#cardigan is one of her best songs

[thenighttrain]

it’s her magnum opus thooooooo

but is it? idts, the fandom has serious recency bias

#i personally think cardigan is her best song and folklore songs like my tears ricochet are better than atw too #ofc atw is the most famous one but i still wouldn't say it's her magnum opus #ask #anonymous

[barefoot-joker]

Destined for Heaven, Stolen by the Devil~ Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys and welcome to another Lucifer story. I'm sorry I write for him a lot. I just find to him be a very relatable character and I love him so much! Anyway, this fic deals with heavy Christianity themes, so I did my best to research. If something is wrong, please tell me and I'll do my best to fix it. I was very inspired by the song 'The Plagues' from "The Prince of Egypt". As always, I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 2899

Warnings: Heavy Christianity Themes/Beliefs, Swearing, Christianity Mocking, Slight Possessive Tendencies, Reader's Aunt likes crystals, Reader Dies, Kidnapping?

I sighed as my mother pulled a light blue cardigan over my shoulders. She dusted off my dress and fixed my hair so that I looked presentable. Today was Sunday so that meant we had to go to church. I wasn’t too fond of going and I would have rather been playing in the backyard as a twelve year old does. However, my mom made it her duty to take me and make me a good Christian girl. “Why do we have to go, mom? It’s soooo boring!”

I stuck out my tongue at her. She gently pushed it back in. “You know I want our family to have a good relationship with the Lord. It’s our Christian duty. Besides, going to church is in your blood. After all-”

“Yeah, yeah. God told you that I was destined to be a wife for Adam. How can you believe that? It came to you in a dream.”

“Y/n M/n L/n! You do not question God’s ways! You know better! Now come on, we don’t want to be late.”

Dragging me by the hand, she ushered me into the family Cadillac and sped off. I sighed heavily. There were so many things I’d rather be doing than go to church. I could be with my friends, heck I could be at my cool Aunt’s house. “Hey, mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When are we going to visit Aunt Hailey? When she called you said we’d be seeing her soon.”

“I only said that to get her off my back. You know how I feel about her.”

I grunted and crossed my arms. Aunt Hailey was seen as the black sheep in the family all because she was wealthy. A lot of our relatives (my mother included) thought she sold her soul to the Devil in order to be immensely rich and refused to interact with her. I, however, thought she was so cool. When she used to come over she’d regale to me hundreds of stories about her travels around the world. She even showed me her cool crystal collection when we went over to her house a few times. “Now don’t be like that. It’s not ladylike.”

I grunted again and slid down in the tan leather seat. A few minutes later the car was parked in the church parking lot and I was being dragged inside. Sometimes I wish I had siblings so I wasn’t the only one to feel mom’s wrath. She seated us near the front and handed me the heavy white Bible from the pew. I robotically turned to the page with the Lord’s prayer and stood when Pastor Bob entered. We began reciting the Lord’s prayer and sang a hymn before we sat. I didn’t pay much attention as our Priest told us his sermon for the day but I didn’t dare to look around the room. I had to look the part after all. Fidgety, I played with my ring finger. Glancing down, I took in the birthmark that oddly looked like an apple. I remember it showing up after I stayed at Aunt Hailey’s house one day. I never told my mother about it though. I was often reminded of the tale of Eve and the apple and I don’t know what she would do if ever saw the fruit insignia. After the sermon and another hymn, it was time for communion. We all stood in line and when it was my turn I took the small Ritz cracker and ate it. I coughed lightly and then took a sip from the golden chalice. My mom and I returned to our seats and when everyone was done, we recited the Lord’s prayer one final time. Thank goodness it was over. 

As we walked out, I was forced to shake hands with our elderly Pastor. “How is my favorite little disciple doing today?”

I cringed at that. Ever since my mother told the church of her insane dream I was treated like some goddess. “Good.”

“That’s great to hear. I look forward to our weekly blessing.”

“Of course, Pastor Bob,” my mom butted in, “we wouldn’t miss it.”

He smiled and bid us both ado. We walked back to the car and drove home. As we passed by houses in our neighborhood, I looked longingly at the kids playing. Besides church, Sunday was dedicated to my education of becoming a housewife so when I did die and go to Heaven I was prepared. Parking the car, we went inside. I slipped off my Mary Janes and put them by the door. The rest of the day was spent cleaning, doing embroidery work and cooking. Just as I was getting ready for bed, the phone rang. I went into the kitchen and picked up the landline. “Hello?”

“Is my dear Y/n there?”

“This is her.”

“It’s your Aunt Hailey.”

“Auntie! Hi! How are you?”

She chuckled. “I am good, my darling. And you? Surviving another day in that stuffy house?”

I giggled at her commentary. “I’ve been okay. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering when you can come over. I was talking with a friend the other day and he would like to meet you properly. I believe he saw you at my house when you were five.”

“I’d love to come over! Let me ask mom real quick.”

I walked into the living room and pressed the phone to my chest. “Hey, mom. Aunt Hailey’s on the phone. She wants to know when I can come over.”

She looked up from her book and glared at the phone. “You know my answer.”

“Come on, mom! It’ll just be for a day!”

“I don’t know.”

“Please! I promise when I get back I’ll focus on my wifely duties! Please!”

I gave her puppy dog eyes and slightly whimpered. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Alright. You can go tomorrow, but I expect you to stay true to your promise. You know how God would feel if you went back on your word.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I lifted the phone up to my ear and quickly ran into the kitchen. “She said I can come tomorrow.”

“Wonderful! I’ll see you then, my dear.”

“Bye, Auntie!”

“Goodbye for now, darling.”

I ended the call and put the phone back on the receiver. I returned to the living room where mom and I did our nightly prayer. When we finished, she gave my forehead a kiss and sent me to bed. 

The next morning I dressed in a plaid dress shirt, brown capri pants and black oxfords. I bounced in the passenger seat giddily as my mother parked the car in my Aunt’s gravel driveway. “Now remember to behave. I don’t need any calls about your disobedience.”

“I’ll be good, I will.”

“That’s my girl. And you have your cross necklace?”

“Yes, mom. Can I go now?”

She kissed my forehead and I got out of the car. “Be safe! Call me if something happens and I’ll be back around dinner to pick you up!”

“Okay mom, bye!”

I waved and she drove off. I turned towards my relative’s mansion and walked up the stone steps. I grabbed the handle from the golden lion’s head and gave three loud knocks on the large oak door. The door opened to reveal Timothy, my Hailey’s middle aged butler. “Ah Miss Y/n, we were expecting you. Please come in.”

He stood to the side and allowed me inside. Closing the door, he led me across the marble floor to one of the drawing rooms near the back. I could hear muffled voices talking as we entered, Timothy clearing his throat. “Your niece is here, madam.”

“Thank you, Timothy. That will be all.”

He bowed and exited the room. My Auntie smiled and gestured for me to come over. I ran to her and gave her a big hug. Her navy silk and lace dress clung to me. “It’s so good to see you, darling! I’ve missed you so!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

I pulled away and she motioned to the gold and floral print armchair next to her. I sat and looked at her guest on the chaise lounge. He seemed quite the esteemed gentleman. He had slicked back blonde hair, pale skin and red eyes. I found them quite odd but didn’t judge. Mother said it was bad to judge based upon appearances. He wore a white suit with a red dress shirt, a black tie with black flower detailing, black leather gloves and shiny black dress shoes. He was on the shorter side as well. “Y/n, I’d like you to meet my friend Luci. He’s the one to thank for my wealth.”

The man stood and bowed to me. He took my hand and kissed my apple birthmark. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my little apple. Your Aunt has told me so much about you.”

“It’s good to meet you too, sir.”

“So polite. Your mother is raising you right.”

“Except for the amount of gospel she puts in my poor baby’s head. I swear all because of her fucking dream, she’s gone total Bible thumper.”

Luci titled his head to the side. “Oh you’ll have to tell me over tea. Speaking of which, I think Timothy has finished setting up the garden for us.”

“Splendid!”

We all stood and the blonde offered me his arm. I gladly took it and we walked outside to Hailey’s marble floored porch. A metal table sat in the middle overlooking her large flower garden, a lacy white tablecloth set on top. Luci pulled out my chair and after I sat, pushed it in. He sat next to me and began pouring tea for all of us. Today Timothy had picked out the clear glass kettle so we could see the yellow liquid inside and the pastel teacups. I thanked Auntie’s friend when he poured into my cup and marveled at the small pink flower floating. “I see we’re having chrysanthemum tea. You know it’s your Auntie’s favorite.”

I giggled and picked up my cup. Blowing a little, I took a sip and smiled at the sweet taste. “So you were talking about Y/n’s mother?”

“Ah yes. She’s always been a Christian woman, believing in the power above. Then one night she had a dream, a vision she calls it, that Y/n is to be the third wife of the first man Adam. Ever since then she’s been obsessively devoted and is dragging my poor niece with her.”

“I see.”

Luci seemed to become stiff at the mention of Heaven and God. Perhaps it was a touchy subject?

“So God came to her and said this, hm?”

“Sure as shit supposedly.”

The three of us sipped our tea in silence. “So has school been going, my dear?”

“Good, Auntie. We learned how to do cursive in English the other day so now I can write my name all fancy!”

“That’s great, darling. Anything else?”

“I’ve been feeling kind of left out lately.”

Both adults turned to me in curiosity. “How so?”

“Well none of the other kids my age are really learning wifely duties, at least not as much as me. When I want to go outside and play mom forces me to do my skills.”

“Wifely duties? Pray do tell,” Luci cocked an eyebrow.

“I learned how to clean the house from top to bottom, cook all three meals, sew, embroider, and do laundry. Basically anything my mom deems necessary to please this angelic husband of mine.”

“I can assure you it will come in handy. Especially with how much of pigish brute he is.”

“How do you know?”

“I just got that impression when I’ve read his passages in the Bible, sweetie.”

“Oh.”

“If you had a real man I can be sure you wouldn’t need those skills, darling,” Auntie piped up, sipping her tea.

“A real man? Like who?”

“Like Luci for example!”

I turned to the blonde and he smiled. His eyes glinted with what looked like adoration. He gently grabbed my hand and held it, his hands quite warm through his gloves. He brought it to his lips and kissed the back of my hand. “It’s true. If you were my wife you wouldn’t want for nothing. Every day would be spent in marital bliss.”

“Sounds gross!”

He chuckled and kissed my hand again. “When you’re older you’ll come to love it.”

‘If you say so.”

“I know so.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent listening to Luci’s tales from his travels while drinking our tea. They were quite intriguing and full of adventure. The people he met, the places he went were all so fascinating. It soon became dinner time and true to her word my mom sat in the driveway. Luci walked me to the door and gave a little bow. “It was a pleasure to chat with you, Y/n. I have a feeling we will see each other more in the future.”

“I hope so. You’re so cool, Luci!”

He smirked and patted my head. “Farewell, little lady.”

“Goodbye, Luci!”

I gave him a quick hug before running to the car.

Sure enough as I grew up I ran into the short blonde more often than not. From trips to the grocery store to when I was allowed at Aunt Hailey’s house, we would bump into each other. We’d always exchange a few words and always those red eyes sparkled bright around me. 

That was eleven years ago. Now I lay in a hospital bed, feeling like I was on the brink of death. A few years after meeting Luci I had gotten terribly ill. I was feverish, pale and felt nauseous. My mother was worried and took me to the clinic. I was just diagnosed with the flu. I took my medicine and stayed in bed as best as possible but the final straw was when I fainted in the backyard while gardening. Since then, I had been in and out of hospital with different doctors viewing me like prize cattle. I was poked, prodded and dug at only to be told no one had a clue as to why I was sick. It was like it had just fallen upon me. My mother became even more obsessive in her Christian ways. I was blessed every weekend and prayed upon every day to try and heal my mysterious illness. I was forced to drink holy water at every opportunity and had to wear my cross necklace with two rosaries. 

Currently, I was coughing so hard I felt like I dislocated my lungs. My mother sat next to me holding my hand, a rosary wrapping around us. As I continued to cough she pushed some hair out of my face. “You’re going to be alright, honey. Just stay strong.”

After my coughing fit, I laid back and tried to catch my breath. “I feel like I’m dying.”

Her hand tightened around mine and I could feel her body shake with sobs. “Maybe this is God’s way of letting us know Adam needs you. As much as I’d hate to see my baby go, you’d finally fulfill your purpose.”

“Mom, please. Not now.”

“I’m sorry.”

A knock at the door made us both look over. There in the entryway stood Luci, his white hat with the dark red band hanging tightly in his hands. “Come in.”

He stepped forward and gave a small smile. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Y/n! Language!”

“Sorry.”

He chuckled and came to my side, putting a hand on my shoulder. “May I have a moment alone, please?”

My mom looked at me and I gave a curt nod. She sighed and stood. “I’ll go get something to eat. I’ll be back later, honey.”

She gave my forehead a kiss and walked out, shutting the door behind her. Luci took her place in the chair next to my bed. “What can I do for you, handsome?”

“I wanted to come see you. Hailey told me how you were faring and I knew I needed to come immediately.”

“I appreciate that. Especially since I feel like this may be the last time you see me.”

“Nonsense. We will always find each other, even in death.”

He brought his hand up and caressed my cheek. I smiled and then began coughing. I turned away and hacked into my arm, only turning back when I was done. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His hand wrapped around mine and squoze tightly. “You know, I could end your suffering right now.”

“Yeah right.”

“I’m not lying to you, my dear. One small kiss and you’d go peacefully.”

“Luci-”

“And then we can be together forever. Adam, not even Heaven will keep you from me.”

“What are you talking about?” “Just kiss me.”

What could go wrong? I was already suffering so much.

“...Alright.”

He leaned forward and connected our lips. He tasted sweet like caramel apples and I just melted. My soul felt like it was being sucked out of my body and when he pulled away I couldn’t breathe. “You’re mine, little apple. Forever and always.”

He caressed my hand and my eyes closed.

The beeping of the heart monitor slowed and then faded to silence all together.

#yandere #xreader #yandere x reader #x reader #yanderexreader #villain x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #yandere lucifer morningstar #yandere lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer magne x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #slight adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #yandere lucifer morningstar x reader #yandere lucifer magne x reader

[mavrintarou]

[1:52 PM] Sakusa Kiyoomi

I'm a day late - but I wasn't satisfied with all my drafts. Happy belated birthday to this cutie!

Warning: funny misunderstanding & smut (18+)

.

Kiyoomi watched Y/n dance her heart out with Alice, his twelve-year-old niece on the dance floor to one of their favorite KPOP songs. Alice was born a dancer and at an early toddler age, was inspired by KPOP and has been in dance classes and competing since she was five. The moment he told Alice that his girlfriend was a professional dancer, she challenged Y/n to a dance-off, not believing her uncle or Y/n.

Of course, Y/n proved to Alice, earning her respect and honor. They became best friends after that with Y/n taking Alice as her disciple.

When Kiyoomi had first met Y/n and as they exchanged information about themselves, he couldn’t picture the sweet girl in front of him to be an ex-professional dancer. It wasn’t that he did not believe her, it was just that he did not peg her as a dancer.

On their first date, she wore a knee-length skirt with a white button-up shirt tucked tidily with an oversized cardigan over and some brown scuffed loafers. She looked like the kind of girl who would spend her entire day in a coffee shop in Paris.

Not the girl who knew the choreography to BTS’ songs or just about any KPOP song he had randomly suggested, she knew the dance moves or could learn it within an hour.

Y/n refused to show him any videos and he couldn’t find any either when he searched for her.

He began to beg her to show him some moves when they were alone one night.

“Please,” he looked up at her with soft begging eyes.

She inhaled sharply before standing up, whipping off her cardigan, and walking over to his small portable Bluetooth speaker. Her back was to him as she paired her phone to the device and Kiyoomi’s living room boomed with upbeat music that he often heard at the club.

Y/n turned around and stalked towards him.

Kiyoomi swallowed, sitting up straight, and watched with attentive eyes. His jaw slightly dropped as Y/n stepped in front of him with her back towards him and slowly lowered herself down until she seated on his lap and began rocking her ass against his crotch.

God, she was giving him a lap dance.

She reached for his hands and placed them on her waist before guiding them up to her breasts. Her hips moved with the beat of the music, making him feel every bit of her.

Y/n leaned forward and rocked along the length of his thighs before shaking her ass before him.

“Oh, fuck… Y/n…” he was at a loss for words.

She turned around and straddled his lap before reaching for her shirt and tugging it off. She reached for his hands again and slid them inside her sports bra, his palm pressed against her warm soft tits.

“Y/n,” Kiyoomi gasped, looking at her with dark eyes. “Shit… I need you… kiss me please…” He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

Y/n met his eager lips, moaning softly. Her fingers reached his waistband and he lift his hips so she could tug his joggers down enough to free his hardened cock. Her hands clasped around his cock, squeezing and stroking him.

Kiyoomi pulled his hands away from her tits to pull down her yoga pants.

Pushing away from him, Y/n stands up to kick off her garments before sitting back down on his lap, now grinding skin on skin.

Kiyoomi’s thighs tremble pathetically as if this is their intimate session.

After what seemed like an eternity, Y/n lifted her ass and reached for his cock, aligning it with her pussy before settling down.

Her soft moan was enough for him to cum. With her warm pussy wrapped around his cock, he became a puddle of mush at her hands.

His fingers dug into her hips, begging for her to move yet at the same time, holding her still as he wanted to savor the euphoric feeling of her. Y/n has recently gone on birth control, giving them the freedom to have condom-less sex. Giving Kiyoomi the freedom to cum inside her.

Rocking her hips slowly, Y/n turned to look over her shoulder. “Faster? Or slower?”

Kiyoomi could hardly control his breath, let alone his mind. He wanted both but couldn’t find his voice.

“Okay then, I’ll just take the lead…” Y/n’s voice is teasing. She continued to rock and roll her hips to the sound of the music, which had become deaf to Kiyoomi’s ears. His eyes are locked and concentrated on how Y/n was bouncing on his cock.

His eyes shut and a low grunt vibrates from his throat. He was close but he wanted them to cum together.

Kiyoomi’s grip on her waist tightened as he still her movement so he could take control. He pumped into her pussy, thrusting hard and fast.

Y/n lost her balance and fell backwards, landing her weight on him but Kiyoomi didn’t mind. He easily lifted her to continue to keep pounding into her pussy, his right hand hiked her right leg higher while his left hand found her clit, rubbing it fast.

“Omi!”

Growling, Kiyoomi restrained himself until Y/n came first and he second. Her walls fluttered around his cock, squeezing and milking him.

Setting her leg down, he wrapped his arms around her, locking her to him as he breathed in her scent.

.

Everyone has a past they don’t speak of. Not Kiyoomi, but he thinks he can understand why Y/n refused to allow him to see any videos of her dancing. He struggled to comprehend the idea of witnessing her dance so intimately with another man, other than himself.

If it were any other woman, he doubted he would overlook her past or former career.

Yet, he discovered himself forgiving Y/n and still desiring her, despite her past as an exotic dancer.

But he needed to talk to her about it, it was eating him up.

After two weeks of contemplating how he would broach the subject, he eventually sat down with Y/n one evening.

“I need to get this off my chest,” Kiyoomi kept his eyes on her, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable at all. At the very least, she looked at him confused yet patiently waiting for him to continue. “I want to be transparent and tell you that I can look past your exotic dancing career but I don’t ever want you to return to that kind of –“

“What? Hold on, Omi…”

“No, please let me finish,” he silenced her, reaching for her hands and holding them. “I have never felt so assured about someone until I met you and now I understand when people say that the moment you meet your person, you are willing to do everything for them. I am willing to do anything for you, but all I ask is for you to never return to that kind of job again. I will do my best financially support you and if there is anything else… aside from exotic dancing… I will fully support you.” He exhaled deeply, looking deeply into her eyes. “I love you, Y/n.”

Y/n’s eyes shimmered before she tightly shut them, then let out a brief giggle before erupting into laughter.

She lunged herself at him, hugging him. “Oh, my Omi… I love you too.” She felt him relax, his arms wrapping around her. Y/n leaned back and cupped his face, “but you are so silly, Omi. And I think I just loved you even more.”

Kiyoomi didn’t receive her message, but it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was that she loved him.

“I’m not an exotic dancer at all,” she clarified, giggling as her shoulders trembled. “I’m a professional dancer, but not an exotic dancer in the slightest. What gave you that impression?”

His expression shifted instantly as he grasped her message. “Wait, you’re not an exotic dancer?”

Y/n shook her head.

“But you gave me – you gave me a lap dance…”

The room filled with only Y/n’s laughter. “Oh Omi, you asked me to show you some moves and that’s why I gave you a lap dance, not that I’m an exotic dancer.” She threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him. “You’re so funny! Is that why you have been pouty all week?” She leaned back to look at his face.

His brows knitted, “you noticed?”

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose and lips. “Of course, I wanted you to be comfortable to talk to me.”

His hands rest loosely around her waist. “Those moves were incredible, I’ve never had a lap dance before and afterwards all I could think about was that… you were an exotic dancer and that’s why you didn’t want me to see your videos.”

Y/n grabbed her phone and searched for something before turning her screen sideways.

For the next ten minutes, she showed him various videos of her competition and Kiyoomi was awed, shocked that the woman in the video dancing amazingly was the same on his lap.

Kiyoomi leaned back against the couch and covered his eyes, embarrassed. “I can’t – I can’t believe I thought you were an exotic dancer...” he looked at her, “so… have you given anyone else a lap dance before?”

Leaning against his chest, Y/n shook her head, “nope, you were the first.’

“And last? And only?”

“Last and only,” Y/n assured, kissing his pretty lips.

. . .

E/n: Kiyoomi in love is something else.

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

#haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa fluff #sakusa smut #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x y/n #sakusa imagines #haikyuu x y/n

[wileys-russo]

going off the one where less teases reader about her biceps, maybe a fic where reader gets back at lessi by teasing her the next day?? yk, reader showing off her toned quads by rolling up her shorts reallyyyyy high and even moaning whilst in the gym for weights during leg day. j a small idea i thought you'd like😁

mhm mhm im here for this energy

big flexer 2.0 II a.russo

"-so now if i asked you what your favourite taylor swift song is you would say..." viv trailed off hopefully, having spent the last 48 hours filling you in on everything and anything swift lore you made sure to take your time thinking carefully about your answer.

having made the mistake of saying you only knew we are never getting back together when asked the same question for the team tiktok, this had started vivs entire journey to educate you.

"cardigan." you finally answered, viv sighing in relief and patting your shoulder. "this is much better. and why is that your favourite song?" the dutch woman asked as you glanced over her shoulder toward alessia who was deep in conversation with viccy and lotte at another table.

"no reason." you answered with a small smile, your tender gaze not missed by your friends sat around you at breakfast. "disgusting. like a lovesick puppy!" leah mockingly gagged before she shoveled a spoonful of fruit into her mouth.

"pipe down karate kid." you shot back quickly in reference to the black headband she'd chosen to sport today, causing laura to snort in laughter from beside you, leah narrowing her eyes. "you best watch your back today." the blonde warned lightheartedly before she was pulled into conversation with lia.

"does anyone know what we're doing today?" you asked curiously as you finished your plate, pushing it away from you with a satisfied sigh, sneaking a strawberry off laura's plate as she batted your hand away with her fork.

"i know the focus is lower body later in the gym, i heard them talking about it earlier." steph revealed as half the table groaned in annoyance but you pumped your fist up happily, grabbing your plate and standing to your feet.

you grabbed kim and jens empty plates as well, leaving your friends to finish up eating as you made your way inside, handing the dishes back to the chefs with a glowing review.

"good morning gorgeous." arms circled your waist as you smiled at the familiar accent, turning your head to peck your girlfriends lips softly in greeting before the two of you shared a tight hug. "sleep well?" alessia asked with a cocky smile and you smacked her shoulder knowing what she was insinuating.

