already got an idea why...”

“Okay, Axel? Do you agree with my terms?” I cut him a bit harshly. 

“Yes, Hase. You know I’d anything for you.”

“Okay...” I take a deep breath and start again “That day we met on the market, was our run in casual or did it happen on purpose?”

“On purpose.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’ve missed you and didn’t know how to get in touch with you...”

I look up to him with a ‘what’s wrong with you’ look in my face and move on. 

“How did you know I went to that market? Have you been following me?

“What?! No!”

“Axel, please be honest with me.”

“Hase, look... I live on that building across from you. That window with the Simpsons sticker? That’s mine. I’ve been living there for two years now, you can ask the door man if you want to. I’m not stalking you, I promise.” he answers me a little bit panicked. 

“Hey, hey... I’m sorry I was harsh with you. And I trust you, okay?”

“I know it seems a little suspicious. But I just saw you on the day you moved in, I was getting off the building to run some errands and I saw you unloading your stuff and when I got back I saw we were window neighbours.  As to the market thing, again, I didn’t stalk you, but you have your habits and we’ve almost run into each other a few times before and they were always on the same day of the week, at the same time. You really need to get a life, baby.”

“Wow, thanks for the call out. And why were all the guys there with you?”

“My hype squad.” We both laugh at his answer. “I haven’t seen you in so long, I thought you had forgotten about me and I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself, so they were there to hype me up.”

“Why is that something I can totally picture on doing?” I pause for a moment to gather some guts before getting into the harder topic. 

“What... what is it exactly that you, Walter and the guys do? And don’t tell me you run the club because I know the club is a front.”

“You’re really coming for my throat today, huh?” he laughs and continues “Well, the club is a front for money laundry. We deal with a few different things. Weapons, illegal gambling, illegal fights, races. No drugs or anything with people, you know? Walter is extremely against that. We also offer protection to businesses...”

“Why does your silence makes me feel like this is almost a hitman thing?”

“Sort of?” He scratched his head and gives me a quizzical look. 

“AXEL! What th—“

“Oh, it’s not like we actually kill people, we just rough them up a bit. Like I said, Walter is pretty specific with the business. Hase, why are you asking me these things?”

“Last night, after you guys left, which by the way, I’m sure that was staged too, but I digress, I was alone with Walter and we... well, we fucked. Like, a lot. Anyway, he asked me if I wanted power, that he could give me power.”

“Ugh, gross I don’t need to know who you fuck.”

“Axel, I’m being serious. C’mon.” I begged him. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry. But what did you tell him? Did you accept?”

“No, I told him that I needed to think about it. He agreed to it and said that I should call you to let him know, no matter what I chose. I called you because I needed to know what you guys actually did. Also did Walter ask you to leave me alone with him? He acted like he had it all planned out.”

“You really don’t let shit slide, do you?”

“It’s like you forgot who I am, Axel.”

“Yeah, Ms. Detective. I’ve talked about you to the guys several times before and mentioned that I saw you moving in and that your apartment was directly in front of mine. He came over one day and saw you sitting there, drinking tea, and reading. All he said is that he understood why I talked about you so much.” he finished, a little embarrassed.

“That’s a little –“

“Creepy? Yeah, I get where you come from. Walter is a nice guy, he really is, he just doesn’t know how to connect to people sometimes.” We stayed in silence for a few minutes eating the rest of our breakfast.

“Do you have your answer already?” Axel breaks the silence.

“I had it from the start, I just needed to know how fucked I would be.”

“Could you ask him if we could meet?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Axel!” I groaned.

“Yep, that’s a yes.”

Walter agreed to meet me and had Junior take me to where he lived. His mansion was located on the outskirts of the city, the kind of neighbourhood only millionaires lived on. Not going to lie, I felt like I was in one of the Keeping Up with the Kardashians episodes. A huge white and grey neoclassical hour, tall and imponent like it’s owner. Big green front yard, a garden of white roses, a beautiful Venus di Botticelli water fountain. Axel took me to the backyard saying Walter was waiting for me by the pool.

He indeed was there, all glorious under a sunshade, black rayban’s covering his eyes and black swimming shorts hugging his waist. He sat by a table full of different kinds of breakfast foods and fruits. Axel announced my arrival and before he left, Walter asked “Junior, could you please ask Freida to bring lovely Hase a bathing suit?” Axel nodded and left us alone.

“Come on, sit. Do you want to eat anything?”

I sat by his right side and grabbed a few grapes. “What do I get from this? Will I be exclusive pocket pussy in exchange for money? Someone to sit pretty by your side while you command everyone or what?”

“You think too low of yourself. I offered you power. I have four of the best men in the world as my partners, but I need something better. Women are usually more detail oriented, I need new eyes, new visions.” Freida’s arrival interrupted us.