"just fine thanks." you rolled your eyes as the two of you separated, a ten minute call being given the two of you decided to head to the pitch for your first training session of the day.

"gonna be a hot one today ladies, hope we're all ready to sweat!" beth beamed as she wedged herself inbetween you and your girlfriend, slinging her arms over your shoulders as the three of you fell into conversation.

~

and a couple of hours later you knew beth wasn't lying it was boiling today, and as you all raced around on the grass you were positively melting.

so as most footballers did when running around desperate for some sort of reprive you'd rolled your shorts up in an attempt to try and ease some of the heat waves rocking your body.

the seemingly innocent move not gone unnoticed by your girlfriend who incredibly similar to you yesterday found herself distracted by the longing to admire your toned thighs.

same as she had put an emphasis on working on her upper body strength this season you never missed a leg day, and christ alessia really hadn't taken enough time to appreciate the results.

"russo heads up!" the blonde dragged her eyes away from you just a millisecond too late as a ball smacked her in the back of the head, katie racing over with an apologetic wince.

"sorry, i called heads up!" the irishwoman grabbed the ball back and with another apologetic smile went running off back to her group, lotte ripping into the blonde about the small accident as alessia shoved her away with a playful roll of her eyes, rubbing the back of her head with a wince.

but another person who hadn't missed the small accident was you, having caught the italian clearly checking you out just moments before tragedy struck, and with gears turning in your head you formulated a fool proof way to get back at her for the teasing yesterday.

you rolled your shorts up even further as jonas started to split everyone into teams for a final 11 on 11, tossing you a pink bib as alessia caught a blue one, you sending the taller girl a wink as her eyes flickered down toward your tanned legs out on display.

alessia tugged on the bib and wasted no time clearing the distance between you, the sight of her boots in your eyeline as you knelt down to re-tie your own making you smile. "hi baby!" you greeted with a happy smile, a frown etched into the taller girls face.

"less!" you laughed as she reached forward and unrolled your shorts, pulling them down firmly as you shoved her away. "leave them." the blonde pecked your lips quickly before running off back to her own team, unknowingly only have given you more ammunition to rile her up.

with a shake of your head you made your way to your team, huddling inbetween stina and frida as katie lead the tactics talk and you all cheered as the whistle blew to start. getting into position you caught alessia's eye, rolling up your shorts as high as they could go and winking in her direction.

squatting down a little you watched on victoriously as her blue eyes widened somewhat at the obvious way your quads flexed, missing kick off as the whistle was blown and she hurried off to catch up with the ball.

~

it only got worse for alessia once you finished up lunch and headed for the gym, the blonde having spent the entire break teased relentlessly by lotte and gio for the obvious way she was so distracted by you during training.

you'd managed to escape, ducking off for a meeting with the physio about an old shoulder injury that twinged a little today, assuring your blonde lover that you were okay with a soft kiss and grabbing your lunch to go you'd not been seen since.

so alessia sighed quietly in relief seeing you already waiting in the gym, chatting away to the trainers as everyone was paired off and assigned different sections of the circuit to begin with.

much to both alessia's joy and dismay you and steph were assigned hip flexors as your warm up stretch, and with your shorts once again rolled up alessia's body burned with desire watching you repeatedly thrust and stretch, causing all the different muscles in your lips to tense, flex and ripple.

"oh fuck!" alessia swore as you caught her eye mid stretch and winked, causing the striker to lose her grip on the medicine ball she was squatting with, dropping it on her left foot with a groan of pain.

the italian was hurried off by the medical staff for a quick check up, shooting a murderous glare toward a snickering gio who knew exactly why she'd slipped up, her porcelin cheeks flushed red scarlett with embarrassment.

you watched on with concern as your girlfriend was assessed, gently pushed back into your exercises by an understanding but firm steph that you weren't helping anyone by standing around watching.

alessia was ordered to ice and elevate her foot and dismissed early from the session, limping out of the gym with an assuring glance sent your way that she was okay.

warned firmly but with care by kim that you were still expected to finish your workout you weren't happy but followed your captains instructions, trying your best to distract yourself with flickering from conversation to conversation with your teammates, shoulders heaving in relief when the session was finally called to an end.

you wasted no time in rushing off toward alessia's room, ignoring the trainers shouts after you about recovery options, only stopping when you were outside the strikers door.

having borrowed lotte's key you let yourself in, not wanting your girlfriend to use her foot anymore than entirely neccessary before it could be assessed again by the trainers and physio's tomorrow.

"only me less." you smiled as you stepped into the room, face softening at the pouty frown sent your way by the blonde laying in bed with her arms crossed, foot iced up and resting on a pillow.

"this is your fault!" alessia accused right away. "you and your stupid toned thighs." the striker continued bitterly with a glance at your still rolled up shorts which had only ridden up higher after you'd practically sprinted here.

"that is so not fair! you had no issues teasing me yesterday with your stupidly big biceps." you rolled your eyes playfully before kicking off your trainers and taking a seat beside your girlfriend on her bed.

"i didn't cause you bodily harm!" alessia gestured toward her foot which you gently adjusted noticing the ice pack had slipped off, smiling apologetically as the taller girl hissed quietly in pain.

"neither did i, it's not my fault you haven't realised how long your legs are clumsy." you teased, your girlfriend pinching your thigh for the comment making you grin. "actually so much for those big biceps too, couldn't even hold up a tiny little medicine ball." you pouted mockingly as your girlfriend scoffed.

"you're lucky i'm injured or else i'd be slamming you around like a medicine ball with these big biceps." the girl rolled up her sleeves, flexing her arms teasingly as you yanked them back down with a roll of your eyes.

"god please no, not another gun show."

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #woso imagine #woso #woso blurbs #engwnt

[chosetherose]

Updated as of 6/30

The Eras Tour *Surprise Songs*

Taylor said her goal is to not repeat each show’s surprise songs so I thought it would be fun to track them as the tour goes on! Black strikethrough is included in the main set list. Purple strikethrough are included in the main set list but have been switched up at some show/s. Blue songs Taylor played but might be repeated due to messing up.

Taylor Swift

Tim McGraw (3/17) • Picture to Burn • Teardrops on My Guitar (5/5) • A Place in This World (4/22) • Cold as You (4/23) • The Outside • Tied Together with a Smile • Stay Beautiful• Should’ve Said No (5/19) • Mary’s Song (Oh My My My) • Our Song (3/24) • I’m Only Me When I’m with You (6/30) • Invisible (5/20) • A Perfectly Good Heart

Fearless

Fearless • Fifteen (5/6) • Love Story • Hey Stephen (5/14) • White Horse (3/25) • You Belong With Me • Breathe• Tell Me Why• You’re Not Sorry (4/21) • The Way I Loved You • Forever & Always (5/13) • The Best Day (5/14) • Change • Jump Then Fall (4/2) • Untouchable • Come In With The Rain • Superstar • The Other Side Of The Door (4/28) • You All Over Me (6/3) • Mr. Perfectly Fine (6/16) • We Were Happy • That’s When • Don’t You • Bye Bye Baby • Today was a fairytale (4/22)

Speak Now

Mine (5/7) • Sparks Fly (5/5) • Back To December • Speak Now (4/13, Taylor restarted part of the song but did not confirm it could be played again) • Dear John (6/24) • Mean (4/15) • The Story Of Us (6/17) • Never Grow Up • Enchanted • Better Than Revenge • Innocent• Haunted (6/9) • Last Kiss • Long Live • Ours (3/31) • If This Was A Movie (6/23) • Superman

Red

State Of Grace (3/18) • Red (5/21) • Treacherous (4/13) • I Knew You Were Trouble • All Too Well • 22 • I Almost Do (6/9) • We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together • Stay Stay Stay • The Last Time (6/16) • Holy Ground (5/27) • Sad Beautiful Tragic (3/31) • The Lucky One (4/2) • Everything Has Changed • Starlight • Begin Again (4/23) • The Moment I Knew (6/4) • Come Back… Be Here (5/12) • Girl At Home • Ronan • Better Man (5/19) • Nothing New • Babe • Message In A Bottle • I Bet You Think About Me (4/30) • Forever Winter • Run • The Very First Night • All Too Well – 10 Minute Version

1989

Welcome To New York (5/28) • Blank Space • Style • Out Of The Woods (5/6, Taylor confirmed it might be played again) • All You Had To Do Was Stay • Shake It Off • I Wish You Would (6/2) • Bad Blood • Wildest Dreams • How You Get The Girl (4/30) • This Love (5/13) • I Know Places • Clean (4/1, Taylor confirmed it might be played again, 5/28) • Wonderland (4/21) • You Are In Love • New Romantics

Reputation

…Ready For It? • End Game • I Did Something Bad • Don’t Blame Me • Delicate • Look What You Made Me Do • So It Goes… • Gorgeous (4/29) • Getaway Car (5/26) • King Of My Heart • Dancing With Our Hands Tied • Dress • This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things • Call It What You Want • New Year’s Day

Lover

I Forgot That You Existed • Cruel Summer • Lover • The Man • The Archer • I Think He Knows (5/21) • Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince • Paper Rings (6/23) • Cornelia Street • Death By A Thousand Cuts (4/1, Taylor confirmed it might be played again) • London Boy • Soon You’ll Get Better • False God (5/27) • You Need To Calm Down • Afterglow • Me! • It’s Nice To Have A Friend • Daylight (6/24) • All of the Girls You’ve Loved Before

Folklore

The 1 (replaced IS multiple shows) • Cardigan • The Last Great American Dynasty • Exile with Bon Iver • My Tears Ricochet • Mirrorball (3/17) • Seven (spoken, 6/17) • August • This Is Me Trying (3/18) • Illicit Affairs • Invisible String (replaced by T1 multiple shows) • Mad Woman (4/15) • Epiphany • Betty • Peace • Hoax • The Lakes (6/2)

Evermore

Willow • Champagne Problems • Gold Rush (5/12) • Tis The Damn Season • Tolerate It • No Body, No Crime • Happiness • Dorothea • Coney Island (4/28) • Ivy • Cowboy Like Me (3/25) • Long Story Short • Marjorie • Closure • Evermore (6/30) • Right Where You Left Me •It’s Time To Go

Midnights

On 4/14 Taylor changed the rule: ALL SONGS ON MIDNIGHTS MAY BE REPEATED. I’m adding the dates to the midnights surprise songs but they will remain in black text since they can be repeated.

Lavender Haze • Maroon (5/26) • Anti-Hero • Snow on the Beach (3/24) • You’re on Your Own, Kid (4/14) • Midnight Rain • Question…? (5/20) • Vigilante Shit • Bejeweled • Labyrinth • Karma • Sweet Nothing • Mastermind • The Great War (4/14) • Bigger Than the Whole Sky • Paris • High Infidelity (4/29) • Glitch • Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve (5/7) • Dear Reader • Hits Different (6/4)

Other

I don’t wanna live forever (6/3)

#reach out if I’m missing anything #eras tour #eras tour set list #surprise song #Taylor swift #taylor nation

[luveline]

thought of a cute eddie and roan request!! since it’s almost summer time they go to the pool or beach?? roans having a blast

thank you!! dad!eddie takes you and his baby for a trip to the beach (lake)!! this is when they haven't been together as long and roan is younger!! dad eddie x fem!reader ♥︎ 3k

Eddie's daughter is nearly five years old, about 3ft 5in, and weighs less than fifty pounds. She has slightly chubby cheeks, a huge smile, and she has never been this excited in her life. 

"I swear I've taken her on vacation before," Eddie says, his eyes moving between the road, the side of your face, and Roan's joyous expression in the rear view mirror almost frantically. 

You push your sunglasses up your nose. "I believe you. I've seen the photos, Edward." 

He snorts. "You know that's not my name." 

"But it makes derision much funnier to call you something formal."

"You usually go with Munson." 

"I'm feeling festive today, it's such a good day." 

Roan agrees from the back with a small shout. 

You turn in your seat before Eddie can, eyes creased with affection when you see her again. Roan is in her best summer dress with her hair braided back out of her face, ending before her ears so her curls can take centre stage. She's got her delicate blue cardigan on, and a sandwich in her hands. You've been trying to break the long drive into smaller bits for her with snacks and songs, and it's worked thus far. 

"Do you want another sandwich, baby?" you ask, clicking open the the tupperware in your lap. "We've only got PB and J left, Eds. Can I give her that? I don't wanna ruin her dress." 

"If she wants it," he says, shrugging. His expression is cut short as he turns the wheel sharply to the side. "Woah! Sorry, ladies, I almost missed the turn. What a loser."

You tear Roan's sandwich into a smaller one and hand it back through the seats. "Try not to get it on your dress, princess, it's so pretty," you plead. 

"I won't," she says. As soon as you hand her the sandwich she drops it on her skirts. She's just old enough to understand what's happened, and giggles like she thinks she's about to be told off. 

You've seen Eddie do it enough times. Roan drops a crust or spills a drink and Eddie pretends to be cross, eyebrows drawn together in an unconvincing glare. "Roan," he always says, and if he can reach he chucks her under the chin with his knuckle, "how dare you. You know accidents aren't allowed." 

It warms your heart that her reaction to a potential chastisement is laughter. 

Roan has firmly passed baby stage: she doesn't look like a big baby, she looks like a very small child, with deceptively long arms and legs. She waves one leg toward you and says in her high-pitched, sometimes illegible voice, "My shoe's coming off." 

Her shoe isn't coming off, but the buckle around her ankle has come undone. 

"Oh no," you dote, leaning through the two front seats of Eddie's car to help. "What happened? You're too happy, babe, all your dancing must've wiggled the buckle free."

"I'm too happy," she agrees, "we're going to the beach now." 

"We're nearly there," Eddie says. 

Indiana Beach is an amusement park on Lake Shafer ninety miles away from Indianapolis, which is a good eighty miles from Hawkins. If you were to draw this journey on a map, it would look like the hands of a clock at three thirty, or a 'Y' without one of its eyes. With Eddie's cautious driving but not much traffic, it had taken you guys nearly three hours from the time you set off from his trailer at seven in the morning to now. It's an aching amount of time to confine a child, and Roan hasn't slept a wink, so her happy attitude is miraculous and perhaps precarious. 

Which is to say, you smother her in love and hope it will keep her from becoming too agitated. You and Eddie have already discussed the possibilities of her behaviour — if she started a screaming crying tantrum as she sometimes does, Eddie would pull over and you'd climb in the back. If your company didn't help, he'd pull over again and you'd take a break wherever you were. If she still didn't improve, you'd think about going home. The point of the trip is for Roan to have fun.

You can see the Galaxi from a mile away, a huge curling roller coaster on the Indiana Beach pier. Eddie starts grinning, really smiling, the kind you don't get to see very often. He smiled like that when he asked you to be his girlfriend outside of the Hawk movie theatre, and he smiled worse when you told him you loved him for the first time, your hand pressed against his chest and your face hiding in the crook of his neck. 

"Ro!" he says loudly, turning onto a side street in search of the parking lot, "look, baby! Can you see the lake? The beach? It's so sunny, oh my goodness." 

His hand reaches across for you. He squeezes your leg roughly, and it aches in the best way, fingertips digging into the soft inside of your thigh. You can't help laughing, pleasantly startled by his obvious joy. 

Roan starts talking and you're sorry but you're not an expert in her warbling yet, not when she's speaking a mile a minute. You catch "beach," and "sunshine," and "daddy!" but that's about it. 

He drives into a ticket parking lot a fifteen minute walk from the pier and finds a space with ease. You quickly undo your belt and get out, stretching your arms behind your back and leaning forward to roll your neck out. You're sore from all the back and forth, attention split between Eddie and Roan for the last three hours. 

Eddie gets out on the other side, and he should get Roan's stroller first, but it was never going to happen. He opens Roan's door and the excited stream of chatter increases between the both of them. You come around the back of the car and watch him pull her out of her car seat, fussing over her skirts and her hair and her tiny shoes. He makes one of those heaving dad groans when he picks her up, one arm skewed under her butt and the other behind her back. It's more hug than carry. 

"Hey, baby," he says, "how's that? Is it nice to be out of the car?" His hand moves to her legs. "Should we do some walking and stretching?" 

He rubs her legs. 

"Daddy, it's sunny, it's like– like with Uncle Wayne, when'd he says that the sunshine is out to play," she says, her hands moving from her chest and into the air above her head like a burst. "It's not messing around!" 

You laugh, your heart melted to a wet goo. Eddie gives you an eyeful, as if to say, Yeah, I made her, that's my kid, and I know she's the cutest thing on God's green earth, thank you very much for noticing. 

"It's not," he agrees, putting her down on the ground. You stand a little ways away, knowing she won't run into traffic but worried anyhow. 

Eddie holds one of her hands and Roan puts the other one back in the air, stretching up big and tall. Eddie strokes a hair behind her ear, and his thumb lingers affectionately on her cheek. 

"Will you wear your hat?" he asks. 

"Do you have a hat?" 

"Uh, no, daddy doesn't have one," he says. 

"But I do!" you butt in.

They turn to look at you. You open the trunk, digging through your packed bags to find the sunhat you'd brought with you. You pop it on your head and turn to smile at them. "See? So you wear yours and we'll be matching." 

Roan doesn't hesitate to crowd your legs. You grab her hat from her 'baby' bag and place it carefully on her head. It hides her beautiful hairdo, but it'll keep her safe from the heat. She looks you in the face and grins. 

"Beautiful," you compliment. 

Eddie doesn't look quite as summer ready as you both. His hair is down, shiny clean but unlikely to stay that way considering the heat. He's wearing blue denim rather than black, something he'd spoken of with horror but more than pulls off, and a black Motorhead t-shirt. There's one chain around his neck that he never takes off, but besides that he's sans jewellery. 

"Roan," he says, "we're gonna walk to the pier to stretch our legs, but you have to hold hands. And you can sit down in the stroller when they're tired again." She nods hurriedly at the idea that she'll be free for a while. "Okay. Alright." 

Eddie gets her stroller out and unfolds it, putting her baby bag in the seat. You rake your fingers through the ends of Roan's hair while you wait, the sun warming the back of your neck already. 

Eddie locks the car, and the three of you start toward the pier. Roan holds your hand and Eddie pushes the stroller out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk that leads to the pier. 

The smell of salt tickles your nose. Roan's hand flutters in yours like a hummingbird, excited gasps breaching her lips when you pass an ice cream stand bragging rainbow cotton candy bigger than her head, kaleidoscope gelato, Popsicles in cherry red, raspberry blue and lime green. Her eyes widen at the sight of huge diamond kites, yellow rubber dinghies, surfboards and wetsuits dripping water down sandy ankles. 

You know Eddie's been saving. He confessed, when you'd brought up your concern one night, that he wants her to have everything. 

What's going on? you'd asked, frowning at his bedraggled face after another late shift. You knew Wayne had been picking Roan up from daycare to let him keep working, and it just hadn't been like Eddie to do that. You can tell me anything.

You'd been expecting, regrettably, money troubles. The Munson's aren't rich but they've never been hurting for money since you met, and all these extra hours has you assuming the worst. 

Eddie rubbed a tired eye. I just want her to have everything. I don't want to say no. Not even once. When we go on vacation, I want her to point at things and I want her to know how it feels to be able to have them without a fight. 

Admirable, a tinsy bit silly. Of course he wants that, isn't that what everyone wants for their children? Admirable, because he wanted it and he worked for it, and he saved up enough to bring Roan here and spoil her within an inch of her life. Silly, because Roan doesn't ask for much. She does ask for stuff, of course, but she's not gonna beg him for a two hundred dollar professional kite, or state of the art arm floaties. But just because you think it's a little silly doesn't mean you aren't incredibly in love with him, impressed by and proud of his efforts. 

He wants to get Roan everything. And so they start with shaved ice. 

It's the second stand you see, just off of the pier with a long, long line. Eddie scoops her up off of the floor so she can see the different flavour combinations, and it's no surprise when she chooses all the pinks and red. Strawberry, cherry, and pink lemonade. The cone is bigger than her hands and costs a ridiculous seven dollars. 

The small smile on Eddie's lips when he can crack out a crisp twenty dollar bill and hand it over makes you smile, too. It's satisfying. All that hard work was worth it for this moment. 

And the moment after. Eddie takes the snow cone and Roan audibly sighs. 

"Oh, my gosh," she says. 

You laugh. Eddie looks at you from over his shoulder and beams. 

Roan wants to do everything, as Eddie predicted. She plays arcade games she's too short for, hoisted up on his knee or in your arms, face screwed in concentration every time, and though the controls escape her she loves hitting the big red button and watching the claw come down. 

But she also wants stuff money can't buy. She wants Eddie to hug her when the clown walks past because he's big and bright and a little scary. She wants kisses when they stand at the side of the pier to look at the lake, blue and clear as an ocean, and drops some of her own against Eddie's sweaty cheek when she's been loved up. She wants you both to swing her by the hand when you're walking down the ramp to the beach, which is difficult but not impossible with the stroller in Eddie's other hand. 

She wants to get ice cream, and a slurpee despite her half eaten snow cone. She wants soft pretzels and churros and a hotdog with extra onions. She wants a surfboard, and you dissuade Eddie from getting her one of the proper ones in favour of a floatie. 

She wants you to put the finishing touches on her crumbly sand castles, and to cuddle in your lap when Eddie makes her drink from a cold bottle of water. When you've been sat in the sun so long that your brain is jellified and you have more sand in your shoes than sock, she springs up from her stomach where she'd been kicking her little feet drawing smiley faces in the sand and demands you take her down to the waterfront. You leave your towels on and the stroller further up the bank and pray for the best, and Eddie peels out of his t-shirt and rolls up his pants a couple of feet from the water. Eddie pulls her sandy dress off to reveal the swimming costume she'd been wearing underneath, a bright yellow costume with a skirt, not too tight to hurt, and bends down at the waist to talk to her as they wait for the water to rush in. You encourage armbands over her elbows. 

"It's gonna be cold, Ro, so we have to run in! Are you ready?" 

"I'm super ready!" she says, squeezing his hand and squaring her shoulders. 

You secure her bands and take her other hand into your right hand, your shoes in your left, bracing yourself for the shock. 

You run in full pelt and screaming with joy. Roan's voice turns into a stream of "oh my god oh my gosh daddy pick me up'd it's too cold oh my gosh," as the water covers your calves and her waist. Eddie immediately leans down to pick her up, out of choices and surprised by her loud aversion. Water stains him from knee to navel. 

"It's not that bad, babe," he says, though he meets your gaze over her head and mock glares at your shaking head. It's freezing. "We just have to get used to it. Ready?" 

He doesn't let her get ready. He doesn't let you get ready. He grabs your wrist and pulls you with him, fighting the cold as the gentle lake tide laps at your waists. 

"Eddie, our pants!" you protest. You'd brought spare clothes in case of any accidents. This is decidedly not an accident. 

"Please, sweetheart, just come in," he says. 

He should legally be prevented from saying please and sweetheart in the same sentence. You submerge yourself to the waist as he wanted and stand there in the water, the taste of river water heavy on your lips now, splashes of cold wetting higher up your chest. It's close to intolerable, the only saving grace the heavy heat of the sunshine above you.

"How's that, Roanie?" he asks.

He's clearly having a blast. His eyes are brighter than the sun dappling that kisses the waves. 

"It feels squishy," you say, adjusting your footing in the sandy bottom of the lake. 

"This is so FUN!" Roan shouts, letting go of Eddie's neck to put her hands in the water. She splashes the surface and soaks Eddie's t-shirt to the neck in the process. 

You almost fall over trying to find his waist in the blue. You wrap and arm around Roan and Eddie wraps and arm around you, the three of you much too deep in the lake and with no plans of turning around just yet. 

"This is so fun," he says, kissing her cheek, kissing yours. "We should do this every year." 

You smile at his chest. 

You hadn't realised, yet, that he wanted you every year. Roan babbles her agreements, talking about her snow cone and the sunshine and her floatie. She stops suddenly. 

Eddie rubs her shoulder, water shining across her pale skin. "What, babe?" 

"Daddy, where's my floatie?" 

You head back up the beach to find it. Her stroller and your towels have been left alone, but the floatie must've been too tempting. 

Eddie, without complaint, goes to buy another. 

—

more Eddie and Roan ♡

please reblog if you enjoyed, it means so much!

#eddie and roan #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #dad!eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things

[55sturn]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ PETER LOSIN’ WENDY

↳ masterlist!

↳ summary: in which chris doesn't realize that while pursuing another girl, he's losing the girl that would've been the one for him.

↳ pairings: chris sturniolo x fem!reader | chris sturniolo x named fem!oc

↳ warnings: swearing, drunk!reader + drunk!chris, cheating, angst, angst, and even more angst, unresolved hurt.

↳ author's note: hehehehe i love angst! this is lowkey short and will not have a part two!

↳ important notes: red text blocks are lyrics that prelude what’s about to happen!

THIRD PERSON POV

chris didn't realize he had made a mistake until it was far too late. he thought that amelia was the girl he wanted, but he soon realized that he couldn't have been more wrong.

he really, truly though that he would have enough will and time to choose between the two girls, however he didn't realize that as he chased them both, he was losing the girl that was the one for him.

VINTAGE TEE, BRAND NEW PHONE, HIGH HEELS ON COBBLESTONES

as y/n and chris made their way home from some random los angeles party, the couldn't help but giggle each time y/n's heels clicked against the cobblestone path they walked along. the two couldn't help their drunken giggles as they blindly made their way home.

"you should take those off before you hurt yourself." chris laughed, his hand intertwined with hers as he held his phone in the other.

"i'll be fine. you never told me where your shirt was from by the way."

"it's from some vintage thrift store back home in boston."

"i like it." she whispered, titling her head as she stared at him beneath the streetlight.

"let me take a picture of you, i don't have any on this phone yet." chris smiled, taking the picture as she blushed, watching as he set as his lockscreen.

BUT I KNEW YOU, DANCING IN YOUR LEVI'S, DRUNK UNDER A STREETLIGHT

the two continued their walk home, haphazardly walking into each other as they stumbled further down the path. their hands loosely intertwined with each other's, chris couldn't help pull her closer to him, his other hand falling to her waist as he softly rocked their bodies back and forth, humming a slow beat to a song playing quietly in his head.

"i like this side of you." she whispered, brushing his hair out of his eyes at he smiled down at her.

"not many get to know this side of me, but you do."

"i wanna know every side of you." she smiled back, watching as his eyes sparkled slightly.

y/n slowly walked ahead, unaware of chris' phone pinging in his pocket, another girl blowing up his messages wondering where he was as she missed him.

with a shameful sigh, he plucked his phone from the back pocket of his levi's, swiping away the notifications she sent his way.

HAND UNDER MY SWEATSHIRT, BABY KISS IT BETTER // SAID I WAS YOUR FAVOURITE

chris hand was beneath the back of y/n's sweater as she cried against his chest, her head hurting from the amount of stress she had dealt with during the day.

"baby, can you kiss it better?" she teased, trying to lighten her mood, making chris roll his eyes before pressing a gentle kiss to the girl's forehead, smiling against her skin as she keened into his touched.

walking backwards, he led her to her couch, falling back against the cushions, pulling her on top of him as he continued to rub her back, hoping to ease some of her stress.

"you're my favourite person, y'know that?" chris whispered as she laid her head on his chest, her fingers dancing along his bicep as they laid there.

"i am?"

"without a doubt."

CHASE TWO GIRLS, LOSE THE ONE

y/n hadn’t meant to pry and prod, but chris had grown distant lately, he was off around her and she was curious. so when his phone pinged while he was in the shower, she let her curiosity get the best of her. but she wished she hadn't as she read the notification that lit up his screen.

amelia

cmon chris, you know i'm the one you rly want

every time she re-read the girl's message, it chipped away at her heart. how could chris do this her? betrayed couldn't even begin to describe how she felt. as chris' screen faded to black, she heard the water shut and she couldn't be bothered to move. she didn't realize she was crying until chris was kneeling in front of her, gently wiping her tears.

"what's wrong y/n?"

"who's amelia?"

"wait what?" chris sputtered, her question sending shockwaves through this body as she stared at him, completely unsure of who was kneeling before her.

"who is she?"

"she's no one, baby i promise."

"tell me the truth, who is she, chris?"

"i met her the night we came home from that party and i've been seeing her occasionally since." he whispered, finding no use in lying to her as she sat there, her tears of sadness becoming tears of anger as she felt her hurt settle in her heart.

"get out."

"what?"

"get out. i'm done. we're done. i'm not going to sitting around while you chase some other girl."

BUT I KNEW YOU'D LINGER LIKE A TATTOO KISS // I KNEW YOU'D HAUNT ALL MY WHAT-IFS

for months following her breakup with chris, y/n had been a shell of who she used to be. she hadn't experienced the heartbreak he caused before in her life. it had left behind a different kind of hollow in her chest. a void that no one would fill.

no one except chris.

and for months, he lingered in her life. in the back of her mind as she walked down the streets they used to walk together. the ghost of his lips pressing against her temple every time she had a migraine. the feeling of his hand beneath her sweater, fingertips mindlessly drawing shapes the small of her back as she laid in bed. the smell of his cologne stubbornly sticking to her pillow cases on his side of the bed.

he was everywhere and she couldn't forget him. he was a ghost unable to move on as she felt swallowed and suffocated by her pain. she didn't know what to do and she couldn't take the after-shocks that his infidelity put her though.

he invaded every thought she had.

what if i'm not good enough?

what if was i enough for chris?

what if they cheat on me like chris did?

what if i can't move on?

what if chris is hurting too?

he was everywhere in her mind. he haunted every possible chance she had at moving past the pain she felt.

I KNEW YOU'D MISS ME ONCE THE THRILL EXPIRED, AND YOU'D BE STANDING IN MY FRONT PORCH LIGHT, I KNEW YOU'D COME BACK TO ME

y/n knew chris would come miss her once the thrill of being with amelia had faded. she wasn't someone chris could be with long time, from what she had been told by people knew her. she knew he'd come back, he made a promise that he'd find his way back to her as he walked out of her house that night.

but as she pulled into her driveway, she found him standing under her porch light, his hair sticking to his forehead as the rain fell against it. sighing, she got out of her car, the door slamming shut behind her as she stood there.

"chris."

"i miss you."

"no. you don't get to do this chris."

"listen please." he pleaded, watching as she looked up toward the sky for a moment, her eyes closed as her shoulders fell before looked back at him, nodding and crossing her arms.

"i know i fucked up. i made the wrong choice and put someone before you and i shouldn't have. i should've never gone for her. i had a good thing going and i completely fucked it up."

"chris you need to leave, please. i can't go through that kind of pain again."

"please give me one more chance. i'll do better."

"if i let myself forgive you, i won't be able to forgive myself. i will be subjecting myself to constantly worrying that i'll never be enough for you. i'll be walking on eggshells around you, scared to push you into the arms of another girl. i cannot put myself through that again. when i found out you cheated on me, it stripped me of everything i knew. i lost my sense of stability and sense of who i was. i became someone i didn't know, i was fucking destroyed chris. so no, i cannot let you back into my life because i would be betraying the promise i made myself."

"i'm so sorry y/n, i wish i could fix my mistakes but just know, that if i can ever be forgiven by you, i'll be waiting. i'll always wait for you and i'll always love you."

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© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

#Spotify #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x oc #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo angst #christopher sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x oc #christopher sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo oneshot #christopher sturniolo angst

[jaidens]

And When I Felt Like I Was An Old Cardigan

pairing [s] : spencer reid x reader

warning [s] : baby spencer | angst with comfort \ fluff | crying | mentions of spencers addiction |

a/n [s] : requests are open!! short imagine I guess

Spencer was young.

Spencer was young and had gone through more than any twenty-three year olds had. He was bullied and ridiculed throughout his school years, and was constantly working. His mind was on everything, how to be better and how to show people he wasn't some scrawny kid with some luck and brains.

It followed him into his adult life. In his work, if you didn't pull through you were pushed out. Spencer knew he had to continue to work on his information which led to him reading many books each week and never letting him do what he wanted. Whether that was binging Star Trek every night or eating cake and cookies while making fun of scientific facts in random television shows.

Eventually, after the Tobias Hankel case, he was at his all time low in his adult life. Spencer felt as if he had nothing to live for and he was shoved further down in his experiences. He felt like he was pushed on a shelf, and put away, for nobody to care or think about him. That was until he met you, an agent from a different branch of the F.B.I. You let him talk about his thoughts on the case and other facts that could travel along his sentences. It made him feel seen and that's all he needed.

After the case ended, you had called him, and asked if he wanted to get a cup of coffee and see a movie. He accepted it gratefully, meeting you on a frosty November morning. He's clad in a thick cardigan above a button up shirt and a bundle of feelings of worry. Spencer sees you in a small booth near the window, sipping on hot (what he learned to be) chamomile tea. There's a relaxing, acoustic song that's playing on the speakers.

He's gripping onto his leather satchel as he walks over to you. You look at him with eyes that he can get lost in through the dangerous labyrinth of the color. Spencer's hands go to his glasses and he readjusts them on his nose and stumbles to the table. His clothes seem to feel as if they're sticking against his skin as he sits down in the plush brown seat in front of you.

“Hi Spencer.” You say giving him a small smile and take another sip out of your steaming tea. Hes staring at you like you're a new book, the smell of a new book, and everything he loves about the sound of the first page turn. “...Hi.” Spencer responds letting out a breath he had been holding in, letting his shoulders drop and relax.

Spencer's eyes fall on the book that sits on the table that was aged and the spine wasn't in the best condition. He recognizes the name that's etched on the front. “Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë?” He asks you pointing at the book. You set down your tea and nod. “Yes! It's one of my favorites. Whatever our souls are made of...”

“...his and mine are the same.” Spencer finishes and you smile at him, the waitress walks over and Spencer tells her his order of a coffee with four sugars and two creamers. Whatever Spencer was doing, it was working. The soft charm he had to him whenever his dimples would show whenever he would smile, was working.

The same smile showed up the day he asked you to be his. He handed you a book with a note written inside with his messy hand writing. He can still remember the flash of happiness in your eyes as you ran up to him and kissed him. It didn't make sense to him for the first time in forever. It didn't make sense why he was terrified to look at you the next day as you wake up in his bed next to him.

He turns to the other side of the bed where you're laying, covered with his brown comforter. Spencer's hands suddenly feel sweaty and he's anxious, because that's his fiancee, laying in bed and the ring shines against the sun. If you would have asked twenty-three year old Spencer where he would be at 30, he wouldn't be able to answer you. Now, he knows. He knows that he's in complete and utter awe of his fiancee and that he's finally happy. This is what he's dreamed of for years, whenever he was a kid reading fairytale books over and over again.

Spencer finally had been seen and he was never losing it.

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x wife!reader #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff

[chronicbeans]

Wally and a Puppeteer Reader (part 7)

Puppet boi gets to meet the family oh boy-

TW: Derealization, Stalking, Idol Worship, Obsessive Behaviors

🍎 It is such an out of body experience for Wally. He's not only in your home, with his benevolent puppeteer, but he gets to watch himself on the television. He gets to sit next to the tiny version of whatever creature you are; the one he saw so many times from his world. The small one of your kind that, no matter how much he approached, never seemed to get closer. He gets to sit on the couch the tiny creature sat on all those times, to hear what you always did in the room behind it, and to experience a day in this little household of yours.

🍎 He's sitting between you and the tiny one, looking ahead at the screen. The words "Welcome Home" flashes on the screen, before he sees himself. Words that he remembers speaking, things that he remembers doing... It is like watching a memory of an entire day from a different perspective. Looking at the screen, there are times where he thinks to himself "Oh, I remember that!" "Oh, Poppy was so wonderful in that play! I remember when she sang that song!" "Julie always did like that paddle ball of hers!" It was a rush of emotions. This whole experience is the ultimate proof that none of his world was ever real. It was, and still is, all just a show. Like the ones Wally himself watched as a kid.

🍎 If only they were here now. If only they could see the truth. Julie was so close to giving in the last time he talked to her. Barnaby was starting to think about it all, too. Oh well... he'll have to talk to them when he gets back. He is surprised that he hasn't been dragged back into his world, yet. This is the longest he has stayed here, in your world.

🍎"(N/N), how is Wally both here and on the screen?" The small creature asks, looking up to Wally's beloved puppeteer. A nickname? You have a nickname? Do you want him to call you (Y/N) or (N/N)? He'll call you anything you want, as long as you don't leave him, again. Do you just want to be called "Puppeteer"? He'll do it. Anything to make you stay. Just stay close. Stay with him. Hold him again. Look at him.

🍎"Well, Henry, you see... umm... Wally films these shows for you to see! The first time you see it, Wally is talking to you directly. Then, afterward, whenever you see it on the TV, it's a recording. He does it so that you always know that he cares about you, even when he can't be there himself." Nice save, (Y/N)... Or (N/N)... Or Puppeteer... Whatever you wish to be called. He loves that you are trying to preserve the little creature's wonder. That's the best thing a puppet can have, so it is probably the best thing one of your kind can have! Wonder keeps you happy and helps grow a healthy mind, filled with creativity! That's Wally's motto, at least.

🍎 Then, when you ask him "Right, Wally?" He almost wants to nod his head on his own accord, but he lets you do it for him. He feels you gently place your hand on his back, holding the fabric of his blue cardigan, subtly pushing him back and forth so it looks like he is nodding. He loves these moments. It makes him feel like he is actually doing something that has an impact on the real world. Everything he does in his own world doesn't have much of an impact, after all, due to not being real. At least, that's what he thinks. How could something that isn't real impact reality?

🍎"Wow! That's so cool! (N/N), can I go show Wally my room? If we're going to have a sleepover, I want him to know what my room looks like! I can show him all my toys and drawings, even that picture of dad!" He hears you chuckle in response to Henry's excitement, which almost causes him to shudder. Does he make you chuckle like that, sometimes? He hopes he does. That would mean that he is being a good puppet. Puppets are supposed to make their puppeteers happy, right? "Of course, Henry. Just know that Wally is probably going to be a little quiet. He has been very excited about coming over, so he wants you to teach him all about our home. That means that he is going to be very quiet as he listens."

🍎 With that, he is suddenly grabbed and swung over Henry's shoulder, an excited squeal leaving the small creature's mouth. He watches as you disappear around the corner as the small one takes him upstairs. He hears you mutter a soft "Oh, Henry... He is always excited to show people his art." So, this Henry goes by 'he'? He is then placed on a bed, leaned against the headboard, as Henry begins to ramble and point at things. He points to a picture of another odd creature, who he calls dad (whatever a dad is), saying that he passed away (whatever that means), which is why his mama (whatever a mama is) works all day. He seems to like his dad very much, as well as his mom and (N/N). Henry seems to also love the color blue very much, as his bedroom walls, bedsheets, and pillow all seem to be blue. His walls are also covered in spots, much like Barnaby's fur. He scurries around, before picking up a large stack of sketchbooks and placing them in front of Wally.

🍎"I like to draw, just like you! I am so happy to show you my drawings! Lookie! I even drew you! You are my... uhh... what was the word mama told me... Ah! You are my inspiration!" Flipping through, there are pictures of Wally, Barnaby, Poppy, Julie, Howdy, Frank, Sally, Eddie, and even Home. There are also some of Henry, and an unknown creature, like his beloved Puppeteer. Henry points to it, saying "That's my mama, Angela! She doesn't show up at home until late at night, but I know she loves me! She said she is out so late, working to help me and (N/N), because she loves us very much."

🍎 Henry then turns his eyes towards Wally, causing Wally to come up with an idea. He just needs to hear what the odd, little creature has to say, first. "Wally, do you have somebody you love very much? Someone who you work for because you love them? You don't have to answer. I know you want to learn more. I am just curious if you can explain why mama is out so often..." Perfect.

🍎 Wally, for the first time since entering his puppeteer's house... (Y/N)'s house... (N/N)'s house... lets himself speak. He tilts his head, sitting up straighter. "I love (Y/N) very much. I work for them all day. Well... We work for each other. I think it is similar to how your mama works all day." Henry seems to gasp, before asking in disbelief "You and (N/N) work together? How so? You love (N/N)?" Wally giggles, finding the opportunity to finally teach a willing learner to be exciting, instead of him being taught. He goes on, holding his arms out as he says "(Y/N)... Is a puppeteer! Without (Y/N), I can't move. Well, at least on set at the place where I film my days for you lovely... Viewers... To see! After all, I am talking to you right now, so it is clear that I can move and speak outside on my own. I am a proud puppet, with your lovely (Y/N) being the one who helps me."

🍎 Henry's eyes are practically glowing with wonder. It's just what Wally needs. A happy little creature, filled to the brim with wonder. If he is correct, he will be like Julie and go and tell everyone about the things he was told. All the things that fills him with wonder must be shared, one of which being that Wally cares about you.

🍎 Wally knows that he can't let you take the wheel forever. He needs to show you that he can move and talk on his own, soon. If he is to be a loyal puppet, he needs to be honest and tell you how he has, unfortunately, broken his role a little bit. Then, he needs to tell you how it isn't entirely a bad thing! You still have complete control, because he'll do anything you want, with the added bonus of you not having to tire yourself out by controlling his every single movement. Wally just wants to wait, after all, he needs to make sure he makes a good first impression with his movement. He still needs some more practice when it comes to walking. He can't trip on the first real meeting!

#welcome home #wally darling x reader #wally darling #welcome home arg

[marilynthornhilllover]

If you’re looking for requests I have one for ya!!

Reader is at a party with their wife (or girlfriend, whichever you decide works best) Alcina. A beautiful woman walks up to reader at the bar and starts flirting with them but they’re clueless and just think she’s being friendly.

Alcina sees what’s going on and gets wildly jealous. When reader gets back to her she’s short and angry with reader. Eventually, she tells reader what she saw and reader is shocked that the girl was flirting with them.

Alcina gets possessive (as per usual) and takes reader into the bathroom and fucks her brains out so the only person in reader mind for the rest of the night is Alcina.

Maybe some sweet fluff at the end?

When temptations are high

Alcina dimitrescu x fem!reader

Warning: smut,slight cunniligus, slight praise kink,strap, degradation kink, possessiveness, dom!alcina, slight mean alcina, manhandling, rough sex, slight overstiumlation, slight orgasm denial, fluff.

A/n: I'm honestly sorry to howsoever requested this because it's been 42,827 years and I'm sorry, thank you for your patience 💀😭hope you enjoy😌💞🙌

The music was great and the party was very much alive. Everyone had their natural flow to the beat of the song. You and alcina were fashionably late as always. You were wearing a skin tight black slik skirt with a simple white vintage cardigan, as for alcina she was wearing black men trousers and a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up around her elbows.

Her hair was curled up around her face, every step she took they bounced. Her silhouette red heels adding to her height. You both turned some heads as you walked up to the bar to get yourselves some drinks.

Alcina made small talk with one of her friends at the bar as she waited for the bar man to hand over the drinks.

Your eyes wondered curiously around the room, flicking from couples grinding on eachother, the single ones dancing their soul out on the dance floor, the vibe was amazing. You could feel someone staring at you, you averted your eyes to the persons mysterious pull. Your eyes landed on this breath taking woman that was standing in the shadowy end on the room.

She had on a red dress that was covered in dimonds and her hairstyle was exactly the same to alcinas, except she had a side part. Her make up was dark and vibrant, alluring a soft glow when ever the lights from the DJ booth flicked across her face.

You must have been staring for too long, because the mystery woman across the room flashed you a sly smirk before turning to the girl next to her and began talking. She must have a strong effect on people because the poor started squirming and blushing drastically.

You had a huge thing for middle aged women and it was obvious just by your relationship with the alcina dimitrescu. You narrowed your eyes at the scene and turned to give your attention back to alcina who was now in another conversation with someone else.

The bartender handed you your drink, a martini, light ice and alcinas ruby red Italian wine. You gaved her drink to her which she glady took, giving you a kiss on the cheek and flashing you a small smile as she returned to her conversation.

You sighed and decided to walk around the room. The music changed to a soft romantic jazz. You smiled and proceeded to turn around to go back to alcina so that the both of you can dance, since of course she loved jazz music but you bumped into someone almost falling down.

A strong pair of hands grabbed your waist quickly and held you close to them. You caught yourself and sighed. Looking up to see the same mystery woman staring into your soul. God she was beautiful. You got lost in her emerald eyes as she gently pulled you up onto your feet to stand straight - her hand never leaving your side.

"Thank you" you whispered, not trusting your voice to say anything more. You could feel your body getting hotter each passing second and it was becoming slightly impossible for you to keep your sanity.

" that skirt looks good on you" she whispered in your ear, her lips slightly hovering over your skin making you sliver. Before you can even respond with an appropriate answer she spoke up again.

" but I'm sure It will look better on my bedroom floor" you were utterly lost for words. She pulled you closer to her and placed a soft but meaning kiss to your neck before sighing, she rested her face into your neck leaving a few more kisses there before she completely released you from her hold.

It took every cell in your body to try not to whine at the lost of contact. You should be ashamed of yourself. You were as red as a tomato if not more red , and sweating ducks. She smiled seductively at you before taking out a business card and giving it to you. She leaned into your ear again and spoke.

" if you ever get bored of the eiffel tower" she said sarcastically, and you knew who she was referring to. You bite your lip and shook your head. She walked pass you and you were immediately met with alcinas golden eyes piercing into your soul.

The were cold and full of anger. From the way her nose flared, she hands were clenched and her hooded eyes you knew it was better if you got on your knees and begged the earth to open up and suck you in because God alone knows what's running through her mind.

You gulped as you slowly walked over to her, like a scolded puppy when they know they did something wrong. As you approached her you could literally see the fire flames burning in her eyes. Her pupils dilated and she only looked at you, like an hawk looks at its prey.

You cleared your throat and stood directly infront of her. She scoffed as she looked down and saw the business card in your hand. She looked over at the woman across the room and glared at her, the lady only raising her glass as if she's making a toast before smirking and walking towards the DJ booth. Alcina suddenly grabbed hold of your wrist and pulled you towards the bathroom area.

She pushed you in harshly but still making sure not to hurt you in the process.

" what the fuck was that!" She shouted her eyes flicking a deadly golden color clear evidence she was completely perplexed and wasn't going to take any bullshit amswer from you. When you didn't answer but instead looked down she tore the business card away from your hand and tore it to pieces before throwing it the trash can.

" if I didn't know better I would think that you wanted her to fuck you right then and there in front of everyone" she spoke through gritted teeth. You didn't expect to get on her bad side tonight, tonight was supposed to be special, a little night out so that the both of you can relax and take a break from work.

She grabbed your chin and forced you to look up at her.

" Your lucky I love you enough not to go to jail otherwise I would have snapped her in half!" She growled. You gulped as you looked into her eyes. She was absolutely serious and she was raging. Her anger is not one to be testednor doubted..It's dangerous and it shows no mercy. And when she's anger she's a completely different person. And if she says she would have snapped that woman in half you best believe it.

She groaned loudly as she harshly let go of your chin. She sighed heavily as she started to paste back and forth across the room.

" cina I'm sorry, everything happened so fast, I almost fell she helped me and- I don't have an excuse because I could have walked away I'm sorry. it's not that big of a deal. Her eyes were just so-" she cut you off by quickly walking up to you and choking you. You reached behind you to quickly hold yourself up by using the edge of the sink and she leaned you back.