“Good afternoon, miss.”

“Good morning, darling. I won’t keep you long, I think this will do.” I chose a black one piece with cut outs that I was sure would make my boobs look incredible.

“There’s a restroom room in there, go and change.” Walter said after I chose and Freida left. I did as he said and when I came back, I went straight to pool.

“C’mon Walter, join me, please. We need to finish talking.” He obeyed me, leaving his sunglasses on the table.

He cornered me by the pool’s end, his big hand brushing away the wet hair strands of my face. He continued “As I was saying, I need new eyes, I need someone I can trust. And fucking you whenever I want wouldn’t be so bad either.” His face was so close to mine I could feel his breath on my lips. I smiled at him, looking at his lips and then up to his eyes.

“How do you know I’m so trustworthy? Or if I’m actually that?”

“Axel always gushes about your little business during high school and what you took out of it, I think you’ll do just fine.” His thumb caresses my cheek. “So, what do you say?”

“Yes.” My arms snakes around his neck and I kiss him. He deepens the kiss and lifts me up to the ledge of the pool.

“Lay down a bit.” He commands while he slides the back of his index finger of my clothed slit. I did as he said and he immediately attached his lips on my clit, sucking and fingering me at the same time.

“Walter, fuck… what if someone sees us?” I ask him between moans.

“They know better than to come here.”

He kept his ministrations, increasing the speed of his fingering and never detaching his lips from my clit. It was too much at the same time and I squirted when I came.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. That never happened before.” I told him, panicking a little bit. He brought my lips to his, kissed me tenderly and said “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun, my little hase.”

→

#walter x reader #walter imagines #wrestling imagines #DB Writes #sorry if there's any mistakes #can't concentrate myself enough to proof read lmao

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #460

“i let it fall - my heart  /  and as it fell, you rose to claim it”

When you were younger, did your mother or father ever let you open a few presents before Christmas or your birthday even arrived? We have a tradition of opening one of the smaller presents on Christmas Eve. If you could receive a 100 dollar gift card for either blouses, pants, dresses, shoes or purses, which would you chose? PANTS. I need new pants BADLY. What is your favorite thing to do after crying? Ex: Sleep, listen to music, have some alone time, talk to someone, etc? It really depends on why I was crying and how hard. Do you think Trump will be assassinated, or will he survive his term? Old survey. I really thought he'd be assassinated more than any other president, honestly. Last time you felt suicidal? A couple weeks ago, but they were only passive thoughts. Last time you had butterflies? Sometime today, thinking about things. Biggest asshole you know? Some relative of my sister's in-laws' is so fucking rude. Literally no one likes him, but because he's family, he comes to events, anyway. Did you ever leave someone because you know you’d hurt them? No. What song did you last listen to? I'm listening to No Resolve's cover of "Set Fire to the Rain" by Adele. I have seriously been into rock/metal covers lately. Ever ridden in a police car? Yes. That's how they transport you from the ER to psych hospitals here. Ever witnessed a murder? JESUS, no. Have you ever lied under oath? No. Have you ever failed a subject before? I failed Algebra I during my last college attempt. Have you ever had a deadly animal as a pet? Noooo. I wouldn't. I want tarantulas, which are venomous (the potency ranging from what side of the world they come from), but even the worst of their venoms isn't fatal. Have you ever kissed someone of the same gender? Yes. Have you ever been in a hot tub before? Yeah. Have you ever been to a movie that sold out? It's possible, idk. What movie last made you too scared to go to sleep? None, I think? When you’re on a laptop, do you hook up a mouse or use the touchpad? I use a mouse. What’s your mom’s mom’s name? Cecelia. Would it be hard seeing someone else kiss the person you like? BOY THAT WOULD SUCK Have you ever been tempted to steal? No. What is the main character’s name in the book you’re reading? Moonwatcher. Do you have a favorite local band? Who are they? No. Who’s the last person you saw naked, aside from yourself? Mom, walking to her bedroom after a shower. Who’s your favorite horror monster/killer? Pyramid Head from the Silent Hill franchise. What kind of music do you prefer to listen to when driving? When I'm driving, no music. I can't focus. Would you ever own a hairless rat, cat or dog? I'd LOVE a sphinx. I doubt I'm ever getting rats or dogs again, but I do think they're cute. Females, anyway. I'm sorry but hairless male animals are just laksdjfk;lajdwkl;wj for obvious reasons. All the people you’ve kissed, what did their names start with? J, T, D, S. What did you and your ex fight about most? "The" ex, uhhhh... I don't really know. We didn't fight a lot. Don’t you love long hugs? YEAH especially if I'm crying or just in general need comfort. And long kisses? If we're serious and the timing is right, yeah. Have you ever purchased condoms? No. Have you ever gone on vacation with your boyfriend/girlfriend? No previous ones, no. Have you ever trashed your ex’s car after an argument? No. Even I wasn't THAT low. Would you leave a note on a car claiming responsibility if you damaged it? Yes. My guilty conscience would eat me alive otherwise. Have you ever used someone's handicapped parking pass to get a parking spot? No, and you're fucking garbage if you have. Are you embarrassed to tell people your job? I'm humiliated to tell people I don't HAVE a job. If you ran over an animal would you keep driving? omfg NO. I would absolutely pull over sobbing, move the animal to the side of the road, and hopefully there will be some wildflowers nearby to rest on it. I'd call whoever picks up roadkill, too. Where’s the best place to eat a romantic dinner? Take me out to Olive Garden like a basic white bitch & feed me spicy shrimp fritas and u have approximately a 90% chance of getting laid. :eyes emoji: What hobby would you get into if time and money weren’t an issue? Ohhhh I know there's one, but I'm blanking. What would be the most amazing adventure to go on? That is like an impossible question. There are so many possible, epic adventures. When people come to you for help, what do they usually want help with? Writing stuff. Has anybody criticized the way your significant other looked like? Yup, in the past. Like shut the fuck up, are you the one dating them???? Have you written or drawn anything for somebody else? I've done this many, many times. Who has impressed you most with what they’ve accomplished? Idk, there's a lot of people I know like that. What is something you think everyone should do at least once in their lives? Fall in love. Nothing matches that feeling to me. What would you rate 10/10? markerplayer What do you hope never changes? My resilience. I never want to give up when something knocks me down. Would you ever have sex with the last person you texted? UM THAT IS MY MOTHER Is there anyone that you’d love to just spill your guts to? Girt. Like. Now. But I'm waiting until I actually see him again. This needs to be said to his face. Where is the person you have feelings at right now? He's maybe asleep or just waking up? I don't actually know his exact hours and I know they alternate, but I think he primarily works the night shift at his job? Are you happy with your relationship status? I'm not anymore. I want to be with ^ like very badly. When did you last cry? What for? Today. I'm terrified of loving someone again in the fear of getting very hurt or plain traumatized again. Do you think you’re wasting your time on the person you love? No. When’s the next time you’ll kiss someone? I usually hate questions that assume I can see the future, but I can tell you I plan to whenever I see He Who I've Mentioned a Gazillion Times In Today's Survey Spam. Were you ever scared to death of anyone you knew? Or are you currently? My dad, in the past. Not currently. What’s the longest you’ve been away from home by yourself? If you wanna count hospital stays, like... a month? Have you ever been made fun of, because of what you look like? I've been made fun of online once because of my weight. The insult never left me. Have you ever made fun of others, because of what they look like? No. It's awful. Do you think it’s cute when you’re leaving a place, and a guy says “no hug?” What a dick move. Some people don't like hugs. Do you wear short shorts (if you’re a girl)? I didn't know short shorts were specific to females. Anyway, no. I hate my legs WAY too much. Who are you the most uncomfortable around? My sister's in-laws and her husband. Who has your heart? I'm never giving that to another person again. I've got it. But to answer the general question that's being asked, I've fallen like head over heels for Girt. Should cloning ever be allowed to happen? I think it's pretty... I don't know the right word. It just seems immoral to me? Especially when you start cloning things with an actual conscience. I can see a lot of problems arising from it. Are you impatient with really shy people? Well no, given I'm one of 'em. Does your house have air conditioning throughout, or do you have one that sits in your window? Throughout. What is the most ridiculous band name you’ve heard recently? Recently? Idk. Would you ever get a fashion mullet? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO mullets are so ugly alsdkfj;aljdl;jwe Do you believe that Jesus lived and is returning? Isn't it historical, documented fact he was a living person? Even if that is true though, I don't believe in his "miracles." Do you believe in spiritual gifts? No. Do you believe in callings? No. If you were rich, would you get a professional photoshoot done? UM hell yeah. Pls take pictures of me that help me believe I'm even just 0.001% pretty.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''set fire to the rain'' by adele

[theelliottsmiths]

Could you please liveblog the making of Sonne?

I got a few of the same request yes hello

Fun fact everyone already knows Sonne was my first Rammstein experience (that I remember). The video was played at least once a day on kerrang and my dad would play it to help me sleep when I was a bairn.

Okay was it a fan added thing or was Oli stoned when he had the idea? It seems like a stoned thing to do

Maybe it's because I grew up around mining towns but... Hot.

They all look so cute schneider looks like a Rat

"did touring in the US have any influence on the album?"

"Nope" the most adorable twisty smile I've ever seen

"I hope not"

*very strange noises from Richard that I have never heard before or since* "it wasn't an influence"

Does till drink super strangely out of that cup or am I overanalysing?

This hair is what immediately comes to mind when I think Till Lindemann

Rat. Rodent man.