" not that big of a deal? what was her fucking name" she snarled at you tightening her grip around your neck, now she was scaring you. Alcina would never hurt you but as of now her grip was cutting off your blood flow and you were losing oxygen. You couldn't even think properly but your tried to remember. You thinked back to when she handed you the card and you looked down at it.

Kate

" h-her name w-was kate" you manged to choke out, before she released you. You immediately gasped for air and you held onto her shoulder. Alcina pressed herself flush against your body and you could feel her strap. You looked up at her wide eyed and she chuckled darkly.

" it was meant to be for a surprise when we got home but my, my darling you need a punishment" she spoke in a sultry voice. Alcina smirked as she saw the blacked out expression on your face. You looked surprise but also so needy for her cock in your greedy hole. You squirmed and rubbed your thighs together but she immediately picked up on it and forced her knee between them to stop you.

She wrapped her hands around your neck again but this time more gently.

" listen to me you little slut and attention seeker, I'm gonna fuck you til you can even remember her name and yours and since you loved her eyes I'm gonna make you look at me while you come undone on mommy's strap and maybe.... who knows, maybe you'll see stars" she chuckled as you already started drooling for her.

In one swift motion alcina unbuttoned your cardigan and unclasped your bra, she lifted you up and placed you onto the counter. You spread your legs for her in a sexy way, batting your eyelashes and biting your bottom lip seductively. Alcina chuckled as she unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down enough for the strap to bounce out.

She groaned as she looked up at you and smirked.

" next time I should have you suck it off, mhm" she spoke in a teasing tone. You'd be more than happy to. Alcina took off your skirt and looked at the thin see through white thong you have on. She chuckled before ripping it, having it suffer the same fate as the business card before pushing it in her pocket. Alcina cooed as she gently ran her cold firm cock up your slit and slightly over your clit causing you to moan as your eyes rolled back.

" so desperate from mommy's cock huh? Mhm little slut who has you this wet and cock drunk?" She asked chuckling as she looked up at you smirking at your needy whimpers and pathetic moans as your eyes rolled back into your head. You mumbled incoherent sentences. Alcina loved seeing you like this for her but she needed you to respond. She was in charge.

In one swift and deep thrust she bottomed out in you. All the air was pushed out of your lungs as you felt the tip of her cock press deep within your spongy walls hitting your sweet spot so good, few more of thoses and you would be cumming and screaming her name. She pressed on the tummy bulge she had created in you and leaned down towards your face smirking like the devil himself.

" Answer me you slut, I got you this cock drunk?" She asked once more in a demanding sultry tone. You tried your best to answer her you really did but God the only thing you could think about was her cock. Alcinas dimitrescus cock buried deep within you. For sure if anyone came in and saw this scenery they would faint.

Your legs trembled as she straightened up her posture and started a few slow strokes within you. Watching as your face convert in pleasure as your mouth formed a small "o" shape as you fought to hold onto her shoulders for stability.

"You love when mommy fucks you like this don't you my love? Think that woman could get this deep in you? Mhm make you cum the way I make you do?" She asked and you forced yourself to squeak out a high pitched "no". She smirked, her eyebrows quriking up in disbelief.

" I don't believe you" she simply stated. Alcina removed your hands from her shoulder as she intertwined her fingers with your, holding your hand above your head. She moved her hips and a relentlessly pace pounding your cunt in ways you knew for sure that other woman can't.

" fuck! Alcina p-please mph!" You moaned as you removed your hand from her hold and tried to press against her mound she she wouldn't deep but she only removed your hand forcing it back above your head as she went even deeper, now she started rubbing tight fast circles around your puffy bud, groaning as the room now became filled with your screams of pleasure and her grunts.

You were seeing stars. Alcina was fucking you like a animal, so fucking good ( as always). Tears started to form in your eyes as you forced yourself to look up at her. She was focused on the sight of her cock going in and out of you and her mission with your clit.

You moaned her name softly as she spat on your clit and started rubbing it more harshly. You fought against her hold on your hip as your eyes rolled back once more. Alcina looked up at the sight before her, she was in awe. You were crying. Your makeup messed up, mascara running down along with the tears, your hair messed up. Fuck you were a beautiful sight to see. That made alcina even more feral.

" fucking God, are you crying draga? Mommy fucks you so good that you cry on her cock, wanna cum too huh?" You nodded uncontrollably as you felt yourself clench down on her cock.

" fucking cum for mommy " she whispered opening your shaking legs to the widest as she fucked you hard and fast, pounding ruthlessly into your g-spot every 2 seconds. With one final thrust you cumed on alcinas faux cock as she panted.

She chuckled at your worn out, gently removing her cock from your ruined cunt she kneeled down and admired what she created like your cunt was the most precious art piece in the entire world. She slowly cleaned you with her tongue looking up at you sympathetically as you let out soft whimpers. She cooed softly at you the vibrations sending a shock wave through you making you grab her hair and pull her away from you.

She softly kissed your clit before coming up and kissing you passionately, you could taste every bit of yourself on her tongue. She realesed you and helped you get dressed again. Noticing the tired expression on your face. She picked you up bridal style and carried you out of the bathroom and through the back door so no one would see.

She placed you in the car, putting your seat belt on she noticed that you were already asleep. She smiled softly, removing strands of hair from your face and quietly shutting the door moving to her side. The ride home to your shared mansion was quite. Alcina took you up stairs and ran you a bath, after she proceeded to cuddle with you in bed.

" I'm sorry if I accidentally hurt you today my love, you know i get a little jealous when it comes to what is mine" she spoke softly kissing your forehead. You smiled up at her and chuckled.

" you weren't sorry when you were fucking my brains out, but not gonnna lie i really enjoyed it" you said sarcastically, she playfully rolled her eyes and stared at you happily.

" God I love you" she mumbled before slowly starting to drift off to sleep.

" not as much as I do" you whispered, you both went back and forth about who loved who more until you both fell into deep slumber.

#fypシ゚viral #fanfic #lady dimitrescuxreader #re8 lady dimitrescu #lady alcina #lady alcina dimitrescu #alcina x female reader #re8 alcina #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil alcina #re8 village #re8 #resdient evil #marilynthornhilllover fanfics #smut #requested

[azaprocky]

┃ pairings ➣ 〔 ❛ F1 drivers x famous!reader ❜ 〕

┃ summary ➣ 〔 ❛ I create a collection of 20 stories inspired by the songs of the one and only, Taylor Swift. ❜ 〕

┃ face claim ➣ 〔 ❛ various ❜ 〕

┃ type ➣ 〔 ❛ socmed + narrative fics ❜ 〕

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Midnight Rain ‎ / ‎ LH44

❝ He wanted a bride, I was making my own name ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Champagne Problems ‎ / ‎ ‎DR3

❝ I never was ready, so I watch you go. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎The 1 ‎ / ‎ ‎CL16

❝ And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow and it's alright now. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎August ‎ / ‎ ‎ CS55

❝ Wanting was enough, For me, it was enough. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Don't Blame me ‎ / ‎ ‎LH44

❝ Don't blame me, love made me crazy. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Cornelia Street ‎ / ‎ ‎ GR63

❝ And I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Mr. Perfectly Fine ‎ / ‎ ‎PG10

❝ I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Wildest Dreams ‎ / ‎ ‎TW

❝ I said, "No one has to know what we do." ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎I bet you think about me ‎ / ‎ ‎ CL16

❝ When you realized I'm harder to forget, than I was

to leave. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Delicate ‎ / ‎ ‎ DR3

❝‎ ‎My reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Dress ‎ / ‎ ‎ CS55

❝ Even in my worst times, You could see the best of me. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎All too well ‎ / ‎ ‎ LH44

❝ You said if we had been closer in age, maybe it would’ve been fine and that made me want to die. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Call it what you want ‎ / ‎ ‎ CL16

❝ High above the whole scene, loves me like I'm brand new. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Cardigan ‎ / ‎ ‎ DR3

❝ Chase two girls, lose the one. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Afterglow ‎ / ‎ ‎CS55

❝ Tell me that you're still mine. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Better Than Revenge ‎ / ‎ ‎ LN4

❝ She took him faster than you could say sabotage. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Last Kiss ‎ / ‎ ‎ TW

❝ So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬‎ ‎ ‎Everything Has Changed ‎ / ‎ ‎ GR63

❝ I just wanna know you better, know you better. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎If this was a movie ‎ / ‎ ‎LH44

❝ I just want it back the way it was before. ❞

〔🍡〕 ▬ ‎ ‎Ilicit Affairs ‎ / ‎ ‎SV5

❝ Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me. ❞

#f1 #formula 1 #taylor swift #taylor's version #f1 x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lando norris x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #pierre gasly x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #toto wolff x reader #george russell x reader #famous!reader

[eundiarys]

LABYRINTH — ❪ TOMORROW X TOGETHER SMAU SERIES INSPIRED BY TAYLOR SWIFT SONGS ❫

info— hellooo welcome to my first ever series! this series will be txt socmed aus inspired by taylor swift songs, i hope u enjoy ^_^ please note that this isn’t the actual representation of the idols, and that this is merely for entertainment!

THE WAY I LOVED YOU, CHOI YEONJUN 𖦹

pairing — choi yeonjun x fem! reader.

warnings — will be added on every chapter.

extended summary — not being to get over your highschool ex even after he broke your heart is horrible. that’s understandable, especially since he was your first everything. but yn has decided that it’s time to get out of her shell and date again! lucky for her, there’s a perfect candidate for that as her company’s president son is head heels for her. but what if it doesn’t work? what if she still longs for the way he loved her? and what happens if he feels the same?

genre — fluff, angst, crack, socmed, non idol!au academic rivals, enemies to lovers, highschool au (flashback), opposites attract, second chance romance, exes to lovers, etc.

short teaser / masterlist ( ONGOING )

CRUEL SUMMER, CHOI SOOBIN 𖦹

pairing — choi soobin x fem! reader.

warnings — will be added on every chapter.

extended summary — summer when you were 17 was the best and worst time of your life, filled with memories you aren’t sure how you feel about. having a summer “fling” is fun until those feelings start to grow. and you know that summer was your favourite season before he left. now that he’s back into your life, will that change?

genre — fluff, angst, crack, socmed, non idol! au, she fell first he fell harder, second chance romance, etc.

short teaser / masterlist ( COMING SOON )

CARDIGAN, CHOI BEOMGYU 𖦹

pairing — choi beomgyu x fem! reader.

warnings — will be added on every chapter.

extended summary — beomgyu was once your everything, and now he is simply just a memory that you want to forget. you both were young and stupid, but for some reason your heart still belongs to him. this time, you are determined change your ending with him to a happy one. but will that actually happen?

genre — fluff, angst, crack, socmed, non idol! au, one sided love, second chance romance, etc.

short teaser / masterlist ( COMING SOON )

ENCHANTED, KANG TAEHYUN 𖦹

pairing — kang taehyun x fem! reader.

warnings — will be added on every chapter.

extended summary — taehyun and yn was known as the inseparable duo ever since kindergarten. and now they are in college. yn also has been in love with taehyun for 7 years, and wants to move on because she knows taehyun will never look at her that way. but when yn goes on a date with a guy taehyun realises that he doesn’t like that idea. a bit too much.

genre — fluff, angst, crack, socmed, non idol! au, college au, she fell first he fell harder, etc.

short teaser / masterlist ( COMING SOON )

YOU BELONG WITH ME, HUENING KAI 𖦹

pairing — huening kai x fem! reader.

warnings — will be added on every chapter.

extended summary — which one is more miserable? being in love with your best friend 10 years and never being able to confess because you don’t want to ruin your friendship or the fact that he’s now interested in having a relationship and wants to go on dates with people on the campus? answer is both. when yn decides to stop liking kai, her friends don’t agree with the idea. her friends and kai’s friends have decided to show kai that what he’s looking for has been here this whole time.

genre — fluff, teeny bit angst, crack, socmed, non idol! au, college au, childhood best friends to lovers.

short teaser / masterlist ( COMING SOON )

© eundiarys 2023

( please don’t copy, translate, repost on any other app, or take inspo any of my works without permission! )

jules notes 📝 FINALLY POSTING THIS!!! hope ur all excited im jumping in joy rn

IMPORTANT ‼️ — (1) first of all, im super thankful for @sakuzleaves for making the amazing banners u should all follow her and check out her works because she’s so talented 🥹 <3 (2) taglists are open by smau that is posted, no reservations or anything. (3) taglists for all smaus of this series are open. and for individual masterlist/smau that is being posted are limited to two batches only~ first come first serve i guess! (4) idk when this will start but i hope you guys are as excited as i am >3<

taglist — @zuyairus @ddenoudepression @sserafimez @ox1-lovesick @reverbtunes @vernonweb @flwoie @ja4hyvn @xiaoderrrr @galaxyhalloes @j4y-lvr @taegyuul @trsrina @fairyytyunn @r7yu @taekwondoes @pleasetellmenow @nshimura @soobin-chois @jinsquishes @sakuzleaves @bomugf @ox1-lovesick @eulris @bunnystrm @haknom @txtbrainrot @bluebearybeom @cherriegyu @snowfalltxt @boba-beom @hyeinszn @liyaliar @wonioml @lvrjjun @luvsoobs @strawbrinkofdeath @cecedrake2217 @soobswvrld @yenqa @adajoemaya @cookiehaos @captivq @captivq

#— by ​eundiarys ૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა #txt imagines #txt series #txt reactions #txt smau #txt oneshot #txt fanfic #txt scenarios #yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #hueningkai x reader #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun angst #soobin fluff #soobin angst #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu angst #taehyun fluff #taehyun angst #hueningkai fluff #hueningkai angst #yeonjun smau #soobin smau #beomgyu smau #taehyun smau #hueningkai smau #txt blurbs #txt headcannons

[hugshughes]

cardigan J. Drysdale

Jamie Drysdale x fem!reader

synopsis - when you and jamie get married you can’t help but look back on every single memory, good and bad, that led you two to this moment.

wc - 2.5k

contains - honestly mostly fluffy, some angst flashbacks but it’s a cute fic mostly, cursing, shouting, kissing, oh reader has a sister who is her maid of honor, i think that’s it (as always lmk!!)

an - i was about to post this yesterday but i fell asleep sorry lol. i’ve had this practically done for like a week but i kept thinking it wasn’t good enough. im actually really excited for this one! i might’ve not made Jamie and bad as James is but we all know Jamie would never do anything like James so. i love the folklore triangle SO SO MUCH (betty especially my favorite) so this one was so fun to write! i hope you love it!

-

Today was the best day of your life, your wedding day. You married your best friend since 8th grade, Jamie. You were finally Mrs. Drysdale, Jamie had been waiting for this moment since he realized he was going to marry you in his senior year of high school.

The ceremony was absolutely gorgeous, Jamie cried during your first look and then again when you came down the aisle. He looked perfect, a navy blue suit matching the color of the ribbon on your bridesmaid's bouquets. Trevor was tearing up next to his best friend as you came down the aisle, his grey suit matching with the groomsmen.

Now Trevor’s suit jacket is long gone, thrown over his chair as he dances to an old 90s song in the middle of your reception hall. He had created a dance circle and brought most of your guests, even the elderly, into it. That was also where your husband was dragged to at the moment. Now you were sitting at your dinner seat, looking through the gift your sister gave you as she sat next to you.

Your sister had been your best friend since you were born, her being 3 years older than you. Now, she held your hand as you teared up turning the page of the photo book she’d made you.

vintage tee, brand new phone. high heels on cobblestones. when you are young they assume you know nothing.

The first picture there ever was of you and Jamie, sitting next to each other on your parents’ old couch, his arm wrapped cautiously around you at your 14th birthday party, when he was still just your friend boy. He’d gotten you a new shirt. Well, it was not new, but it was a thrifted vintage shirt you’d been looking for for months.

You’d also gotten a new iPhone 7, amazing at the time. It was a phone you texted Jamie on every night before bed, when during the school year you’d have to leave it on the counter of your kitchen till the next morning. It was crazy to think that those 2 little babies were married now.

sequin smile, black lipstick. sensual politics. when you are young they assume you know nothing.

You laughed at a different picture, remembering when you were almost 16, thinking you were hot shit with your dark lipstick at homecoming. Your beautiful boyfriend of over a year with his shining smile wrapped around your side.

You guys had shocked most when at 17 they asked how long you’d been together, and you guys answered with 2+ years. You guys were so young for how long you were committed to each other.

but i knew you, dancin’ in your Levi’s. drunk under a street light, i. i knew you.

You flipped a few pages, seeing a photo of you and Jamie (taken by your sister), slow dancing in the kitchen, him just in his jeans, bare back muscles on display in the photo. Another photo, you and Jamie, holding hands and running down the sidewalk of Anaheim, both quite tipsy as Trevor filmed you two, being the DD. It all was so surreal. You’re married, to Jamie, the boy you’d loved since forever.

hand under my sweatshirt. baby, kiss it better, i. and when i felt like i was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed. you put me on and said i was your favorite.

A picture of the night you and Jamie got back together. You had broken up for all of 2 and a half weeks when you were both 18. After almost 4 years of being together, it was overwhelming to think of him moving to Anaheim, so far from you.

He came to your place the night before he left, pleading with you to just try and make it work. It didn’t take much begging from him, you were always gonna be his. The way he made you feel, was like no other. His most special girl, as Jamie would put it.

The picture was a snap you’d sent to your sister, a selfie of you and Jamie both crying but laughing, with a caption “guess who’s fav couple is #backtogether!!!!” Your sister loved the photo so much, one of her favorites.

a friend to all is a friend to none. chase two girls, lose the one. when you are young they assume you know nothing.

A picture of you two when you were 16, he’d just won a game with his junior team and your moms needed a picture of you two together when he got off the ice. He’s still in all of his gear, you’re in one of his sweatshirts that had his name and number on the chest. His arm is around your waist, you’re both smiling from ear to ear with rosy cheeks. You remember that night, it was your first argument.

There were some girls, presumably player’s sisters, who were waiting around the locker room at the end of the game. Jamie was the first boy to come out of the lockers, and the girls decided to try and sink their teeth into him.

Jamie was trying to get them off of him, all he wanted was to see you. When you finally came over to the locker rooms, all you saw was Jamie with his back to you, and two girls rubbing his arms with big smiles on their faces, telling him how amazing he played.

If Jamie’s back hadn’t been turned from you, you would’ve seen his uncomfortable and upset face, and him telling them to get off of him. But you didn’t see that, what you did see broke your little 16-year-old heart.

You knew in the back of your head you probably should’ve waited to see what his reaction was but you couldn’t fight the ache in your chest when you saw it. You practically ran out to the car, texting your mom that you didn’t feel well and wanted to go home before your planned dinner with the Drysdale’s.

You got a few questions from your parents, but you just told them you felt sick. And you did, to be fair, just not in the way they assumed. Jamie texted, his parents told him how you felt sick and he was concerned. Your answers to his texts concerned him more though, you were being vague, a little mean, even. You’d avoided Jamie for almost a week before he came over when he knew you’d be home and questioned you.

His first thought was that you were really sick, but he also knew how you got when you were sick. If you were sick you always wanted Jamie however you could have him, in person, over text, on Facetime, anything. He knew it was something else. His suspicions were proven correct when he barged into your room, and you were lying on your bed texting, perfectly well.

He argued with you a little bit, just upset that you were telling him you were sick to not see him. He was almost embarrassed about it. When the truth finally came out, Jamie immediately softened, feeling bad that you thought he would give any girl other than you the time of day. When he told you what really happened, you felt so stupid. You apologized over and over. Jamie assured you he understood, but asked you to please tell him if something was ever bothering you.

but i knew you. playing hide-and-seek and giving me your weekends, i i knew you, heartbeat on the high line once in twenty lifetimes, i. and when i felt like i was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed. you put me on and said i was your favorite.

You were Jamie’s sanctuary, his place of peace when his world was upside down. Because of how long you’d known each other, you both could be kids again while together. Your moms bet that you would get married the minute they both found out you were dating. At 14, they both knew that you two were forever. They could see the soulmate connection you two have.

You made each other feel new, while also reminding each other of the good in the past. You came to every Otters game, then when he was drafted almost every Ducks game. Your parents weren’t skeptical even for a second when you said you were going to move to Anaheim and go to school there. They knew Jamie had you, and that you were in good hands.

to kiss in cars and downtown bars, was all we needed. you drew stars around my scars, but now i’m bleedin’.

Jamie had been there through everything. Every panic attack, every bad day, every fight with your parents. He was always there to hold you and whisper sweet nothings to you. He never expected anything from you except for your love, and that wasn’t a hard ask.

Jamie was the most loving and lovable person in the world. He knew what to say and when to say it. He was always able to make everything better, he was everything everywhere all the time.

cause i knew you, steppin’ on the last train. marked me like a bloodstain, i. i knew you. tried to change to the ending, Peter losing Wendy, i. i knew you. leavin’ like a father, runnng like water, i. and when you are young they assume you know nothing.

During those few months when you couldn’t tell what the future of your relationship looked like you were so scared. Pretty much everything you’d done in the past year or so had been for Jamie. Finding a school near Anaheim, moving across the country to Anaheim, trying to be the most supportive girlfriend you could.

Jamie was unlike himself for those months. You were scared the NHL would have forever changed the boy you fell in love with. He was just, different. You couldn’t tell if he was just getting older or if he felt like he had to act older to be respected in the league.

The night Jamie found you broken down is the night he realized he had almost ruined the one consistently good thing he had. He has apologized for weeks after, he felt so terrible and it made you feel even worse, seeing him tearing himself up over something you were past.

but i knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss. i knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs. the smell of smoke would hang around this long, ‘cause i knew everything when i was young. i knew i’d curse you for the longest time. chasin’ shadows in the grocery line. i knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired, and you’d be standin’ in my front porch light.

You knew no matter what happened to your relationship he would always be “the 1”. He had been your everything since you were 14 years old, there was no way you could ever get over him.

Jamie had realized his mistake of putting you on the back burner a few weeks before he was able to admit it. He had had a bad game, like really bad. He had multiple penalties, hadn’t done a great job leading the defense, or assisting the offense.

After the game, he was pissed with himself, but his best friend came over to him, patting him on the back and saying “Go home and relax. You’ve been so tense lately. Go be with your girl and chill, you definitely need it.”

It confused him, all season he’d been working harder and harder than ever before, and he assumed when all that work wasn’t helping, he had to push himself even more. He never realized that his best successes came from when he was relaxed when he had been talking to you before, when he could see you in the crowd.

You had come to as many games as you could all season. But one night, after a fight over God knows what, Jamie told you not to bother coming to his game the next night, and you hadn’t gone since.

Jamie had questioned his love for hockey at times during his rookie season. He’d even thought about what his life would look like without it. He never had to question one thing though, that you’d be there no matter what he did. He’d thought about his future, always just knowing you were gonna be there.

Jamie realized that you weren’t always gonna be there if he didn’t care for you like he should. He realized you could probably find another guy who would bend over backward to do everything you ever wanted for you. He realized he had to start doing that again, because you’d done everything for him in the past year, and never asked for anything in return.

and i knew you’d come back to me. you’d come back to me. and you’d come back to me. you’d come back.

You didn’t realize tears were running down your face until your sister wiped them away, tilting your head up to look at her. She then nodded to the side, and you followed her gaze, seeing your husband standing next to you. Your husband. His smile drops when he sees your tears.

“Hey woah baby, are you alright?”

You sniff and nod, laughing at yourself.

“Yes, just my stupid sister made me cry with her present.”

He laughed and shook his head at your sister, saying something about not making the most important girl of the night cry. Your sister stood up from her seat, going to pick up your niece who had fallen asleep at one of the tables. You turned back to Jamie after your sister had left, smiling at him with glossy eyes.