It's interesting that they're all saying such soft lovely things about making the album as if nothing happened and everything was fine the whole time. I guess it's nice they didn't just sit and complain about each other though. Love and solidarity.

Richard. Looks very nice :) good shoulders. Next person who meets him say good job growing those shoulders. More people should wear tank tops I feel.

God they're all so adorable I have to keep replaying bits.

He does say Glück auf right? Why did they have to completely soot him up is it because the truth looks a little silly?

The grin at Richard will end me one day.

@struwwelzeter I think? Once pointed out that he says irgendwie a lot and ever since I've been unable to not hear it when he says it in the last minute he's said it at least twice. I mean I get it I too have things I say a lot but god it's worse than "you know?"

It's just such a long sound to make as filler? It has three syllables

I love the way he's talking and would like a full documentary of him just discussing things like this just ask a vague question and let him run with it

It's so nice hearing from Oli always I think he does it on purpose. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. A treat

Schneider is a dumbass yes but his intelligence also. He's right, you don't actually have to do what you're supposed to as long as you're doing good work

"we tried to make songs we'd still like in two years" smart move, they're playing several of those songs still not far off two decades later

I can really feel Paul's accent when he talks right after someone else it's so round and I love it but I do worry that if I ever decide to properly learn German I will accidentally develop his accent

Schneider doing the pounding will be the death of me actually that's what'll do it

Why does Richard just kind of lick the spoon I can almost hear the found of his jaw clicking shut

I like Jörn a lot. Im tempted to hit him over the autistic thing but in his defence that was fifteen years ago

It's really cool actually that they use the same few directors for the most part, I love seeing how their ideas and techniques have evolved even though I don't know very much about that kind of stuff. Sonne vs Ausländer.

It doesn't help that they made Paul look MINISCULE next to till in this shot. Why does he seem to like the short jokes? I suppose he gets them a lot he has known flake since he was 18

Till is so ! giggly ! In this video ! He is enjoying this so so much! Like a proper big laugh teeth fully out

The boys slow motion headbanging together gets me in my feelings for some reason it's just very sweet and fun

They too look high

The entire "we wanted to name it Herzeleid" bit almost always has me cry-laughing for some reason it's just so Him and so Funny and Cute and you can see his own amusement building inside of him as he prepares to deliver the line

There is already a Herzeleid album and unfortunately it is also by us

He's a pretty man I love when you can see that glint in his eyes

Did Paul mispronounce synthesiser?

Till eats like he's the youngest of six children have you ever noticed that?

The Cain Instinct rising within Paul and nobody moving to stop him. Flake and Schneider just stare and wait to see what he'll do looking just a little concerned. He looks like he's trying to explain and demonstrate something to Schneider but I don't know what he's saying just before he does it

It's funny that their objectively best song was written for and seemingly rejected by a boxer. It's obvious if you know but if you don't you'd have no idea

That sounds very silly im sorry I still have ok stick in my head

Till is flirting. I think Till is flirting. Too many little genuine smiles.

Have any if you played Skyrim? Schneider is sitting in that chair like a Jarl in a bonnet

I think Paul just picks random numbers any time he needs numbers. What was it, 37 extra new songs after the untitled album was finalised? 27? I don't trust him.

Oli is refusing it seems to take credit and also talking like a sub just saying don't @ me

Ways the dwarves. Were right.

A little bit indignant? Yeah rather shocked

Poor Robert hhh

I'm not saying Paul seems excited about being spanked but what I am saying is

He can't explain it but I think we all can

God till is pretty in this tree bit

"eins, zwei, drei, oh!" Typical Schneider behaviour and I truly do adore.

Putting Paul on Olis side was a choice that was made

I really do appreciate just how much work they put into all the details of this, I don't know what professionals think but I for one think they did an amazing job. No wonder they kept hold of Jörn

The boys doing their cuddles! I wonder why there isn't more fic based on Sonne, I think I've only read one or two? Is it because you guys don't know enough about mining because I don't think anyone would mind

I would do many things for a documentary with Paul as the David Attenborough type figure

There's something so charming about Till arguing about the logic of finding out snow white is dead(?) and whether or not Schneider needs to inform them of that fact

Of course they'd put Schneider first look at his little suspicious face

Okay this but they go into way more detail about their favourite parts.

Flake likes to grumble but he is also the most genuinely content man I have ever layed eyes on. If he's with the band he's happy.

Olis little gesture is the cutest actually?

Okay yeah you can totally tell they made up and it's all water under the bridge they worked it out and are happy

Nevermind, Flake just had to do it. "Perhaps in time we'll learn that not everyone has to concern themselves with everything" honey you can say Richard, Paul and Schneider it's okay

They learned to trust each other, basically. They accept the support and help and recognise the expertise of the others. A lot of bands never find that. A lot of people in general never find that, actually.

I still cannot tell whose laugh is the fucking ridiculous one, it's either Richard or Schneider and I think it's Schneider despite Richard looking like a yawning dog

Oh that's Paul's partner next to him right? With the red hair?

Who is the dude till is cuddling with? He looks familiar is he in the ITDW making of?

I do love to see a gaggle of giggling boys

Okay no it's schneider, the fool. His laugh is completely unrestrained and cascading and barking and odd and its glorious to behold.

I would love to see them watch and reach to their older making ofs because so much of it is mirrored. What Paul says about it needing to be fun, the Keine Lust thing that. Actually that's also about it needing to just be for fun. Hm. Still, do it.

Tills joke about getting to that point in the next twenty years how did he knowwwwwww

Fortunately I can knock on wo—thats not wood

Alleth gut, he says.

#me rambling #rammstein #liveblog #complete liveblog

[dreamingofmilk]

Stop

Synopsis: Erik gets into a lot of fights because of you. Maybe you aren't what he needs anymore.

Word Count: 2,233

Warnings: mild angst, cursing, mild smut

Getting ready with Erik was always, ALWAYS, a hassle, the two of you could never keep your hands off each other. And tonight was no different. You watched intently in the mirror as Erik showered in the clear glass shower. He looked spectacular as the waterfall showerhead cascaded him with water.

You were supposed to be doing your makeup, but how could you with a sight behind you like that? You took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand, this was exactly why you two had to take separate showers, the temptation was real, it always had been. But you both promised your friends that you would be on time tonight, especially to help them set up. The two of you were leaving to visit Wakanda for two months this time and your friends always missed you while you were gone. 

“Babe!” Erik shouted as he stepped up behind you, his wet muscles on display and his dark blue towel hung loosely around his hips. You clenched your fist tightly in order to keep your hands to yourself. 

“Yeah?” You leaned back to look at him. He smirked down at you then kneeled down in front of you a gently wet hand caressing your face.

“You ain’t even got no foundation on. You've been staring at my dick this whole time from the mirror?” Your eyes widened in surprise, a heat crept over your cheeks. You kissed your teeth and pushed Erik away from you. Erik fell back laughing, his deep boyish laughter, filled you with rage. You smirked at him as you stood up to take off your robe, showing off the new lingerie you’d bought to tease him with. His jaw dropped as he watched you step around him and walk into the walk-in closet that held your outfit for the night.

Erik’s jaw clenched as he watched you slip the red dress over your hips. He stood up quickly and approached you in the closet.

“Where are you going with that on?” His hands grazed your hips, his fingers playing in the lace.

“To the party, duh.” Erik planted two soft kisses on your neck. His fingers started gripping your hips tightly. Your ass coming into contact with his hard-on.

“You wearing that, you must be planning on letting me hit it in Cam’s backroom?” 

Your heart rate increased at the idea of fucking him in public. Again. You pushed your ass back on him, sighing when you heard a deep groan leave his mouth. His fingers crept around to the front of your dress and snuck their way into your panties, pressing a delicious pressure into your clit.

You nodded, not completely aware of what you were agreeing to, your only thoughts were prayers that he wouldn’t stop. And he didn’t, his fingers dove deep into your wetness and quickly brought you to a leg-shaking climax, your new panties effectively ruined. You rested your hand on the railing in front of you. Trying to catch your breath as you watched Erik put his fingers into his mouth to taste your essence.

“You are not leaving the house in that short ass dress with this sexy ass lingerie on under it, choose one.” He softly kissed your neck again and left your closet to go change in his. 

*************

The party was going well until this guy approached you, aggressively. You tried to dissuade him repeatedly. You knew Erik would be pissed if he saw how aggressively this guy was handling you. Things could escalate quickly.

“No Tish don’t go get them we got this. Sir please leave me alone, I'm not interested.” You tried to remove your wrist from his tight hold, which was growing more painful by the second. 

“Come on sweets, you know I can take good care of you.” You tried to wrestle your arm free some more. You knew it was only a matter of time before Erik showed up on his own or Tish went to get him. 

“You’re hurting me.” You cried out. You stomped on his foot roughly only to be manhandled harder. Tish tried to step in only to be shoved aside. You knew this wasn’t going to end well. You really didn’t want Erik to have another body to add to his scars. You wanted him to get out of that lifestyle. But every five seconds it seemed like you were just pulling him right back in. 

You finally felt the guy let go of you and you looked up to see Erik’s hard eyes find you. He quickly checked you for injuries only to see you cradling your wrist delicately. 

You calmly watched Erik as he got into another fight. You knew his reputation preceded him because in the back corner of one of his homeboy’s house parties, no one paid him any mind as Kill knocked this guy out for putting his hands on you.