“You tired pretty?”

“A bit, but I guess I could dance with you a little more. At the end of the day, you are my husband.”

He nodded at you with amusement, letting out an “oh yeah?” and grabbing your hand to pull you from your seat, smashing his lips into yours. You held his face while he held your waist. You got a few whoops from your wedding party, calling you over to the dance floor, a Taylor Swift song had just come on, and Trevor was about to go crazy.

When you pulled away from each other, you both had the most lovesick smiles on your faces, intertwining hands and running over to the dance floor, jumping around with the people you loved most, shouting the lyrics to Cruel Summer.

Jamie was always gonna be yours, no matter what happened.

and when i felt like i was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed. you put me on and said i was your favorite.

-

i’m making a taglist for this if anyone would like that! comment or send an ask if you’re interested!

#hugshughes folklore celebration #jamie drysdale #cardigan #folklore #taylor swift #jamie drysdale x reader #trevor zegras x reader #mason mctavish x reader #jack hughes x reader #hockey #NHL #anaheim ducks #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl ducks #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nhl draft 2023 #anaheim ducks x reader #anaheim ducks smut #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale smut #folklore taylor swift #folklore triangle #evermore #cardigan taylor Swift

[stvharrngton]

a lesson in romantics; lesson three

summary: a multi-part series where reader is the new art teacher at hawkins high and the history teacher, mr. harrington, takes a shine to the new girl. mutual pining ensues on their road to love 🥀

a/n: shoutout to @onceuponaoneshot for inspiring this part! <3

characters: steve harrington x fem!reader, robin buckley, mentions of nancy wheeler and johnathan byers

word count: 1.2k

warnings: none, robin teasing steve, steve and reader just can't stop flirting with each other

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @nix-rose

series taglist: @pbs-theundeadmaggot @alana4610 @onceuponaoneshot

SERIES MASTERLIST

HAWKINS HIGH, NOVEMBER, 1992

Two months had since passed since you started teaching at Hawkins High and you were settling in well. Your kids liked you and everything was going well, your surroundings becoming more familiar.

Plus, you’d managed to make some friends in Robin and Steve.

Meanwhile, over in the teacher’s lounge, Mr. Harrington was hard at work to impress you. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he waited for the coffee pot to boil.

Robin watched him with pinched brows as he reached for two mugs from the cupboard, “Is that for me?” she asked, hopeful.

“Uh, well, no—“ her best friend stammered, reaching to scratch at the back of his neck, “but there’s enough for—“

“Save it.” she scoffed, “Who’s it for? Johnathan got you running round as his slave again?”

“No, it’s not for Johnathan, it’s—“ he hushed before Robin cut him off once more.

“Oh,” she chuckled, dragging out the sound, “I know, it’s for Miss-“

“Zip it!” Steve exclaimed before she could finish her accusation, “But if you must know, yes, it’s for her.” he revealed in a hushed tone, saving his other co-workers from having to hear about his predicament.

Of course, you were the mystery coffee recipient in question and Steve would hear no end to the teasing from Robin, he was sure. But he happened to notice your favourite mug still in the cupboard when making his own coffee and Steve knew how you liked to have your morning coffee before you started your day. Fortunately, he had come to know how you liked your coffee also.

Steve waved off Robin as he made a beeline for the door, leaving her to giggle with Nancy about ‘poor loverboy’ Steve. He made his way down the halls towards your classroom, nodding and smiling at the kids who were littering the hallways. When he finally reached the wing of the school your classroom resided in, he was thankful for the peace and quiet the art block would always bring.

He noticed the door to your classroom was open, taking a peek inside before he stepped over the threshold. You were sitting at your desk, slumped over a stack of work, your hair shoved up into a messy updo, your thick red cardigan hugged around your body in a move to combat the winter chill.

Steve found himself with a sappy smile on his face as he cleared his throat, “Knock, knock,” he spoke as you lifted your head to see who it was.

What was once a look of defeat and lethargy turned into one of relief and brightness when you saw Steve sauntering over to your desk with two cups of coffee.

“Oh, morning Mr. Harrington!” you beamed up at him from your desk, a smile that made Steve’s heart skip a beat.

“Good morning,” he chirped, all sing-song, “I brought you a coffee.” he said as he set your mug down on the wooden desk. 

The gesture could have brought you to tears, something so simple, yet so kind. The fact that it came from Steve, of all people, definitely had nothing to do with it at all. You took the mug gladly, letting the warmth settle between your hands.

“Thank you,” you hummed as you took a sip, “you’re the best.”

“Oh, don’t sweat it,” Steve waved you off, tone sincere as he spoke, “I hope I got it right. Cream and one sugar, right?”

“It’s perfect,” you said as you took a minute to really look at Steve.

His hair perfectly disheveled, his eyes warm and inviting. Freckles and moles scattered across his face, his nose long and pointed. Lips pink and pretty and turned up into a soft smile. Steve was handsome, that’s for sure, and the thin wire frames that were sitting on the bridge of his nose complimented him impeccably.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” you pointed out, the tip of your finger pointing towards his face.

Steve shrugged as he leant back against your desk, hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks. “Yeah, I don't usually wear them but my eyes were a little fuzzy this morning, y’know?”

You nodded, eyes darting over to the corner of the room where a couple of your students had arrived to class early, quietly working on their projects before you spoke, “Well, you should definitely wear them more often,” you spoke quietly, lips pursed together in a smirk, “they suit you.”

“You really think so?” He asked, his expression hopeful and voice genuine. Steve would take any crumb of praise or compliment you gave him and eat it right up. He was beginning to see why Robin and Nancy were constantly teasing him about you.

Before you could answer, Steve’s head snapped to the corner of the room. The faint sounds of giggling and chuckling coming from the two young students were huddled together at their desks. His cheeks immediately flushed a deep pink, fingers running through the strands of his hair. He recognised them as two girls from his freshman history class. 

“I didn’t realise you had kids in here already,” he chuckled, fingers coming to scratch at the back of his neck, eyes flitting between you and the prickled skin on his arm, “morning, girls.” Steve waved over at them, sticking his hand up in greeting as he pursed his lips together.

“Good morning, Mr. H.” they chimed in unison, giggling between themselves as Steve stood up straight, dusting himself off.

You shot them a look whilst trying to hide the smirk that was threatening to tug at your lips, a look that told the kids to quieten down, and to stop teasing the poor guy.

“Well, I better get going,” he said, avoiding the stares as he pointed his thumb towards the door behind his back, “don’t wanna be late to my first lesson and all.”

“Oh, sure,” you muttered. You had almost forgotten where you were, almost trying to hide the disappointment that lingered beneath your voice. You secretly ached to spend more time with Steve, not that you ever told anybody, “thanks for the coffee. I’ll repay the favour.”

“Oh, no, please,” Steve spoke softly, voice silky smooth, “it’s my pleasure, really.” He made his way towards the door now, one foot across the threshold before he turned to speak once more, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You raised your hand, fingers wiggling in a wave goodbye, bottom lip nestled neatly between your teeth. “I’ll see you later, Mr. H.”

He chuckled as he left, leaving your head spinning with one too many thoughts. You tried to ignore how the events that had just transpired made you feel, how you felt like a giddy high schooler overwhelmed by her crush, rather than a high school teacher overwhelmed by her co-worker that simply did something nice for her.

You had no idea how Steve felt, how you spun around his mind constantly. Nor did you know about any of the teasing he had succumbed to at the hand of his friends due to his not so minor crush on you.

There was something about him. Something exciting, something addictive. You gravitated towards him when you were in the same vicinity, and you longed to be around him when you weren’t. He really tugged at your feelings all without knowing.

You made a promise to yourself when you moved here, to not let yourself get sucked into another relationship so quickly but it was hard not to move so rapidly with Steve. He was kind and charming and so handsome. Not to mention, he was nothing like your ex-boyfriend.

It was a sticky situation, for sure.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington series #teacher!steve #k.fic #alir

[lazuruspit]

The Plight of Yearning — (m)

+ PAIRING: Eren Jaeger / Fem!Reader

+ SUMMARY: True love is giving your lover the bigger half of your favourite chiffon cake; it’s nudging them to the inside of a sidewalk next to a busy road; and it’s Mikasa and Jean, eyes hued with affection as they daydream their upcoming wedding. And maybe—just maybe—true love also comes in the form of Eren Jaeger and his best friend, the two idiots tasked with planning said wedding over the course of seven months.

+ GENRES: modern!au, friends/idiots to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, smut. 

+ CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol, one (1) fleeting mention of vomit, three smut scenes including dry humping, photo taking, phone sex, mutual masturbation, breast play, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, and implied (unperformed) exhibitionism.

+ WORD COUNT: 21k

Following Mikasa’s announcement, not a second is left bereft of hollers.

Everybody bursts into peals of laughter and reeling giggles, causing the bottles of alcohol scattered around the table to begin shaking.

Pieck’s the first to officially react. She pounces onto Mikasa’s thigh, a giddy grin splitting her cheeks that are stuffed with Korean barbecue. She settles her hand within the crook of Mikasa’s elbow, her grey eyes blown wide and beguiled, sparkling with mirth.

“Holy fuck!” Pieck bawls, either wholly indifferent or heedlessly unaware of the searing look a mother sends her way.

Mikasa sheepishly coils in on herself. She lets her free hand drop, the impression on her face reading of cleft embarrassment and infatuation (if the deep blush that saturates her cheek is anything to go by).

She lets her hand get passed around the table, her smile swelling at the carol of awes between her friends as you all take turns swooning at the wedding stack that ornaments her ring finger. The jewellery catches glints from the restaurant lights, twinkling when Mikasa turns her hand, the glimmers likened to rose-tinted sunglasses in the summertime as it washes over your peripheral.

“When was this!?” Sasha wails, gawking at the amethyst that blinks in contrast to the fairness of Mikasa’s skin.

“Was it last weekend?” Hitch presses, wide-eyed, “Fuck, Mikasa, he proposed on your birthday, didn’t he?”

The aforementioned girl shyly ducks her head in what sounds like a nod. Mikasa nuzzles the bottom half of her face behind the foam of her cardigan, clouding the preening grin that lolls over her lips. Then, she extends her hand to Historia, who regards the ring with mantled eyebrows. She flips Mikasa’s hand over, running her eyes across the aureate band and the modest bridge in the middle, bolstering the engagement stone that flickers under her gaze.

It lacks undue emphasis, she notices, but Historia knows that Mikasa values simplicity over ostentatious spending, opting to live frugally. 

Historia knows there are lines to be read between. She knows that the ring is not only amethysts over a thin ribbon of gold, but something much more earnest to the couple.

It clicks in Historia’s mind when she glances up, a sweet smile betraying the warmth that swathes her heart. “Your birthstone. And the month you two met.”

Mikasa nods, chin cushioned by her palm, eyes glazed over with a dreamy sheen. “He proposed at the place we had our first date, too. That little Italian hole-in-the-wall.”

“That fucking asshole…” Sasha mutters, “who knew he was such a romantic?”

Annie rolls her eyes, reaching over the table to knuckle at Sasha’s skull. The latter winces and plaintively whines, swatting Annie’s hand away.

Pieck simply kisses her teeth, unmoved by the pair. “Are you kidding?” She asks, “Jean is, like, the poster boy of romance.”

“I wish Marlowe was more romantic,” Hitch sighs.

“Hah?” Historia gapes, “Is it just me who remembers the time he wrote a song for you?”

Hitch narrows her eyes. “I said more romantic.”

On the other side of the table, your eyes dart between your friends, watching as they taper off into different conversations. You drain your drink, listening in on the sparring spiel between Hitch and Sasha—who debate between themselves to see which of their boyfriends are less romantic—when a slight nudge to the edge of your calf startles you out of your thoughts.

Mikasa is already looking at you when you turn to look at her. Her face is chiefly gleeful, still riding the aftershocks of glee in the wake of her engagement announcement. But, before you can stop yourself, you’re subconsciously slanting forward, just enough so that you’re able to perceive a tinge of wariness dancing in the dilution of her eyes.

A glance around the table reaffirms to you that everyone is occupied, so, pinning your focus on Mikasa, you shuffle closer, your words already adopting a concerned tone.

“What’s wrong?” You whisper, poring over her pinched countenance.

Mikasa fidgets with the rim of her glass, folding her lips. You feel a spike of suspense rouse in your belly, but as Mikasa parts her lips, only to seal her mouth shut not a moment later, suspense ripens into fear.

“Mika?” You venture, tugging on her sleeve.

She shushes you with a fanning hand, polishing off her drink before pivoting to face you, mouth shielded from the rest of the table by the stretch of her palm.

“I have something to ask you,” she whispers, “don’t feel pressured into pleasing me, or anything, I want it to be genuine, you know?”

You nod like you understand—which you don’t.

Mikasa wedges her bottom lip between her teeth, in turn raking away some of her lipgloss. She plucks at a loose thread on her cardigan, and you vaguely recognise it as the one you got her on New Year’s, but currently, anticipation overshadows your buoyancy, and you wait with bated breath.

“I want you to be my maid of honour,” she starts, “I remember in high school we promised each other we’d be them at each other’s weddings, and now… y’know. I’m getting married.”

She turns to look at you, shallowly exhaling. “Jean’s asking Eren. To be his best man, I mean. It’s just– it’s a big responsibility. So… sleep on it.”

A blush deepens the colour of Mikasa’s face as she sweetly smiles, awaiting your reply, and her flash of teeth instantly saps you of all previous fear. 

Your response comes suddenly; a punch to the apex of her shoulder. Mikasa scowls and kneads the point of impact, but you both know that with her disciplined muscles, she barely felt a tingle.

“The hell was that for?” She pouts.

“Mika, of course I’ll be your maid of honour, are you kidding?”

Mikasa giggles and shrugs, dragging her vowels. “I dunno. Weddings aren’t really something we’ve done before. There’s all that planning, and the speech writing, and fuck, I just thought it’d be too much with your new job ‘n stuff.”

Mikasa outstretches her hand, wordlessly requesting a refill. Sasha chaotically pours soju to the rim of her shot glass. Some carbonation trickles down Mikasa’s fingers. She licks it off.

“Mika, I’d fight Porco to be your maid of honour–” you cause her to unceremoniously chortle in laughter, “no, I’m dead serious. I’d fight Porco to initiate myself as your maid of honour. Like, physically.”

“I’d fight Porco for a cookie from Subway,” Sasha gabbles.

Mikasa’s eyes shift to you. “Thank you,” she whispers, “I love you a lot. More than Jean, maybe.”

“Promise that if the seven-year itch ends up being real, you’ll leave him for me?”

Mikasa dramatically groans, throwing her head back. “Don’t jinx it.”

“I could never,” you smile, “Jean loves you too much.”

Mikasa simmers at that, a lovesick look casting over her features.

“Yeah,” she twists the ring on her finger, “I know he does.”

—

Cuteness embodied is Eren Jaeger’s 6’0” stature hunched over in his seat on the subway; knees steepled, shoulders twined in on themselves. 

His flaying earbuds dangle from the collar of his obnoxiously ostentatious Stüssy hoodie, the wires swaying with each rumble of the metro. He’s sandwiched between two old ladies who blather over the wispy brown tousles of his hair. Eren uncomfortably slants forward, not daring to lean back and thus forestall the ladies’ conversation, so, he toughs it out, and redirects his focus to the Kendrick Lamar song that cavorts in his right ear.

But said focus almost causes him to miss his stop, which prompts a not-so-suave sequence of messily corralling all of his belongings together, and scrambling out the doors.

This sling of Eren’s camera bag slips down his arm when hastening through the streets of San Francisco, the fringes of his vision turning blurry as he threads past passersby and weaves between crowds.

The address you’re all supposed to meet up at is ingrained into Eren’s mind. He reminds himself that it’s located on Grimes boulevard, not Graves, and thinks back to the voice message you’d left him this morning—stressing the fact that if Eren were late, you’d kick him off the wedding planning team yourself.

So, following the whirlwind tumult that is his Friday morning, Eren’s proud that he made it to the right place on time.

He swings the door open and steps inside, the world of Vivienne King’s Wedding Planning swathing him in a fuse of lo-fi music and vanilla musk purifiers. Eren catalogues the space, eyes loitering over the flush-mount fixtures before they sweep across the accent wall, down to the rows of shelves that hold framed photos of past customers.

Eren turns, and his gaze lands on Jean, who has his hold assured on Mikasa. She curls in on herself but slightly banks into Jean’s warm chest; her shoulder bolstered by his front, his hand skated into the rear pocket of her jeans. They’re standing in front of a woman with cropped hair, discussing the budget.

Eren hums to himself, deciding to hang back. He looks around the establishment, but is soon mourning in its lack of your presence. Eren grieves by shutting his eyes, picturing your smile behind the film rolls that are his eyelids–

“You’re late.”

Eren zips his head to the side so fast that he’s genuinely surprised—and thankful—he doesn’t get hit with a stint of whiplash. He’s briefly enfeebled, suddenly confronted by you within the mellow events firm.

He stares at you and isn’t really sure if he’s making a conscious effort of hiding it. But what Eren does know is that he finds himself pausing on the twinkle of your eyes; the loose strands of hair that frame your cheeks; the barely-there caper of your lips, and the endearing pucker between your brows.

Eren believes his oxygen is seized. And with his breathing impaired, he isn’t sure what to do.

So, Eren does the first thing that comes to mind; he bends over with his hands on his hips, eyes crossed and face pinched like that one SpongeBob meme before he squawks out in your imitation. “You're so late,” he annoyedly crows.

But as he’s bent over, Eren is gravely reminded of the bulky camera bag slung over his shoulder. The strap slopes down his arm, subsequently pulling his backpack with it, all until Eren’s webbed in an awkward gossamer of strings, straps, and buckles.

He tries to free himself, the show having just as much grace as a bull in a china shop, and when Eren finally breaks free, he perks up, his hair a ruffled mess on his head. A megawatt grin splits his cheeks as he marvels at you, and it’s stupid and witless and undeniably cheesy but it is so unapologetically Eren.

It flatters a giggle out of you. You move to walk past him, flicking his forehead on the way. “You’re embarrassing.”

“You’re embarrassinger,” Eren snarks back.

“Losersayswhat?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“Told ya,” you wink.

“What–? Hey! No! That is so not fair!” Eren whines, lapsing into a petulant spell as a pout mounts his lips, further emphasising the furrow between his brows. Then, he turns serious. Rather quickly. Eren soberises and sends you a grave look, muttering, “Spell icup. No, don’t look at me like that, just spell it. I swear I’m not taking the piss–!”

“Eren.”

The boy in question pivots, greeted with glances from Mikasa, Jean, and the lady with cropped hair.

“We’re brainstorming wedding day activities,” Mikasa says.

“Do you have a wedding photographer?” The cropped-hair woman asks, who Eren is now guessing literally is Vivienne King in the flesh.

Eren cuts in with a tight smile—tight because he’s awkward, not rude—and raises a hand in greeting. “That’s me. The photographer.”

Vivienne nods, eyes shifting towards the couple. “A friend of yours?”

“More like a royal pain-in-the-ass, but yeah,” Jean jokes. Vivienne blinks. Mikasa pinches the bridge of her nose, cringing in embarrassment. Eren simpers.

Vivienne tilts her head, extending her gaze towards you. “You’re the performer?”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head, “I’m just here for… moral support.”

“She’s my maid of honour,” Mikasa tacks on.

“So you’ve got performers in mind?” Vivienne asks, “If not that’s fine, I can lock you in with live bands I work with. They’ve got reviews from past customers, too.”

“That’s fine,” Jean says, “but I think we’ll hire a performer on our own.”

Vivienne shrugs. “So it’s more sentimental, I get that. Honeymoon destination?”

“Val-d’Isere,” Mikasa grins as she lists into Jean’s warm hold, her head ensconced on his toned shoulder.

“The French Alps?” Vivienne marvels, “Beautiful. Good choice. And what theme are you looking for? Bohemian? Royal?”

In response to her question, both parties of the couple jump to answer. The earliest vowels of classic roll off Jean’s tongue before he’s cut off by Mikasa’s request for vintage.

Vivienne looks between the two, a knowing smirk on her face. “That’s alright, we have time to figure it all out. Everyone’s first wedding’s the most stressful.”

At that, both Jean’s and Mikasa’s eyes widen.

“I’m kidding,” Vivienne rolls her eyes, “let’s get to work.”

The preliminary meeting goes by smoothly—excluding the game of footsies you play with Eren beneath the table. Vivienne distributes tasks for the planning, assigning you and Eren the more creative ones while she hands off the legality and liking to Mikasa and Jean. 

Eren’s feverish and forthcoming, already snapping latent photos of the engaged couple as they sign documents and read over themes. You stay reserved, crumpling cups from the water cooler as Eren nears you with his bubbly disposition, camera strap looped around his neck.

He sites himself next to you, cheek braced by his palm.

“Ready to spend the next seven months with me?” Eren asks, soft lips moulding into a grin.

You reach out and poke his plushy cheek, toying with a curl of his hair as you pull away. “I literally see you every day, ‘Ren.”

“Well yeah, but this is different,” he shrugs, fishing hard-candy out of his pocket.

“Alright… I’ll bite. How so?” You goad, sifting a grape-flavoured lolly from the palm of his hand. You let the tips of your fingers dawdle on the facet of his skin—soft and toasty—his hand involuntarily twitching as you pull away.

“‘Cause,” Eren jerks his head in the direction of Jean and Mikasa, boyish charm playing on his tongue as he smiles, “love is in the air, don’t ya think?”

MONTH 1: THE GUEST LIST.

“Do we still talk to Louise?”

“Nah,” Eren hums, pressing his thumbs into the sole of your socked foot, “we all stopped.”

You grimace. “But... Mika still likes her, right?”

“Don’t think so. Not after that fight she had with Connie on Halloween.” 

“Yeah, but like… should I write her down? We’re gonna run this past Jean ‘n Mika anyway.”

“Should we add Floch?”

You twist your face, digging the tips of your toes into Eren’s chest. “He’d end up chugging half the champagne before the night’s over.”

“Champagne?” Eren parrots, “We haven’t even picked out vendors yet. Don’t get too crazy, baby.”

“Why?” You grin, chafing your cheek against his sofa, “Too much of a lightweight?”

Eren rolls his eyes and slips his hand beneath the material of your pyjama pants, massaging your calf. “I am not a lightweight.”

“Uh-huh,” your eyelids wilt into slits, “it’s just funny, ‘cause I remember that one time–”

“Stoppp.”

“–you got wasted off three beers and got matching tramp-stamps with Armin.”

Now, Eren grovels. His lips curl into a sulking frown while he takes gentle hold of your ankle, lifts your leg, and lodges it atop his shoulder. He whisks the pad of his thumb along the edge of your wiggling toes. “You’re mean, y’know that?”

“The tattoo is hideous, Eren.”

He grins. “I know. And at least I own it, unlike Armin.”

“You’re stupid.”

“You love me.”

“Fuck off.”

Eren pouts, and that, tempered with the ruffles of his bedhead, the sweatshirt that practically swaddles him whole, and the red glow that flushes the tips of his ears, it takes every ounce of self-restraint to not snuggle into his side.

So, you poise yourself over his lean figure, carting your weight to your dominant arm as you extend a free hand to the bowl of popcorn that’s situated on the coffee table. But Eren works quicker—suavely curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his chest, wreathing his legs around your back.

Your chin pokes his chest. His palm soothes the skin of your spine. He looks down at you, and the moment stretches a little longer, the air rife with familiar warmth.

Then, Eren’s lips frizzle into a smile. “You’re smelly.”

You swat his chest, seating yourself on the sofa. “Jokes on you, I used your 3-in-1.”