You were used to it by now, the annoyance blatant on your face as he continued to beat the guys face in. You looked around looking at the sparse crowd that paid Kill no attention. Most people knew that you were Kill’s fiancé, but you were fine enough that the ones that didn’t would always approach you trying to hit on you. Most stepped back once you told them you were engaged, but the few that didn’t made things more difficult for themselves. 

You understood why he was fighting right now, the guy had put his hands on you trying to get you to go home with him. 

But Erik’s anger began to scare you, it became too much sometimes. Erik told you before once he got started it was hard for him to stop. Especially when it has something to do with you. 

Erik loved you, it surprised you how much this man felt for you. Some days you couldn’t believe how much of a different person he was with you. But as much as he loved you. You loved him.

“Erik.” He stopped as soon as he heard your voice glancing back at you in the corner of the house party you two went to. “That’s enough Kill.” Erik looked back at the guy that he was holding up by his shirt, then back at you. He whispered a threat to the man, who now was sporting a swollen eye, then made his way to you. He placed a soft kiss on your lips and pulled you on to the dance floor. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him. 

You sighed as you rubbed your ass on to his growing hard-on. He rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around you. You danced with him for a bit before pulling away asking him to come with you to the car. 

He held your hand, dapped up his friends with the other as you led the way out of the party. You lean against his brand new sports car and watch him as he lights a blunt. He offers it to you before he takes his first hit, shrugging when you decline his offer.

“This is getting to be too much Kill.” You state looking away from him and up at the starry sky. 

“What is?” He asks quietly looking at you, you make eye contact with him briefly then look down the car packed street and the full house party that you just came from. He stared at you from under his long eyelashes as he flicked the ashes off his blunt.

“This.” You pointed between the two of you. “Us.” Erik straightened up quickly, a growing sense of dread rising in his belly. He loved you so much, but sometimes you feel like a dream to him. Too good to be true. He knew after the first time you saw him fight, and you stuck around, you’d be the one he would marry. And when he told you about his plans for Wakanda, and you didn’t flinch but helped him perfect his ideas, you would be the one to carry his child. But even after all of that certainty, there was a small part of him that knew you were too good for him.

“You leaving me?” Erik stepped up to you. His height towering over you, his intention to intimidate you. But he forgot that you knew, you knew how much he loved you, that he would never do anything to intentionally harm the only light that’s been in his life for years other than school. 

So you shrugged in response to his words and his proximity. Your chest hurt doing this. But you knew this was coming, Kill was making more and more appearances and you were starting to believe that you were the cause of that. And it pains you to believe that he would go downhill into that dark place again, because of you. He told you about his past, who he ‘used’ to be before he met you. Before you helped him reconcile with his family, and help displaced people of African descent around the world.

Erik chuckled as he looked down at you, the love of his life, then away down the same empty street you were watching. You scared Erik, the very thought of you alone scared him. How in the world did you wrap him around your finger? The love he had for you was nerve-wracking, and the idea of you leaving was devastating. But he knew when you were this calm about something like this that he couldn’t react with all of his emotions. So he remained calm, he watched you quietly and took note of every reaction you had towards him.

“Why,” He asked softly, though he wanted to scream it.

“Cause, I don’t think I’m good for you. I can see how having me around tempts you to be more violent. I’m sending you backward, not helping you move forward like your cousins. I feel like being with me reminds you of a darker time. A time that you’ve grown past. You're a prince now baby, and I’m not helping you wear your crown well.” An incredulous look crossed his face.

“Baby what are you talking about! You are my crown. None of this means shit if I don’t have you.”

“I can’t be your crown when I cause you to react like this. Imagine if someone caught wind that the long lost Prince of Wakanda was with some hood rat like me. Someone who constantly jeopardized the safety of royalty.” Your voice lost its edge, you lost your fight. The more you spoke the more you realized you were right.

“I refuse to lose you because of some of the illogical fallacies you have created in your head. You mean too much to me for me to allow anyone and I mean anyone to put their hands on you, and you know that’s not going to change. Maybe what we need to do is move.” Erik said a tone of hope returning to his voice. He quickly stepped up to you and grabbed your hand, his finger gliding over your engagement ring. You’d agreed to marry him, that meant you loved him right? He’d had this thought running through his mind constantly ever since he proposed to you, and you agreed before he was acknowledged as a prince.

“Move?” You jerk your head back in confusion. You didn’t want to lose Erik, and if he had a compromise that took the two of you out of these dangerous situations then you were all ears.

Erik pulled you closer wrapping his arms around you tightly, his fingers grasped your chin and angled it up towards his face.

“I have been thinking about it. T’Challa offered me the job to stay here and work at the outreach center. But like you said I can see how this place has affected us, just like it did my father. I don’t want you to lose me like I did him. So let’s move, let’s go back to where we were supposed to be. T’Challa offered me the job here because he thought I wanted to stay, but he says Wakandans have a great need for a historian that can inform them of the lessons, the pain, and the history that they missed out on while being hidden away from the rest of the world. Not to mention Shuri demanded I bring my engineering skills back to her lab immediately.” Erik chuckled and swiped his thumb across your bottom lip, before pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

“You want to move to Wakanda?” You asked softly, your lips still tingling from his sweet kiss.

“With you. Yeah.” Erik mimicked your shrug from earlier, a soft smile fell on his face as he admired your beauty. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.” He kissed you again, a slight pressure and sense of urgency fell behind this kiss. You smiled into the kiss as you felt Erik’s hand graze your ass, a tell-tell sign that you’d be getting some that night.

You couldn't say what your future looked like, but at that moment you knew with complete certainty that Erik was at the center of it. You looked into his eyes and smiled, your love for him clear in your expression.

“I’m ready.”

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[ashsblurbs]

Impostor

“Wait you won’t be home again tonight. That’s the fourth night in a row.” Tony crinkled his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. Steve had been acting weird ever since he came back from his mission in Russia and Tony couldn’t figure out why. Steve was often gone a lot without telling him. He wasn’t sleeping either which was odd for Steve. Tony was worried about him.

“I was hoping we could spend the night just you and me. We haven’t been able to and I miss you.” Steve came over to Tony and pulled him in close. Slowly ran his fingers along his arms. Tony laid his head in the crook of Steve’s shoulder missing the warmth that would spread throughout his body. Steve leaned down and placed a kiss in his grease smeared hair.

“Rain check?” Tony looked up and saw dark shadows had appeared under his eyes. Tony rubbed along the area wondering when was the last time he slept. He ran his hand slowly down Steve’s face until he stopped at the base of his jaw. There was a bruise. It wasn’t new, mostly a few days old but Tony wondered why he never noticed before. Once Steve realized that Tony had found the hidden bruise he stepped back with a smile.

“I promise when I get home there will be cuddles and tomorrow movie night.” Tony decided not to question it and just assumed that it was from training. Tony pulled Steve back down for a kiss. He leaned his head to Steve’s.

“I will hold you to it. I love you.”

“I love you too darling. See you in the morning.”

Tony sat in his lab working on Natasha’s new spider bits, but something was working on his mind that wasn’t allowing him to concentrate on his task at hand. Steve’s behavior was unnerving. He was keeping secrets and had unexplained wounds. His uniform had more blood on it than normal, almost like he had killed several people. As Captain America, he had a strict no-killing policy. Tony got up and went upstairs to Steve’s office. He trusted his husband more than anything in life and what he was about to do would break that trust. Tony had to know that nothing bad was going on.

Tony looked through several papers that were spread on the desk. Most of it was mission reports, some were notes like names and dates and there were a couple of sketches. Tony held up one that was disturbing. It was an unmarked hand holding up a bloody head. Tony through it back on the desk and pushed away from the desk in shock. A chill went over him. The hair on his arms stood up. Steve only drew memories, lovely things, or his feelings. Was Steve feeling that photo?

After taking a deep breath and collecting is composure he moved to Steve’s computer. He typed in his password, but it said incorrect. How was this possible, Steve’s password had been Brooklyn17 ever since Tony helped him set it up?

“Friday, can you type in the correct password?”

“Sir, Mr. Rogers-Stark, made it very clear you are not allowed to access his computer.” Tony didn’t understand what she was saying. Like he said before they didn’t have secrets.

“Override, 5417.” Friday did as ask, and the computer came to life to show the screensaver. It was a photo of them during their honeymoon. Steve’s eyes twinkled so brightly. They didn’t anymore. Tony played around trying to find anything unusual. A normal human being would think everything was fine but Tony was a computer genius. If I were Steve where would I hide a super-secret file, I wouldn’t want anyone to find, Tony thought. Tony clicked on Steve’s file that read everything I need to catch up on knowing that Steve had that list written down in his journal.

The filed popped up to show the hydra logo. Then a video came to life.

“Captain, we have given your orders. Why haven’t you completed your mission?” Tony could only see a Hydra agent and no one else but who spoke next, he knew actually the voice that was speaking.

“I haven’t found the right opportunity, but it will be carried out by the end of the week.”

“If you don’t then we will. Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.” Tony switched off the computer not wanting to know any more information. He stared at the black screen not understanding what he just saw. Not understanding what Steve was doing. That wasn’t Steve, right? Tony placed his hands in his head trying to sort out all of his thoughts which resulted in him not hearing the footsteps behind him. In the blink of the eye his world went dark.

“Tony, I’m sorry.”