Eren frowns, an offended colour painting his features as he slowly creeps forward, bullying you onto your back. His arms cage you in. 

“I don’t use 3-in-1 anymore,” he mumbles, “not since you read me to filth ‘cause of it.”

You giggle and kick your feet up, sliding your calves along Eren’s legs.

“You laughin’ at me?” 

“Eren,” you bite, the warning tone crossing your tongue palpable.

Like the brat that he is, Eren merely grins, cutting his fingers into the chub of your hips. He glides them low and wiggles his fingers, wrenching a chortle from you as he chucks your sweatshirt over your belly, presses his lips to your stomach, and blows a raspberry into your flesh.

“Eren–” you gasp, your attempts at escaping fruitless as he doesn’t retreat, “‘Ren, I’m serious–”

Eren giggles at your expense—his shoulders shaking, nose cutely scrunching.

“You ass… I’m gonna pee myself–!”

“Eren.”

The aforementioned boy thwarts his movements. His fingers are still splayed on your stomach, burning embers into your skin. His face is still burrowed in your neck, but as Armin’s voice rings out, scotching the lull of dawn, Eren sits up, a dopey smile unfurling over his lips.

“Hi,” he smiles.

Armin yawns, scratching his chest. “What’s going on? Y’woke Annie up.”

You push onto your elbows, peeking over the sofa. “Hey, ‘Min.”

The blonde’s eyes marginally widen, lips parting in surprise as he watches Eren draw his arm around your neck, pulling you closer.

“I thought you would’ve left hours ago,” he grumbles.

Your shoulders rise and fall in indifference. Armin’s eyes flutter towards Eren, and the boy is grateful he’s able to recognise the nuances that flicker over his roommate’s face. Eren keeps you anchored to his chest, his fingers carding through your hair.

“Tell Annie we’re sorry for waking her,” you mumble, chewing on your lips.

“Don’t do that,” Eren scolds, pulling your lip from your teeth with the pad of his thumb. He teases your cheek with his index, pushing your bottom lip down until it pops back into place. A fine wash of your saliva licks his thumb as he pulls back. “You barely take enough vitamin C as it is.”

“What can I say?” You smirk, “I like living on the edge.”

Eren giggles; and then you giggle; and then peals of laughter toll out within the living room, your chin rested against Eren’s toned shoulder, his cheek ensconced atop your head.

Armin stares—jaded, listless, and a little annoyed—he shallowly exhales, waiting for your laughter to pass. He jams his hands in his pyjama pockets and shifts on his feet, feeling all types of unseemly in his own apartment.

Your amusement eventually peters off into sparse giggles, and as Armin clears his throat, you and Eren shift your attention towards him as if he’d just waltzed in.

“Oh, hey,” you murmur.

Armin places a hand on his hip. “Aren’t you meant to be writing up the guest list?”

“We’re taking a break,” Eren says.

Armin rakes his eyes over the living room. He sees the scattered McDonald’s wrappers on the coffee table; he recognises a shirt of Eren’s wrapped around your figure—bleached, threadbare, redolent of his college days—; and he notices the white wine Eren had flattered you with.

“Well. Annie and I have a twelve-hour shift tomorrow, so if you guys would so kindly–”

“What’s going on, ‘Min?” Annie ambles into the living room, dozy and drowsy. The sleeves of her hoodie curl over her fingers as she rubs her eyes, heeling into her boyfriend’s chest.

“Nothing, honey.”

Annie nods before glancing up, eyes scarcely widening as she spots you. “And you’re still here?”

“Yup,” you say, hyper-aware of Eren’s palm gliding down your back, “we lost track of time.”

“We’ll be quiet. We’re sorry,” Eren starts grating his hair against your cheek, “aren’t we?”

You vigorously nod, kneeing him away. “Super sorry.”

Armin and Annie exchange a look. It’s clandestine; covert; and arcane. One of those looks that only a couple could interpret, leaving everyone else excluded from their private knowledge.

“Alright… goodnight, guys,” Armin mutters, patting his girlfriend out of the living room, his hand resting on the fade of her waist.

You and Eren reply with a synchronised goodnight, tacked on by Eren’s ornate don’t let the bedbugs bite! as grovelling looks paint both your faces.

“They’re hopeless,” you hear one gripe. For someone that talks so much crap, Armin’s whispers are anything but quiet.

“Were they having sex?” You hear next, followed by a blunt chortle, “I’m serious, ‘Min, were they fucking?”

The couple’s not-so-latent spiel concludes with the click of a lock upon them withdrawing into Armin’s bedroom. They leave the air thick: rife with tension, bereft of dialogue.

From the blurry brinks of your vision, you see Eren face you. He spins on a swivel. His eyes glide towards you first, followed by his head, and the full suppleness of his lissom chest.

You poach Eren’s actions by imitating them, turning to him with blank eyes as you enigmatically return his stare.

Where words are meant to be bartered, there are none. Just silence, and your innate urge to pry him into a noogie.

 Then—in true fashion—Eren snorts; it’s hilarious and vulgar and decidedly accidental, the crass sound muffled behind his palm not a second later.

“You’re silly,” you bleat, chucking a Turkish throw pillow towards him, “I’m literally never trusting you with my wedding planning.”

Eren adopts a scandalised look. “Bold of you to assume I’m not the person you’ll be marrying.”

You roll your eyes, covering your face with your forearm. “Pipe down, Romeo.”

“Does that make you my Juliet?”

You toss Eren the guest list and chuck him a pen. “In your dreams.”

“Y’know...” Eren lowly whistles, shaking his head, “ma always told me to follow my dreams.”

MONTH 2: CHOOSING VENUES.

“Out of all the states to host a rustic wedding, California has got to be the worst.”

You sharply elbow Eren’s side. “You’re supposed to support the bride-and-groom-to-be, not second-guess their decisions.”

“I get the hesitance,” Vivienne says—much to your embarrassment, you didn’t know she was listening—“San Francisco’s always go-go-go, isn’t it? Luckily, I’ve got all the best stops around North California.”

Eren straightens and you stick your tongue out at him, scurrying away before you’re able to see his riposte.

“We’re looking for a place an hour from San Fran, at most,” Jean says, his pinky locked with Mikasa’s. The pair remain unperturbed by you and Eren chasing each other around the parking lot.

Vivienne nods. “Today’s gonna be a long day. The farthest venue is in Sacramento, and the closest is Muir Woods, just a thirty-minute drive.”

“Can I drive?” Eren asks, muttering against the shell of your ear. He already caught up to you, snaking his arms around your waist, pulling you towards him. His chest drums against your spine as he giggles.

“You’ll drive safe?”

“Obviously,” he whines, dipping his hands into the pocket of your leggings, fishing for your keys, “who do you take me for, Connie?”

“Connie drives better.”

Eren hums non-committally, tugging you towards your car. “You can talk once you learn to parallel park.”

You’re about to swat his bicep, but Eren moves quicker, gallantly curling his fingers around your wrist. He leans over, pulls your seatbelt across your chest, and slides it in the buckle.

“Safety first,” he smiles, booping your nose, and with the distance between you—or lack thereof—you’re able to make out all the subtlety to Eren’s face.

It’s subtlety nobody should notice, but ones you’ve noticed countless times. Like the beauty mark at the oxbow of his mouth.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teases, brazenly dragging his tongue over his teeth.

You examine Eren’s face. Green swirls with freckles of gold in his irises, lashes long and lush, framing the eyes that gaze down at you. His lips roll together, eyebrows dark and thick and embellishing his strong stare. His skin—a deep tan—glistens in the high sun, golden and beguiling. You flicker your eyes back up, and fall into Eren’s eyes.

“You’re really pretty.”

Eren’s lips part as his oxygen suddenly foils. He holds his breath, blush creeping down the score of his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he forces down a swallow. His eyes are shifty, veering in every direction. His face is twisted, the tips of his ears burning red, but Eren offsets his shock by schooling his face to neutral.

“You’ve got a real knack for that,” he rasps.

You blink up at him. “For?”

“Catching me off-guard.”

You nervously giggle, averting your gaze. “Just get in the car.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eren winks—to which he fails—the right side of his face awkwardly twitching.

The drive to Muir Woods is exactly what you expected it to be: full with gas station stops and games of I spy.

Eren and Jean communicate over speakerphone, serenading both you and Mikasa with repetitive roadtrip songs. Soon, skyscrapers and trams convert into hollyleaf cherry bushes and oak trees. The group stops by the Golden Gate National Recreation Area and the Tennessee Valley Trailhead, also pausing by the Sausalito coast to snap some pictures.

For a photographer, Eren sucks at taking photos on phones, but that does nothing to deter him (“You look beautiful no matter what, no picture does you justice,”). So you resort to Jean, halfway on his back on the rocky shoreline of Sausalito, documenting his fiancée who’s fixated on tracing their initials into the sand.

After some time, Mikasa and Jean go to order ice cream for everyone while Eren insists on scouring for seashells eclipsed within the resplendent sand. He guides you as you stroll the beach, palming the small of your back to help keep you steady. He lends you his heart-shaped sunglasses and holds your sneakers in a free hand, later cupping your face and squishing your cheeks as he kindly works sunscreen into your skin.

Now, you’re both banking against a wooden fence on the coast. It seethes with peeling wood, but Eren pillows you from it by leaning his back against it and pulling you to his chest, throwing an arm around your shoulder. The sun bakes the sand, burning the asphalt sidewalk.

Eren’s broad shoulders and lithe arms enwrap you easily, his chin digging into your scalp as you watch skaters and bikers whizz past. You raise your hand over your head in a soundless render of your ice cream, and Eren, as tall as he is, leans over to steal a lick, lowering his own ice cream cone to your mouth next, offering you a taste.

“Good?” He wonders.

“The best,” you purr, wriggling in his arms, “can you order for me next time?”

“Yeah?” Eren leans over once more, hair curtaining the dazzling sun from your eyesight. Poised like this, your world consists of just Eren. “Even if I always order guava cake at that restaurant on seventeenth?”

You scrunch your face, brushing your nose against his own. “You order that every time. Five years, consecutively.”

Eren distractedly hums and swipes his thumb along your bottom lip, rubbing away a streak of melted ice cream that drizzles down your chin.

“Doesn’t it get boring?”

“Nah,” Eren opens his windbreaker and envelops you in it, fastening the zipper, “routine is good.”

“Ah.”

“You’re like my routine.”

“Oh?”

He sways you to-and-fro, the hot pink and royal blue exterior of his jacket snapping in the wind. “Yeah, you’re my rock.”

Somewhere in the distance, Vivienne shouts for you all.

“Your rock?” You parrot, wryly beaming, “Not scared of erosion?”

“What?”

“That was meant to be a joke. It sounded funnier in my head.”

Mikasa’s voice rings out next, mingling with the chime of coastal breeze.

Eren smirks, unzipping his windbreaker. “I can laugh now if it’ll make you feel better?”

“Save it for Jean���s knock-knock jokes,” you titter, leading Eren towards the car, “I hear he’s on quite the roll today.”

Eren splays a hand over his bucket hat as he hangs his head back, comically groaning in exasperation.

The remainder of the drive is still substantially amusing. Your feet rest on the dashboard, neck cushioned by a travel pillow, your anklet—engraved with Eren’s Genshin Impact UID—twinkling in the light of day.

You recite the venue article Vivienne sent into the wedding planning groupchat that’s aptly named “wedding planning”.

“So,” you start, casting Eren a coy look, “according to brides.com, The Pelican Inn is, and I quote, Bay Area’s little England. It fits 100 people, includes a conservatory, a pub, a snug room—whatever that is—and seven ensuite bedrooms.”

Eren clicks his tongue. “Seven isn’t enough.”

“Yeah, but it’s pretty. Look,” you counter, flipping your phone in his direction.

“I’m driving, baby.” 

You nod, sagging into the passenger seat. You dip your hand outside the window and spread your fingers, working your palm against the wind current.

“Describe it,” he tacks on, “how it looks.”

“Remember Twilight?”

Eren bursts into giggles; face coloured with mirth, voice enriched with candied amusement. “I was thinking, like, a more Louisa Alcott description, but yes, baby, I remember. I remember you forcing me to watch it last Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s not like either of us had dates,” you roll your eyes, “but the inn looks like that scene where Edward crawls up trees.”

“Where he calls Bella his spider-monkey?”

“Oh my– yes, I can’t believe you remember that.”

Eren squints and bites his lip, huskily speaking in an overripe voice. “Bella, where have you been, loca?”

“That was Jasper,” you spout.

“Jacob,” he corrects, “Jasper was Alice’s boyfriend.”

“How come you know so much Twilight lore?” You curiously quirk your brow, “There something I should know?”

Eren sends you a cursory look. “Next venue.”

You snicker and redirect your attention to your phone. “Bear Flag Farm’s surrounded by lavender fields. There’s a cottage and an adjoining terrace.”

“Isn’t there also a vine yard?”

“It’s vineyard, ‘Ren, but yeah, it’s got a vineyard lawn.”

The tips of Eren’s ears smoulder a sheepish shade of red, but he focuses on driving. “That’s the one near Nestldown?”

“Yup.”

“What else?”

“Long Meadow Ranch. Part restaurant; part winery; part farm. It’s got a sensory garden and a pergola.”

Eren pulls into a dirt road, dutifully following the trail of cars belonging to Vivienne and Jean and Mikasa ahead of him. Soil and twigs crunch under the wheels, the sound of pebbles grating together echoing out as he drives further into the forest reserve.

“Then there’s Timber Cove, the farthest from San Francisco. It’s got oceanfront weddings for 100 people and forty-five guestrooms. An event lawn, firepits, and lots of pastimes for guests to partake in.”

Eren cuts the engine in the centre of a towering grove of redwood trees, slipping out of the car.

He’s on your side before you can blink, pulling open the door and shepherding you out with a hand on your shoulder. He removes his bucket hat and tugs it onto your head, brushing away your bangs that drape over your eyes.

“C’mon,” he sings. Eren’s hold on you glides southbound, catching your fingers, clutching you forward.

The Pelican Inn, you find, is beautiful. The terrain seethes with the heady scent of dewy bark and frothy soil. It’s pungent and zesty, swirling around your head. The dirt sinks as you all amble around, examining the venue and regarding the archways flanked by honeysuckle.

Along with the perennial smell of moss and magnolia, Muir woods is also, unfortunately, lousy with bugs. It’s a gorgeous place—beyond gorgeous—with a lush lawn and glassed-in spaces torched by globed lighting fixtures. There’s the conservatory and the beach outlook, but alas, as Mikasa and Jean stroll the premises, they shyly deem it unworthy for their wedding.

“My dress would get dirty,” Mikasa mutters.

“And there’s too many mosquitos,” Jean adds, fanning them away from Mikasa’s skin.

Mikasa faces Vivienne, guilt sagging her features. Discomfort tugs at her heart—it’s not easy for her to turn something down—so she worries at the collar of her blouse, which prompts Jean to swiftly insert himself between the two, rubbing at the small of Mikasa’s back.

“I don’t think this one’s for us,” Jean laments.

Vivienne shrugs; she doesn’t seem to be irked but she does brandish her shoulders, as if bracing herself for a day that’ll stretch longer than expected. She leads you all to the carpark made of gravel and dirt, loading herself into her car before sending the groupchat the next venue’s location.

The Bear Flag Farm looks to be directly out of a fairytale. It’s gilded and whimsical, drowning in sunlight, garnished with gentle zephyrs. It’s trailed with decor but doesn’t feel ostentatious; it’s accentuated with regal elegance in bright-coloured gardens and walnut trees.

The sycamore-ringed amphitheatre is lined by string lights, and the tree-dotted hillside nurtures lists of lavender fields. The estate is stunning and picturesque, complete with a quaint cottage accessed by French doors verging onto a neighbouring terrace. Mikasa brushes her hand over a throng of swaying orchids as she approaches the ferris wheel, eyeing its white paint and glassed-in booths.

You’ve got your nose buried in a batch of tulips when someone clears their throat. It’s Eren, assimilated within the flower field, hands jammed inside his windbreaker.

He cutely cocks his head to the side. “Wanna see something cool?”

“Where?”

Eren extends a hand. “Don’t trust me?”

You roll your eyes at his crypticness but take his hand nonetheless. It’s large, callous, dry—because he always forgets to moisturise—but warm. “I’ll bite,” you squeeze his hand, “where to?”

Eren answers with a sly look, opting to lead you down the hill. You chance a glance towards Mikasa and Jean who, thankfully, are occupied with Vivienne, yielding you and Eren time to slip away and sneak into the vineyard.

The grapevines shield you from the sun, tickling your arms as you shoulder past them, delving into the orchard. Eren drops your hand, redirecting his hold to a vine that’s stippled with swelling grapes.

“Eren!” You hiss, “We can’t take these.”

Eren writes off your hesitance, an undercurrent of indifference fanning through him as he twists the dewy fruit off their stems, rolling them over the ridge of his palm. “What they don’t know can’t hurt ‘em.”

You gape as he tilts his head back, sunlight cascading down the column of his neck. The grapes slide into Eren’s mouth as he works his jaw around them, locking you in his gaze. 

You eye him warily. “Are wine grapes edible?”

Eren smacks his lips and plucks some more. “Sour.”

He makes some enigmatic gesture with his hands, which you belatedly realise is his wordless request for you to open your mouth.

You do so bashfully, just barely parting your lips for him. Eren slips an engorged grape between your teeth, his fingers reaming your lips as he tentatively withdraws his hand.

Eyes still glued on Eren, you sink your teeth into the fruit and section it into two, causing the grape juices to burst and ooze down your throat.

The tanginess is glaring. It’s cool and fresh, spilling over your lips and sluicing down your chin.

But, Eren’s faster—keenly quick-witted as he darts out a hand, extending his forefinger just below the plush of your lip, soaking up the grape sap. He mimics a polishing motion; his thumb pressed into the arch of your jaw, his index finger wiping away the juice on your chin.

And it’s now that you realise how gentle Eren’s hold with you is. 

You'd seen him yank the grapes off their stems; you’ve seen him wring and pound brioche dough on your baking nights; you’ve seen his jaded fingers curled over textbooks as he scribbles down notes for his health studies.

But Eren holds you like glass. When passing behind you with his hand on the small of your back; while sliding gelatin-based parfaits onto your tongue; as he locks necklaces for you and zips up your dresses, the tips of his fingers loitering over the suppleness of your skin.

It takes you a moment to notice Eren’s palm is still cupping your jaw. It’s only when it’s ripped away do you grieve in its deprivation. That is, until you realise why the warmth was taken too soon—there’s a rustle within the grapevines.

Whoever it is, they rive the lull between you and Eren, and out pops Jean—reddened with sunburn—the sleeves of his (Mikasa’s) button-up rolled to his elbows.

He sighs, exasperated, and rolls his eyes. “Stop making out, we gotta get to the last venue. You guys can share spit later.”

You and Eren flounder in defence, but your rebuttal falls on deaf ears as Jean disappears back into the orchard.

You turn to Eren and expect his face to be the picture of anger, but instead, his cheeks bulge, his eyes water, and his face permeates with a furious pink.

You startle, stammering back a bit. “You’re blushing!”

Eren startles next, head whipping in your direction with debilitating speed.

“You're blushing!” He retorts, pointing to the telltale warble of your lips.

“I’m blushing because you’re blushing,” you whine, burying your face in your hands, “what’s your issue?”

Eren squirms. “Nothing. What’s yours?”

You peek through your fingers. “Nothing.”

“Alright, good,” Eren clears his throat, “but you’d tell me if something’s wrong?”

“Of course I would.”

Eren nods with surety. You pivot on your heel, rushing towards the exit of the vineyard.

Eren hangs back a while, only until he remembers that he’s got to get moving. So, he ambles in your direction, watching your retreating figure meet the carpark. You squeeze into Mikasa’s arms as she hugs you close.

It’s no secret Eren’s head-over-heels in love with you.

Well, it’s no secret to him. The same can’t be said for you.

Eren believes he’s inconspicuous. He believes he's hiding his love for you under the guise that he’s just touchy-feely and expressive.

Sometimes, Eren’s certain you’re fucking with him. You reciprocate his gestures. You play with his hair and call him like a lovelorn teenager on the weekends you’re apart, unabashedly elongating your stolen stares with him from across the room. Sometimes, Eren thinks you love him just as much as he loves you.

... But the drive to the final venue is silent, and the air has shifted.

It’s the farthest one, stretching to the coast of Sonoma. The tension inside the car is tangible, and Eren’s Spotify mix does nothing to offset the strain.

Timber Cove Inn is the best venue out of all three... Eren thinks. He doesn’t know. He’s too busy stealing glimpses in your direction, sneaking them in before glancing away.

The air of Sonoma looks nice on you, Eren concludes. Wind-blown hair, sand-tattered feet, sun-kissed skin.

Eren stares at you as you idle around the banquet hall. His heart-shaped sunglasses are still perched on your head upon polishing off a cup of oolong tea, grinning with Vivienne as you gush about something he can’t perceive.

Eren’s heart cinches, and he feels love bursting at its seams. He has to make a conscious effort of looking away.

These next five months are going to prove a lot more difficult than he had originally prepared.

MONTH 3: SELECTING CATERERS.

Mikasa and Jean are busy choosing performers with Vivienne. By process of elimination, that leaves Eren with you. Eren, who sways on the soles of his sneakers, humming an off-key chorus under his breath.

You’re both waiting in the lobby of a restaurant that’s known for catering. It’s mellow and mellifluous, and in your sweater vest and baggy jeans, you stick out like a sore thumb. You cast a glance to Eren for respite, who happens to be mesmerised by the chandelier suspended above you both. 

He speaks without looking at you. “Something on my face?”

You’re going to retort, but before you can, a waiter is walking up and greeting you with a grin.

“You’re the engaged couple? That’s here for our catering samples–?”

“We’re actually their wedding planners,” you hurry, “we’re… we’re not the engaged couple.”

A look of recognition brightens his face. “Right! I remember the email mentioning you. I’m Isaac, I’ll be your host tonight. Kinda.”

Isaac winks at you and offers a hand, his skin soft against yours, fingers worming around your palm. When he pulls back, his smile marginally dissipates, and he outstretches his hand to Eren next.

As Eren reaches for it, he slants his wrist up in an angle that grants him most control in the handshake. He puffs his chest out and stands taller, and you roll your eyes as Eren’s grip tightens, the two men sharing a handshake that’s only likened to guys.

The restaurant is hued in soft oranges and blacks, shadows casting over the fountain in the centre. Light chatter emanates from every corner of the restaurant as Isaac leads you to a booth.

A live band in the corner plays blue-toned jazz as you slide into your seat, plucking at your dove-folded serviette.

Eren cheekily leans over the table, whispering under his breath. “We look like a couple, huh?”

You flash him a bright grin. “Couple’a’besties.”

Eren punches out a high-pitched whine just as Isaac returns to the table, two wooden boards balanced on each of his arms.

“Caprese crostinis,” he smirks, “with bocconcini and balsamic glaze,” he sets down the charcuterie boards, “and sweet potato slides complete with ramson cream and cress. I’ll go get the rest.”

Once Isaac slinks out of earshot, Eren tucks his serviette into the collar of his shirt, but soon rips it out, sheepishly copying your motions of refinedly laying it on his lap.

He rests his cheek against his palm. “I have no idea what any of these ingredients he just said are.”

You giggle, sipping on some seltzer. “Just pick whatever’s yummiest.”

You reach for the crostinis first, but your movement is forestalled by Eren, who snatches the one you were reaching for.

You twist your face, ready to pout up at him, but as you flicker your eyes up you see the crostini hovering in front of your face, held up by Eren’s fingers. You lean forward, snagging the food between your teeth. Eren holds his palm under your chin in case anything falls. He pushes forward the more you eat, all until you’ve consumed the last morsel, and Eren’s fingers meet your mouth, his thumb brushing away all crumbs from your bottom lip.