The light slowly trickled into the room leading Tony to open is eyes. Everything was blurry for a minute and there was a pounding in his head. He looked around in confusion not recognizing where he was. Then tried to focus really hard on the object in the corner. Tony knew the outline of the shape. The broad shoulders he would lay against early morning after waking up while the person that is attached to those shoulders were making breakfast. Tony tried to move his wrist and found they were bound by rope. So were his ankles.

“Hey, cap is it too late to use a safe word. If you wanted to get kinky, I would have said yes. No need in kidnapping me!” Steve whipped around with a knife in his hand. Tony always felt safe with Steve. Steve would never hurt him. Steve always had his back. The man standing in front of him was not his Steve. This man had rumpled clothes. There were specs of blood on his cheek as well as a small amount on his right hand. The closer he got the more Tony could see the darkness grow in Steve’s eyes. Steve twirled the knife making Tony nervous, but he kept his composer.

“Nice knife, did your new friends give it to you?” Steve looked up giving Tony a sorrowful look. He goes back looking at the knife running a finger along the blade. Tony’s breath was caught in his throat.

“They want me to kill you. They say I won’t because of the feelings I have for you.” Steve walked closer placing the blade to Tony’s Adam’s apple. Tony gritted his teeth. Steve leaned down close to his ear. He could feel his breath tickle the inside of his neck. Any other time he would be turned on but tonight he just wanted to close his eyes and wake up from this nightmare.

“Maybe those feeling were never there.” He pushed the knife deeper causing a trickle of blood to run down into his collar.

“Or maybe I’m so in love with you that.” Steve bent placing a hard kiss on his lips. He took the knife and sliced the bounds off setting Tony free. Tony swings a hard left into Steve’s jaw making him back away. Tony ran straight for the door and paused watching Steve. Steve looked up and Tony notice a flash of confusion cross Steve’s eyes. It was as if he didn’t know where he was himself. Damn, he thought, I really do love him. Tony walked back over and wrapped his arms around Steve liked he always did when he woke up from nightmares or panic attacks.

Steve looked up at Tony wanting answers but for some reason, his voice wouldn’t work. It was like someone was controlling him and each second, he was slipping back to whatever was controlling his mind.

“Steve, you’re okay. What did they do to you? Answer me!” Steve twisted around, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulled him down closer. Tony could see the light flick back and forth like Steve was struggling to stay. The darkness engulfed his eyes once again.

“Hail Hydra.” He grabbed whole of the knife that was discarded to the side and plunged it into Tony’s side. Tony let out a scream and fainted by the sudden pain.

Tony was jolted awake by a splash of cold water. He expected to see Steve staring back at him but this time it was some Hydra goon. Another face of the terrible organization. There was pain shooting up his side. He could taste blood too. That was new.

“Where is Steve!” Tony shouted trying to get free. The goon just laughed.

“We knew your precious husband, no matter how much we controlled him, wouldn’t be able to kill you. So, we are going to do it ourselves.” Tony rolled his eyes knowing he could easily get past the guy. All he cared about was his Steve.

“I’m not going to ask again. Where is Steve?” The goon wrapped a hand around Tony’s neck. He smirked thinking this was defiantly not the first time this has happened to him. “Yeah, I can do harder.” He dropped his hand real quick not liking Tony’s remark. Tony saw a window and took it. He kicked his legs out knocking the man down. He twisted and ripped the poor a tempt of bondage and ran. All he knew was he had to get Steve.

Steve laid in a clear box unconscious like a lab rat. After he did what he never thought he would ever do, hurt Tony, the mind control was broken. He held Tony in his arms screaming, crying. He killed Tony. Steve knew he should have carried them out to safety. Ran as far as the eye could see. He was paralyzed and the next thing he knew he was laying in a box not knowing what they did to Tony’s body.

Tony ran and ran looking through every room and down every hallway with no such luck until he found himself looking at a sleeping Steve. Tony ran to it banging on the box, but it was solid. He really wished he had his suit right now. He looked around looking for anything that could crack it. Bingo, he grabbed a pair of scissors and aimed for the corner resulting in the glass to shatter all around, thankfully missing Steve. Tony ran over and bent down to Steve trying to wake him up. Steve shot up like he was coming back to life. He rapidly looked around like he was searching for something. Tony placed both of his hands on his shoulders forcing him to stop and look at him. Steve reached out and placed both of his palms onto Tony’s face. He was in awe that he was with him and semi-okay.

“Tony, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Steve buried his face into Tony’s shoulder and started to cry. Tony rubbed his back trying to comfort him.

“It wasn’t you sweetheart. We can have the best I’m sorry sex we ever had when we get out of here alive.” Steve smiled against his shoulder and looked up with determination in his eyes.

“Let’s kill these sons of a bitches.” Tony smiled loving that he finally got his husband back.

#stony #stevetony #superhusbands #ash's blurbs #whumptober 2020