“Rate it,” he says.

“Seven, maybe.”

Eren raises a sceptic brow and stuffs his face with his own crostini. His cheeks bulge as he makes a show of chewing loudly, lips fashioned into a satisfied smile. “Nine.”

“Why not ten?”

Eren stares at you like it’s obvious. “You didn’t feed me.”

You roll your eyes but yield nonetheless, handing him a crostini that he eats out of the palm of your hand.

That’s how the better half of the evening progresses; you and Eren slanted over the table, tasting bits and pieces of sampled appetisers.

There’s seared scallops that Eren pulls out with a tiny fork, blowing aeroplane noises as he raises it to your lips. There’s snap pea sushi and summer rolls, both in which you swirl around Eren’s face each time he tries biting them off their skewers. Couscous poppers are served to you, too. Kindly, on a silver spoon that curls at its handle. 

You’re both hyper-aware of the patronising glares customers cast you, but honestly, you can’t bring yourself to care. They all wane into the background, fading into your blurry peripheral as Eren stuffs your face with falafel balls and tuna tartare.

As time went on, you and Eren narrowed down the choices of hors-d’oeuvres. Agreeing on marinated shrimp was easy enough, followed by the assortment of ricecakes. There was a tossup between gougères and miniature tacos, in which the two of you settled for the former. And between quinoa chips or chicken and waffles, you both decided on the latter.

Now, Eren’s leaning back in his seat, gazing at his cleared plate of portobello mushrooms with hungry eyes. You settled on that for the main course, gauging it as tasty enough to be served to sixty guests.

“Why aren’t they giving us sweets?” Eren sighs, licking sauce off his fingers.

“Because,” you hum, “there’s already that big-ass wedding cake.”

“No,” Eren groans, “I mean why aren’t they serving us any sweets?”

“You didn’t order any.”

“‘Cause their brownies are fucking expensive, it’s ridiculous.”

You raise an eyebrow, wary, because you know the gears are grinding in Eren’s head.

To play testament to that, he ducks forward, coiling his hands in a curling motion to beckon you forward. Once close, Eren begins to whisper.

“What dessert do you want?”

“I’m not paying fifty bucks for something I can get at Baskin Robbins.”

“No, choose something fancier,” he urges, “peach cobbler?”

“Okay…”

Eren takes a moment to look at you—really look at you—green eyes glimmering.

“Now, do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

Eren smiles, fang tooth catching the reflections of the restaurant's lighting. Then, he slides his ring off his index finger, slips out of the booth, and lowers to a knee.

“Eren–”

He keeps his eyes on you, grin splitting his cheeks. “Marry me?”

You dart your eyes around the restaurant, shrinking under the stares of patrons. When you turn back to Eren, you’re only able to make out the tail-end of the words flying from his mouth.

“... free dessert.”

It takes you a while to understand, but once you do, you’re perking up, sobbing out a dramatic yes! and throwing your arms around Eren’s neck, unable to distinguish the sudden cacophony of claps from the blood rushing to your ears.

Eren scarcely pulls back, just enough to swoon at the smile on your face. A giggle knells out of you, and in a rashly undertaken lapse of judgement, you’re leaning in, smooshing your lips against Eren’s mouth.

He tastes like feta and cilantro and salmon and he tastes like home.

He draws an arm around your wait, pulling you flush against his chest. Eren deepens the kiss by craning his neck forward, sliding his palm along the line of your jaw. His touch is warm and familiar, and you lean into it, legs ripening into jello as your knees begin to buckle.

It only lasts a second, but when Eren pulls away, he pulls along with him all of the air from your lungs. He rests his forehead against yours, sheepish and giggly as he takes gentle hold of your hand, gliding his ring onto your finger.

Congratulations’ from strangers rings out, and you’re suddenly reminded that you and Eren aren’t the only people in the world. Eren hides his blush within his seltzer, eyeing you over the rim of the glass.

The restaurant doesn’t even end up giving you free dessert.

Eren snorts at that, and once the final food orders for the wedding are confirmed with the caterers, you gather into Eren’s car, pulling into a parking lot of the nearest McDonald’s.

Now, you sit in the empty diner with a spread of food between you—three large fries, two cheeseburgers. 

You nudge him from under the table, seizing his attention. “Good?”

Eren nods, swallowing. He tells you it’s sweet. He wants to tell you it’s not nearly as sweet as you. Not nearly as sweet as the kiss you’d shared thirty minutes prior. The one you’re both seeming to gloss over.

You silently finish the rest of the food before taking your leave, driving back home.

The next time you speak, you’re parked in front of your apartment, girdled by the sound of cicadas. “I had fun today, but your mac ‘n cheese puts all their hors-d’oeuvre to shame.”

A beam breaks out on Eren’s face. “Yeah?”

You hum, slinking out of his car. “See you tomorrow?”

“We’ve gotta show the list to Jean and Mika, so yeah,” he shrugs.

You idly shuffle in place. You’re waiting for Eren to say something; Eren’s waiting for you to say something. You opt for a shy smile, worrying at your sweater vest.

“So, tomorrow?”

“You said that already, baby.”

You roll your eyes and shut the door, waving as you enter your apartment complex. Eren doesn’t drive off, not until you text him that you’ve made it home safely.

Eren’s greeted home by Armin lounging on the couch, curled in a swirl of blankets, hot cocoa cradled in his hands. Eren sits down alongside him, laying his head on Armin’s shoulder.

“Sex and the City?”

Armin nods and flickers his gaze towards Eren. Eren, whose eyelashes flutter dreamily, cheeks rosy and engorged by virtue of his cheshire smile.

Armin nudges his roommate “What’s got you so happy?”

Eren shrugs. “Can’t I enjoy spending time with my closest friend?”

Armin narrows his eyes. He knows better than to embarrass Eren, and as a look of love colours his face, Armin finds it’s not what’s got Eren so happy, but who. 

“Uh-huh,” Armin hums, knowingly smiling.

MONTH 4: SAVE-THE-DATES.

You think you’re in love with Eren Jaeger.

It’s not your fault. How could you have known? Eren has always felt like your home. He’s always been your home.

Eren’s always been your interlude; your respite; your best friend.

Well apparently, best friends don’t kiss. Or share longing glances. They don’t itch to have their hands on one another. Nor do they take each others’ virginities in the back of Connie’s 2019 Dodge Charger following the epilogue of their junior year in university.

You guess that—in some silly little way—it all means you and Eren aren’t best friends. That you haven’t been best friends in a long time.

You’re not sure when, but you know you ruined your friendship with Eren ages ago. And now comes the hard part. Now, comes the part where you must pretend you’re not entirely besotted with your “best friend”.

You hate him. You hate him because he’s making it so hard. With his stupidly large hands and his dumb smile that makes his eyes gleam gold.

Or maybe that’s just the glitter that garnishes his eyelashes. On his cheeks, his lips, freckled over his hair.

Eren’s gaze flickers up to you. “Something on my face?”

Your breath stifles, and your body works before your mind does; reaching out to sweep your thumb over Eren’s cheek, brushing away the silver and gold sparkles that wink at you beneath the kitchen light.

As you pull back, a wash of his saliva glosses your finger.

A raft of save-the-dates are spaced out in front of you and Eren. They’re thick with cardstock and coloured brown, rustic yet refined, decorated with dried flowers twined in ribbon. You did the calligraphy—because Eren can’t write in cursive for the life of him—while he punched out heart shapes in the corner of every card.

He wedges a Sharpie between his teeth, uncapping the marker. He hands it to you, and you repeat the process of your thirtieth card, halfway through the invites of sixty guests.

“Lemme do some,” Eren petulantly mumbles, squishing his cheek against the counter, “I wanna help.”

You push Eren’s bangs back, fanning them away from his face. “You’ve done enough.”

The space between you quietens, and you return to twirling coarse yarn around cardstock. But, you’re only able to sift through three more invites until the shutter of Eren’s camera kills the lull. He’s directing the lens towards you when you turn to him, squinting through the viewfinder.

“Eren.”

“You look pretty,” he burbles, “couldn’t resist.”

“You’re distracting me,” you grit, manually tearing your stare away from his aquamarine eyes; the ones that mirror celestial cities.

Eren cocks his head, lowering his camera. He leans over the kitchen island and inserts himself in your vision, biceps flexing, teeth charmingly flashing. “I’m a distraction to you?”

You glare at him over an invite. “Yes.”

“Let’s just take a break,” he whines, “we’ve been at this all day.”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“Exactly.”

You roll your eyes and brush the supplies aside. “If we take a break, will you leave me alone?”

“Cross my heart,” Eren simpers, shaking glitter out of his hair.

That promise brings you to the couch in your living room. Eren’s on top of you, breath fanning your face, the aura he exudes causing ice to crawl up your spine. You relapse into helplessness and keep your eyes frozen on the ceiling because you don’t know what the fuck to do.

“Don’t move,” Eren rasps, “you’ll get glitter everywhere.”

You couldn’t move—not even if you wanted to. Eren’s above you, sprinkling sparkles around the crown of your head, caging you beneath him.

When he’s finished, Eren pulls back and admires his work.

Eren wants to tell you that he had the easy part; that the real credit goes to you, harmoniously heavenly beneath him. But Eren doesn’t have a way with words, so with a thrashing heart, he hooks his lips in a smile, clearing his throat.

Eren reigns above you and pulls his camera to his face. And just as he centres you in the viewfinder, his heart, and his world, he skirts a hand over your torso, tickling a laugh out of you.

The camera clicks just as you snort and swat his hand away, cavilling his name.

“I needed your smile for the photo,” he lamely defends.

“You could’ve asked.”

Eren non-sequentially shrugs, reaching out to toy with a curl of your hair. “I needed your real smile for the photo.”

“Rookie move, ‘Rennie,” you grin—genuinely grin—“my smile’s always real when I’m with you.”

Eren’s smirk marginally falters, and currently, you don’t have the bandwidth to read through your regular is-this-what-friends-do internal monologue. His eyelids are heavy and his breathing is straggled, camera dangling from his neck and sitting on your chest. His hand sinks into the cushion beside your head, forearm flexing.

You shift onto your elbows, peering through your eyelashes at Eren. He stares down his nose at you, a near pained look etched upon his face. His virtues are always acute and carven, always reeling the edge of—as Zeke likes to put it—a resting bitch face, but when confronted by you, you make Eren’s features melt into softness and fondness and all things tender. Just like how he disarms your ribs and seizes your heart.

“Get on your back,” your voice shakes as you murmur, “it’s my turn.”

Eren sees no point in your whispering. After all, it’s just the two of you in your apartment, but the sentiment tugs at his heart, nonetheless. It’s the fact that in the heart of San Francisco, nestled on your l-shaped sofa, your words are meant for him. The stare you seize him with is only made for him; the tone in which you serenade him is solely meant for him.

Eren lifts himself off of you and sinks onto his back. He unburdens himself by slipping off his camera, placing it in your hands. You roll on top of him, knees bracketing his torso and sinking into the sofa. Eren’s stapled to the couch now, chinched between your thighs.

His hands find your hips—partially on top of your Nike shorts, partially on the suppleness of your bare skin. The fleece of your shorts tautly stretches as you bend your legs, leaning over to graze your fingers through Eren’s odd-angled tufts of hair. 

He clasps your hips, kneads the flesh of your thighs, and slides his hold to the small of your back, pressing you down on his waist.

You yield to Eren’s guidance and seat yourself on his groin, bringing the viewfinder to your eyes. 

Eren’s hair—an umber halo around his head—curls into his eyelashes and flares against the pillow he lies on. His bronzed skin turns into a dark tan under the feeble lighting and under the camera lens. His lips—soft and Jolly Rancher-stained—cleave as he hums a quiet mantra under his breath.

His green eyes seem to shift into overdrive, already adopting a fucked-out mien. There’s an undercurrent of raptorial flush in his gaze… but maybe that’s just the camera's sensor sensitivity.

“You know you– you’ve still got that same effect on me,” Eren purrs.

You press your thumb on the shutter. Your perspiration smears around the mutton. The little click rings out, complementing the chime of Eren’s breathy chuckles.

“Oh?” Another photo, “What effect?”

“From junior year,” he laughs, it's charming but it’s strained, “when we fucked in Connie’s car.”

You squeeze your eyes, gnawing down on your lip. “You’re thinking of that as I’m sitting on your dick?”

“I think about it…” Eren spits a punched-out wheeze, “I think about it lots. More than I should, probably.”

“Why’s that?” You goad.

“Because you’re my best friend.”

Eren huffs out a laugh, and it seems to require effort—there’s you on top of him, there’s his hands on your waist, and his worn-out senses.

You roll your hips—adjusting yourself on top of him—which generates a guttural groan from the depths of his throat. Eren throws his head back, baring his neck to your hungry eyes and the prying camera and the sweltering heat of your living room.

Eren loses control of his waist as he fervently humps up into you, guiding your hips over his thickening cock. It’s impossible not to notice the heavy weight that swells from his sweatpants. It kicks you into excitement; he’s hard. Eren is so fucking hard.

You grind yourself down on him; hips rolling, cunt dragging over his cock. It curves into your clit, sparking for a kindling friction in the pits of your navel.

A whine bubbles from Eren’s throat. He beseeches you with his eyes and flatters you as he slips his bottom lip between his teeth. “Can you ki– can you kiss me? Can you please–”

You vigorously nod and feed into Eren’s warmth as he tugs you close by the sling of his camera, coaxing your mouth open with the slide of his tongue. Your teeth clink, lips slipping over the other in a salacious share of spit.

His body overheats, saliva dribbling from his mouth. He can feel the fat head of his cock drooling with pearls of precum, his arousal matting to his boxer-briefs and sieving through its froth. You weave your fingers in his hair and fist his head back so his neck is exposed—thumping with a wayward pulse, bobbing with an erratic Adam’s apple.

You suck hickeys onto Eren’s jaw, practically making out with his neck. He’s sensitive beneath you—quivering yet pliant to your teeth that sink into his sheeny collarbones. His v-line flexes and tremors. 

You swivel your hips over his dick, and Eren’s cock twitches, slipping between the folds of your pussy. It defies the restraints of your clothing; pressing into the fat of your cunt, rubbing onto your clit.

You rock yourself back-and-forth as your panties cling to your dewy pussy, your slick smearing around your upper thighs. You can smell the yearning in the air—you can sense it in each nerve-ending and every erect hair on the back of your neck.

The sentiment of carnal desire is palpable. It seduces you into a faster pace—an uncontrolled rush of your hips—and wheedles soft wails from your shallow lungs.

“I wanna cum,” Eren pants, digging divots into your skin.

“You wanna?” You sneer, bracing yourself with your hands atop his chest, “You think I should let you?”

A blanket of sweat swathes Eren’s skin, and it dawns on him that he is the paragon of a predator-turned-prey as he turns to putty under your hold, under your cunt, and under your heavy-lidded gaze.

“Please,” he babbles, “I can’t h– take it.”

Eren ruts his cock into you, lolls his head to the side, and shudders with a sob. 

You smooth your thumb against his mouth to wedge his lips open. You slide your finger on his tongue, rolling it into the inside of his cheek.

Eren sucks your thumb and twirls his tongue around your finger; eyes pinched shut, hips greedily thrusting against your cunt. His spine coils, and his face twists into pleasure. 

When Eren cums, he’s whiney. He mewls and moans and exhales and groans. His whines ripen into sniffles and cries as he kittens his nose into your palm and prattles against your skin, warbling for forgiveness.

It’s comical because as he apologises, the strokes of his hips don’t cease. Eren continues aiding himself through his orgasm, still dry humping you. His hard dick pulses, hugged by your warm and soft pussy, throbbing as it slavers with shoots of thick cum.

He stutters to a stop, face burning because he can’t believe he just came his pants. Because you made him come in his pants.

“Good boy,” you praise, and Eren’s too fucked-out to register you snapping another photo.

You bend down and charm him with your lips. Eren completes the kiss, mouth rippling against yours, chin lifted to lure you closer.

You rest your foreheads against each other when you break apart, breaths mingling between you.

Eren huffs out a laugh, gliding his palms down your back. He purrs into the threshold of your lips. “Just what are you doing to me?”

“What’re you on about?” You tease.

Eren pouts, scrunching his eyebrows. He does things to you. He makes you feel things—scary things—he carves out holes in your heart and refills the craters all the same.

You back away, sliding off of him. You cross your arms and stand up.

Eren sits up on his elbows. “Where’re you going?” 

“We have to finish the save-the-dates,” you mumble.

“What about you?” Eren reaches out, hand skimming your arm, “You didn’t–”

“That’s okay.”

“But I wanna make you feel good, too,” he whispers. Eren stares at you with puppy-eyes and pink lips.

You awkwardly pat his head. “Later.”

“Later?”

“Another time,” you sigh, “promise.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

Eren owlishly blinks. You pivot on your heel and stalk towards the kitchen. Your chest feels heavy but your head feels light. An inverted type of conflict sinks in your belly.

Best friends don’t give each other orgasms.

MONTH 5: SPEECH WRITING.

In retrospect, choosing a café in which to brainstorm your wedding speeches may not have been the best idea.

There’s the overlapping chatter; tolls of the entrance bell; the purling sound of pouring coffee, and the occasional screech of silverware against saucers.

But in your defence, all these things tower the idea of being alone with Eren.

Your night on the cough last month has reared its ugly head, manifesting itself as an unspoken shift between you.

While out for hotpot with friends, you sit separately. When bowling, you don’t have him velcro your shoes and you don’t sit on his lap. You don’t promptly show up at his door during the height of twilight for another The Lord of the Rings rerun, and you don’t wrap your arms around his torso as he quarters grilled cheese.

Your friends have already paid heed to the sudden change, too. Sasha was the first to ask, followed by Colt, and then the rest.

The perception of your friends set you on edge. Are you and Eren really so inseparable? So much so, that when there’s a rift dividing you, it is more than overtly obvious? 

“Is it yummy?”

Eren knocks you out of your reverie. He has a real affinity for that, you realise.

“Hah?”

He uses his chin to point to your drink. “Your boba.”

“It’s nice,” you say.

“It’s been paused halfway up your straw for five minutes.”

You make an obnoxious show of slurping your refreshment, rolling your eyes. “It’s nice.”

“Can I try?”

You nudge the cup in his direction, pushing it past notepads and crumpled sheets of paper and uncapped pens.

Eren reciprocates by offering you his drink, too, and curls his lips around your straw. His eyebrows pucker as he tries to cheek a tapioca pearl lodged towards the bottom of your cup.

Eren pulls the straw from his mouth once he’s sated, licking away the glaze of almond bubble tea that laminates his bottom lip.

You slide his drink back in front of him. “Verdict?”

“Tastes like almonds.”

You snort. “But do I get the Jaeger stamp of approval?”

Eren chucks you a cheeky grin. “Platinum.”

“How courteous of you,” you sarcastically marvel.

A smile tugs at Eren’s lips before he stretches his arm across the table, wordlessly asking for your arm. You place your wrist in his hand, providing him a canvas in which he begins to doodle on.

And, it’s now—as Eren’s tongue pokes into his cheek, his pen drawing hearts on your skin—are you gravely confronted with the weight of your relationship.

Just last month did you spiral into a wasteland of rumination and ruefulness. You reamed yourself as you recalled how you coalesced into Eren, how he coalesced into you, and how you coalesced into each other.

Eren wrests you from your internal thoughts when he pulls away. “Tell me how this sounds,” he says, reciting the rough draft of his best man speech.

Honestly, it all goes in one ear and out the other. You focus on his lips; soft and plump and alluring as they wrap soundlessly around words you don’t have the energy to understand.

He curls his tongue out of his mouth when he’s finished, a gentle sheen of saliva coating his lips.

“So? Does it sound basic?” Eren asks, “I don’t want it to seem like I got it from, like… BuzzFeed, or something. Because I didn’t.”

You inhale a mouthful of boba, subsequently saving yourself from saying anything stupid. “I think it’s good.”

“Read me yours.”

You do—after reminding him it’s just a very rough draft. Your speech is the stuff of jokes and enlightenment. How you had encouraged Mikasa to go on that first date with Jean; how you threatened to beat his ass after he was a no-show; and how you swooned upon finding out the reason he didn’t show up. Which was finding a three-legged cat on the highway and driving it to the vet.

You talk of how they complement each other. How they’re each other’s halves, each other’s purposes, each other’s muses. You talk with spunk and passion, eyes glossed over in—what Eren knows—is yearning. He’s seen it in the mirror enough times to recognise it.

Eren has long since mastered the art of masking his emotions. He watches you politely, but as your eyes flit down, he slips a quick peek at your lips, lapsing into awe as it rings around words like love.

If he believes hard enough, Eren can imagine your words are meant for him.

He startles when you glance at him over your notebook. “Too short?”

“Perfect.”

“You can’t say that to everything I do,” you groan, “you’re too biassed.”

“If the shoe fits…” he trails off.

You chuck a napkin in his direction, and Eren retaliates by nudging his shoe against yours.

“Help me,” he whines, “I dunno what else to write. I already have how Jean turned Mika into a better person. That’s good, right?”

“I never knew Mikasa before Jean,” you shrug.

“Well it’s true.” 

“What is?”

“That people turn into better people when they’re in love.”

You blink. Eren blinks.

“Okay, Romeo,” you mumble, your bubble tea swallowing the tail-end of your sentence.

“I’m just not good with words.”

“You’re stressing too much over this,” you coast out of the booth, round the table, and slide yourself next to Eren, “let’s outline.”

You’re almost reeling off the edge of the seat with how you keep your distance from Eren. Eren, who’s curled into the window on his side of the seat, dissolved into a hunch.

You tentatively extend a hand, picking Eren’s pen from his fist. He unfurls it, making it easier for you, and brushes your hand with his as you pull away. You dare not flicker your gaze up, as you know your eyes will betray your emotions.

You force your focus to the notebook before you, scribbling down a list of bullet-points.

relationship w mika pre-jean

how they met

how he helped her grow into who she is today

the changes u see in mika

throw in some jokes - none of ur corny knock-knock ones

“You like my jokes,” Eren defends.

You glance up, half-expecting him to still be huddled in his arch. But as you crane your neck up, you’re left momentarily stupefied to see how close he’d gotten.

His lashes flutter as they press into his cheeks. Lush. Tantalising.

Eren’s heart sputters to a stop, and his eyes reflect that sentiment as they go flickering down to your lips.

“Don’t you?” He ventures, “You like a lot of things about me.”

“Your jokes are idiotic,” you awkwardly try to diffuse, “I’m saving you the embarrassment for when nobody laughs.”

Eren’s face ripens into determination as he steals his pen back, scribbling into his notebook.

His writing is sloppy—especially when he falls into a spell and enters the zone. He writes of how Mikasa would gush about Jean after their dates, how she’d stress over which pastries to bake him, and how she knew exactly how to put a smile on his face.

“Mika knows him really well,” he says, tongue prodding his cheek, “just like I know you really well.”

You roll your eyes. “You know people really well, Eren. You're a harlot.”

“Actually, I haven’t looked at anyone else since our night in Connie’s car,” Eren says matter-of-factly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Just you,” he shrugs, “I’ve forgotten what men and women look like, to be honest.”

You loll your head onto his shoulder, unceremoniously snorting. “You’re such a dweeb, y’know?”

“Your favourite dweeb,” Eren teases.

You lift your head—not enough to be denuded of his warmth—but enough to fall into his gaze.

Eren folds his lips, preening under your stare.

“Say something,” he tacks on, “don’t make it awkward.”

“What would I even say?” You retort.

“Anything,” he shrugs, “there’s a lot we have to talk about.”

Eren smirks—falteringly, timidly—and it triggers an itch from the recesses of your brain. From those groves materialise the urge to nurture and care for him.

“Like?”

Eren doesn’t answer. Not with words, at least. He takes his forefinger and his middle finger, shaping them onto the inside of your wrist.

“Your pulse,” he slowly states, “it’s racing.”

You recoil, jerking your hand away from Eren’s smouldering touch. You doctor your wrist even though it doesn’t hurt, soothing a free hand over the lingering sensation of Eren’s fingers.

“That’s not how you do it,” you say, voice fluctuating, “you’re meant to put your fingers at the base of the thumb.”

“Yeah?”

“Annie told me,” you mutter.

“Well, maybe I could try–” Eren lets his words subdue, completing his sentence in movements as he skirts his hand along your jaw, pressing his fingers beside your windpipe.

You both stay like that for a while—fifteen seconds to anyone who may be watching—but an entire lifetime to you. He stares at you and you revert your eyes to your boba, refusing to acknowledge the heat that crawls up your cheeks.

Then, Eren withdraws his hand. “Forty-two.”

“What–?”

“Forty-two times four, about 170,” Eren mischievously hums, “beats per minute. I’m pretty sure. If what nurse Armin told me is right.”

You knit your brows when Eren leans forward, eyeing you through the web of his lashes.

“Do I make you nervous?”

His wry smirk turns into a wolfish grin. His gaze—teasing—peeks at you from the corners of his eyes. 

Eren’s coy about his feelings; his words are playful but his cheeks are red.

He takes a sip of his drink, and a dribble of spicy mango boba goes pearling down his bottom lip.

Your chest hurts. Your heart flutters. His chest hurts. His heart flutters. 

Eren dashes his tongue out, licking clean the last dregs of his drink. “The same way I distract you, do I make you nervous?”

Despite how he always prompts butterflies in your stomach, you know your answer. “No.”

“Annoy you?”

“Sometimes.”

“And you don’t get tired of me?”

“How can I?” You say. “You’re my guava cake.”

Eren snickers. “Y’know, Mikasa is Jean’s mille-feuilles.”

“It’s pronounced mille-feuilles, Eren, the s is silent.”

He thins his lips in embarrassment, eyebrows cutely puckering. “Same difference.”

You edge towards him, your shoulders butting in the centre. “You can add that.”

“That Mikasa’s Jean’s mille-feui– that thing you said?”

“It’s cute,” you shrug, “like an inside joke between the four of us.”

“How gross,” Eren comically gags, “they’re really, like, in love, or whatever.”

“Yeah,” you say, tipping into his side, head resting on his shoulder. He tenses but it’s only fleeting, and the feeling of butterflies fulminates in your belly as he slackens into your warmth.

“They’re good for each other though, huh?” You hum.

Eren’s writing is thwarted. He turns to you; lips loured, face flustered. He looks at you. Eren truly looks at you.

“She makes him the happiest person in the world,” he purls.

A thick blanket of silence swaddles you both. It’s charged; it’s pointed; it’s loaded. Most importantly, it’s transient, because by the next second, a waitress approaches the table. She sets down two ramekins of crème brûlée. 

You bite your lip. “He makes her feel like she’s the only girl in the universe.”

And then, Eren smiles. And then, you smile. And then you whip your heads towards your notepads. And then, the moment is gone.

MONTH 6: BACHELOR(ETTE) PARTIES.

You tilt your head back, the last lees of your champagne gliding down your throat. You set the glass down and, immediately, are offered another drink by staff.

She passionately recommends alcohol they serve—limoncello prosecco; saffron fleurtation; tequila sunrise. She lists them off, and you nod along as if you understand (you don’t).

You’re certain that if Eren were here, he’d whisper in your ear how snobby these people are when it comes to alcohol, and how he could get the same amount of drunk for $10 worth of shots at the hole-in-the-wall pub nestled near Colt’s apartment.

The staff clears her throat, awaiting your answer. You settle on a pomegranate sparkler. Her smile tightens, but she pivots, “off to fetch your order,” she says.

You redirect your focus to the flower vase that sits in the centre of your circle. It’s a Baccarat antique—curated and detailed—and out of it spouts a blooming bouquet. 

The glassed-in gazebo you’re seated inside of allows cascades of sunlight to sheen over your canvas, and the cacophony of colours that paint it. The air of spring percolates through the windows and doors, the honeyed scent of nature whirling through the room in a mix of eucalyptus garlands and bergamot.

While Jean and the boys are off doing God knows that, Mikasa opted to have a lowkey bachelorette party. Thus, the afternoon has been rife with wine tasting and painting classes.

“There’s only so many synonyms for yummy,” Sasha hisses, “how’re we meant to compliment wine?”

“Nobody’s here to actually rate wine,” Ymir drawls, swirling her glass, “we’re just here to drink.”

“I heard that winemakers don’t like when people chug their drinks,” Mikasa hums, drifting her paintbrush along the lip of her canvas, “it offends their craft, something like that.”

“Really?” Sasha gapes, “Niccolo’s the opposite. He loves when I gobble his food.”

“That’s cause he’s in love with you, dummy,” Pieck giggles, “Bert tried snarfing down his soufflé and Niccolo threw a towel at him.”

Your friends fall into a bicker over the intricacies of high-skill food, and in the midst of their squabble, Mikasa digs her chin into your elbow, smiling at your artwork.

“You never told me you had such a knack for painting.”

“Because I don’t,” you snort, “not really, at least.”

Your rendition of the flower vase isn’t terrible. It doesn’t scream beginner, but doesn’t drip of Basquiat-level adeptness, either. Mikasa’s painting is like her; abstruse and unique. She adopted an abstract style, the shapes jarring and the colours contrasted.

Mikasa follows your gaze, easing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m thinking of gifting it to Jean.”

“He’ll love it,” you say without thinking.

“Yeah? Our apartment’s kinda drab right now, it’ll look good in our room, or something,” her eyes slowly slink towards you, “are you gonna give yours to anyone?”

You purse your lips, cheeks soaking up the flavour of your wine.

“No…” you drawl, “who would I give it to?”

Mikasa’s quiet for a second, silently seeming to catalogue the look on your face.

“Red chrysanthemums symbolise love,” she shrugs, “tulips represent perfection, orchids mean refinement.”

You nod and divert your gaze, sticking it on your canvas that glistens in the sunshine. “Interesting.”

Mikasa’s eyes surge lower, down to Eren’s ring that you twirl around your finger.

Something flits over her countenance—something that remains unseen by you, as she hides her face behind the rim of her glass, polishing off her sangria wine.

Mikasa clears her throat. “Why are you wea–”

The waitress returns, setting your sparkler down beside you. You take a swig, saving yourself from saying anything more. Placing the glass back down, you brush the back of your hand against your chin.

“What was that?” You ask, glancing at Mikasa.

“Nothing,” she smiles.

You nod; she nods; and you both turn back to your canvases

—

On the other side of town Eren crawls on his stomach. Night-vision goggles assured on his face, a gun cradled in his hands.

He rises to his feet, bends at his knees, and hides behind a bollard. He slides his back against the plastic, expertly peeking over the post with unrivalled finesse. 

He fishes his necklace out of his pocket. It’s in the element of replicating a dogtag—not of similar shape, but holding the same sentiment. Ingrained in the silver chain is your Steam tag—a little unorthodox, sure, but matching the Genshin Impact UID of his that’s entrenched into your golden anklet.

He presses the cool jewellery to his lips, gloating over the moment’s respite it bears him in the midst of chaos. His mind drifts to you, your homemade paellas, your twinkling laughter. He skates the necklace back into his pants, pulling the gun towards his chest. Eren tells himself he must win. For you, for bragging rights, and for the opportunity to see the crushing look of defeat on Reiner’s face–

Beeeeeeep.

Eren’s kicked from his internal narration at the depleting sound of his chestplate. He looks down, then looks to the cause of his demise.

“Connie!” Eren throws his arms up in the air, whining as he slaps them back down to his sides, “What the fuck, man? We’re on the same team!”

The aforementioned boy slaps a hand over his mouth and scurries towards Eren. They take cover behind the bollard, Connie’s hands flattened to Eren’s chest as if to put pressure on an imaginary wound. Connie cups Eren’s cheek with a shaking hand.

“Shoot me,” Connie warbles, “an eye for an eye.”

“Idiot,” Eren growls, “go win.”

“Shall I?”

Eren coughs up a hacking sound. “An eye for an eye and the world goes blind.”

“I will avenge you,” Connie grits his teeth, sliding his palm against Eren’s nape, “and I’ll take care of your woman. Put your faith in me–”

This time, the moment is cleaved by the sapping sound of Connie’s chestplate. The teammates look over to Jean, who wields his glow-in-the-dark gun towards them, a stupid grin splitting his cheeks.

“We had a truce, Jean!”

“Sorry, Con,” Jean smirks, “you were the last one on team blue.”

Connie huffs in a petulant display of attitude. He holds his hand out, helping Eren to his feet.

“You’re lucky you got Braun on your team,” sulks Connie, “he carried.”

Right then, Reiner rounds the corner, chestplate bulging from the solidity of his chest. “What about me?” He grunts.

Connie puckers his lips, shaking his head. “Nothing, dude. It’s nothing.”

“You guys fuckin’ destroyed me,” Colt laughs, scratching the back of his head, “I was already out. You didn’t have to keep shooting me.”

“My bad,” Reiner heartily chuckles, nearly knocking Colt over as he slaps him on the back, “I thought you were one of the actors.”

While his friends are occupied, Eren shuffles to the side to seize the moment. He fishes out his phone and pulls up your texts, a smile gracing his features as he types out a greeting.

eren: hey stinka

you: hi stinky. Wyd

eren: wishing u were here :(

you: i miss u too you: are you drunk?

eren: can i not be sentimental?

you: send mea selfie <2

eren: y

you: bc i miss your stupid face and this place is pretentious

Eren huffs out a laugh, pulling his camera up and posing for his phone. You get a string of texts the next minute—a chain of photos of Eren, all blurry and foggy, taken by shaking hands.

you: and you call yourself a photographer?

eren: -_-

The next pictures you get are a series of clearer ones. Eren sports a peace sign, mouth wide open and fang teeth on display as he pretends to take a bite out of the air.

you: uwu you: my pretty boy

The air conditioning and his blush take turns nipping at Eren’s cheeks. He turns down the brightness of his phone, hunching his shoulders in case Armin decides to be particularly nosey (as he always is.)

eren: send me one of you

you: wait

Eren rocks on his feet, dragging the soles of his shoes against the carpet. His friends are getting ready to leave.

The ping of his phone chimes out, and the device almost gets thrown out of his hold from the speed in which he unlocks it. Eren locates his pinned messages, and the boisterous laughter of his friends seems to fade into nothing.

There’s just you, poised before a restroom mirror, your body swathed in mulberry satin. Your halter dress reches your mid-thighs, crepe and soft as it flutters over your skin. 

Eren wishes to tell you that you are gilded and aureate—an enigma that has enraptured him wholly. His mind, his body, his soul. He wants to say you are the catalyst of all his becomings.

But, Eren doesn’t have a way with words. So he bites his fist, shakes off his enchantment, and types out the first thing that comes to mind.

eren: just slapped my dick on the screen

you: LMFAOOOOOO I HATE U. you: (affectionately) 

eren: uwu eren: how close are u to home

you: 15 mins

eren: ur going home soon?

you: riding with annie :P

eren: go home

you: that’s the plan….

eren: no i mean now

you: …. Why jaeger

eren: i wanna see you now eren: i wanna talk u now eren: and hear you

Where you are, you stand in the centre of the estate’s restroom, rubbing your legs together. Your eyes cut from your phone to Annie, who’s leaning over the sink and applying lip tint.

“Ready to go?” She hums, “We all agreed to head home at this time.”

“Yeah,” you nod, shifting under her gaze.

Annie quirks an eyebrow. “C’mon, let’s say bye, then. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day for everyone.”

While you surge out of the restroom and bid your see you later’s, Eren, on the other side of the city, is pulling his friends in for hugs and clapping Jean on the back.

As he slides into his car, you pile into Annie’s vehicle, tugging on the hem of your dress to keep your hands busy.

Eren drums his fingers over his steering wheel, lukewarm towards the gossip Armin spews from the passenger seat. You rest your head against Annie’s window, peering out at the city lights that thrum past your vision.

You duck out of Annie’s car and wave at her as she parks in front of your condo. Eren loops his keyring around his forefinger, spinning it as he eases into his apartment’s parking unit.

While you’re settling into a corner of the elevator, Eren’s bounding up the stairs with a pep in his step.

You trifle with your lanyard as you fish it from your purse, keys chiming a loud peal in the empty hallway. As you shove your keys into the lock, Eren enters his code into his apartment door.

He stumbles inside his apartment as you stumble into yours. You haul your phone out of your purse as it vibrates, the screen flashing with Eren’s contact.

You accept the call with bated breath, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your cheek as you scurry into your bedroom.

“Hey there, baby,” Eren says. His voice is mellow and tipsy—not off alcohol, but in a way so rheumy, you can picture the bleary sheen of his eyes.

You bite down on your cheek, suppressing a chuckle. “Hi.”

Eren, on the other hand, freely lets a giggle slip. His mouth is so close to the phone that the sound scruffs against the receiver. “Hi.”

“Hey,” you rasp, sprawling yourself out on your bed which, you now realise, feels starkly empty.

“Saw your Instagram stories,” he starts, “and the pic you sent. You look really pretty.”

You roll onto your belly, kicking your feet behind you. “I’m still wearing the dress.”

“You haven’t changed?”

Your voice dips lower as you answer, “No.”

“What a coincidence,” Eren laughs.

“Oh?” You toy with your skirt, “You don’t say.”

Eren hums. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

You flop onto your back, skating a palm down your chest. “Oh, totally.”

You’re quiet for some time, and the next thing to caulk the silence is Eren’s sweet voice.

“Can you FaceTime?”

“I was just about to get changed, ‘Ren.”

“... Alright.”

“Why?” You croon, “You wanna watch?”

Your words—while teasing—reel the edge of grave sincerity. It’s clear you’re testing the waters, highly-strung yet giddy as you catalogue Eren’s breath through the speaker.

The response you get is the call disconnecting. Your eyes widen, but before the next second, an incoming call flares over your screen. This time, it’s accompanied with the live image of you, aureoled by your sweat-saturated hair and clammy makeup.

Sitting up so fast, you’re welted with a dizzy spell. You make quick work of taming your hair and fixing your lip oil, using your phone as a makeshift mirror before accepting the call.

Eren’s face stretches across your phone screen. He’s leaning back on his myriad of plushies and pillows, mischief colouring his face. “Hey, you.”

He’s wearing his clothes from earlier, just as he’d said. A silken button-up tinted rose gold; sleeves rolled over his veiny forearms, collar folded, first few buttons undone.

You chortle into your palm. “You wore that to Jean’s bachelor party?”

Eren frowns, looking down at his outfit. His chest expands against the canopy of his blouse, the gilt material slipping and glimmering in contrast to his brown skin.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” you giggle, “you look like a harlot.”

Eren steadily smirks, huffing out an amused laugh. “Yeah, well, a hoe never gets cold.”

“Where’d you guys go?” You roll onto your side, deciding to poke fun at him, “Strip club?”

“You serious?” Eren’s eyes bulge wide, “We’re loyal men. We went to laser tag.”

“So… you’re a laser-shooting harlot.”

He casts you a wink. Once again, it’s awkward. It’s entirely embarrassing (then again, when is he not), but so outrageously endearing that you can’t help the grin that brightens your face.

“You’re a wet dog, y’know?” You say.

Eren scoffs. “Rude.”

“Calling to see me change?” You tut-tut and shake your head, “You’re dirty.”

“Well… are you?” Eren ventures.

“Am I?”

“... Gonna change.”

Laying on your stomach, you stretch yourself out on your bed, sliding your arms in front of you before propping your phone up with slothful hands. Half of your face sinks into the plush of your duvet, the other half peeing up at Eren in a teasing manner.

“Depends,” you coyly say, “you alone?”

Thankfully, Eren takes the bait. You aren’t sly—and Eren knows what you’re doing—but with his growing arousal, he can’t bring himself to care that you’re meant to be best friends anymore.

He rises, camera shaking with how quickly he closes in on his bedroom door. Eren swings it shut and locks it, leaning into his pillows as he crawls back onto his bed.

“Just us?” You ask.

“Just us two,” he beams, “always.”

Eren lolls his back against the headboard, phone resting atop his denim-clad thighs and held up with his ring-garlanded hand.

The angle has you dazed. It’s as if you’re on your knees for him—yielding and forthcoming between his legs. Eren tilts his head to the side, surveilling you through heavy-lidded eyes and the thick frame of his lashes. The shine of his chest peers at you, his glossy shirt tugged down as he cards his free hand through his hair.

His mane falls perfectly over his head, hair mounting his eyebrows and curling behind his ears. The lamp in the corner of his room radiates a soft and orange smoulder, the shadows that issue from it pooling in the dip of his cupid’s bow.

“You wanted to see me?” You ask.

Eren nods. 

You kiss your teeth. “No manners?”

“Please,” he begs.

You grin wickedly, pulling back and propping your phone against your pillow. You slide your halter-collar over your head, pushing your dress down your body.

In only your brassiere and panties, the air conditioning slaps at your bare skin—and you would shiver—if not for the molten that crawls up your spine, pin-balling beneath your skin.

Eren sheds his shirt, the light grooves of his lithe chest now fully exposed. You lick your lips at the sound of his fly unzipping, the ring penetrating through the air, piercing your lungs. He shoves his jeans over his thighs and twists them off his ankles.

Eren’s cock is salient under the strain of his boxer-briefs, semi-hard and pressing against the material.

You expel a soft curse and cup your breast, squeezing yourself through the froth of your bra. Eren begins palming himself in slow, languid circles. His eyelids droop, his lips part, and he flutters in need.

“Do you– wanna take off your bra?” Eren pants.

“Do you wanna take off your briefs?” You retort, unclasping the hook of your bra.

The nylon falls, and with it, falls your breasts. You steady them with your forearm, pushing them towards the camera.

“Fuck,” Eren gasps, “you’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

He lets little oh's and ah's slip as he tugs down his boxers, freeing his thickening dick that slips out and smacks his chest.

Beads of precum rivulet down Eren’s chest, and his cock dumbly nods as he snakes his hand lower, kneading his balls.

The camera shakes as you arch your back. “‘M taking my panties off,” you huff.

Your phone glides lower, down to capture the mound of your pussy laced by your panties. You wiggle your hips to tug down your undergarment, and strings of your arousal cling from your pussy lips to the crotch of your panties.

You carelessly chuck them to a random corner of your room. You ghost a finger over the slit of your pussy, collecting arousal and tracing it around your clit.

“Ah– your nails,” Eren exclaims, “they’re so cute!”

You enter a breathy fit of laughter—the pads of your fingers still swirling your swelling and sensitive bud, the length of your fingers still sliding between the wet fat of your cunt.

“Thanks,” you pant, “we got them done this afternoon.”

Eren lazily smirks, rolling his head back. “Can’t wait to see ‘em wrapped ‘round my cock, baby.”

You fixate your gaze on Eren’s dick, how it slips in his hand. He’s gorgeous—sublimely thick and salaciously curved—pink and heavy with a bulbous tip and plump balls.

Eren tightly groans, cock jumping in his fist. You pinch your clit but soothe the burn as you billiard a finger over the bud, crying out in pleasure.

“I wanna fuck you open, baby,” Eren shudders with a whine, “fuck, so bad, so bad–”

He throws his head back as he beats his dick, grip tightening at the sound of your sweet moans and the charm of his name bowling off your tongue. His chest ebbs and flows. His lips wrap around your name in soundless yearning.

His cock pulses in his slick grip, his eyes gloss over with an off-white tint, his lips pop open.

Your face flutters with the tide of pleasure. You writhe under Eren’s stare, his gaze fencing you in place.

Your legs shake, your pussy puffy and split as you sink two fingers into your hole. You’re still wearing Eren’s ring. It sends a chill up your spine, your back arching at the cold brass that rolls over your clit. At this point, you don’t even have the energy to keep your head steady. You let it flop down, ears keen on the wet click of Eren’s dick as he drags his hand over his cock.

“Look how hard you got me,” Eren’s voice filters through the receiver.

Your head just barely balances on your shoulders as you force it back up. You begin nodding off as you circle your clit, pussy wet and pupils dilated as you watch Eren fuck his fist.

His hips rise and fall in choppy fevour, bedsprings wailing beneath him. He tells you he’s close. You tell him you need a little longer, but as Eren’s abdomen begins flexing, his strokes turning sloppy and losing control, cum spouts from his cock and paints his chest. He fucks himself through his orgasm, heedless towards the arousal dripping down his fingers.

The sight utterly melts you. From the inside, out. You imagine him cumming inside of you, your ass pulled flush against his pelvis, cock stuffed so far inside of you that his cum fills your tummy and warms the grooves of your heart.

Your orgasm weighs down your eyelids. You fight to keep them open, but pleasure unfurls upon you like a silken spill-wave.

Your clit pulses and your legs tremble. You fall slack on your bed, slick running down your ass and pooling over your sheets.

The lull of carnal air gets pierced by Eren’s mousy giggle. You open your eyes, heartbeat simmering at his beaming smile.

You brush your hair out of your face, batting your sleepy eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs, “I can’t smile at my best friend?”

“Best friend,” you parrot. It doesn’t bother you like it used to. The term spins off Eren’s tongue with inflexion, candied in cadence.

You wedge your bottom lip between your teeth, giggling into your pillow.

“I really mean it,” Eren murmurs, “you look beautiful.”

Look, not looked. Eren’s still besotted by you in this moment—mascara clumping your lashes, lip oil smeared against your cheek.

It’s a sweet and soundless moment. Liminal, as you both contemplate the other.

Your eyes are heavy. They dip with fatigue.

“Go sleep,” Eren whispers.

You flap a hand in dismissal, but the grip on your phone still weakens.

“Tomorrow’s a big day,” he tacks on, “I’ll miss you until then.”

You nod into your pillow, curling into your comforter as Eren ends the call. And before slipping into the limbo of sleep, you find yourself imagining Eren’s arms garlanding your waist, pulling you into his warmth, all until you irrevocably become whole.

MONTH 7: THE WEDDING.

With the last of your luggage loaded inside the car, you round the vehicle, sliding into the backseat. Armin’s already in the passenger seat, connecting to the AUX; Annie’s in the driver’s seat, adjusting the controls to her height; and Eren’s scooting towards you—despite there being plenty of space in the back—resting his head on your shoulder.

The 8AM air of San Francisco looks good on you, Eren muses, as he watches sunlight seep through the windows of Annie’s car, gracing your face.

Eren kittens his nose into your neck, preening under Armin’s prying gaze through the rearview mirror. You lay your cheek on Eren’s head and chafe your face against his wispy hair, inhaling the sweet scent of his strawberry shampoo.

Eren reaches out and twists his fingers with yours, tracing his calloused index over the heartline of your palm. He brings your hands to lay on his lap, lulling you to rest as you begin easing into the small and sunny town of Jenner-by-the-sea, California.

—

The venue is already bustling with staff by the time you get there. Both the event lawn and the deck are wreathed in waxflower, the glassed-in lobby flecked with fairy lights.

You and Eren weave your way through vendors as you navigate the homey halls of the lodge. The vaulted ceilings hang antler chandeliers, the cosy colour of walnut wood swathing you from every direction. Eren’s already snapping photos, squinting through his viewfinder at the preparation for the wedding.

The venue smells of cedar wood and mimics a cabin in the woods. It’s perfect for Mikasa and Jean. Rustic, yet refined.

“Here you are,” Eren slows to a stop, “suite 33.”

He jams the key in the lock, swinging the door open.

Stepping inside your room, rolling your luggage over the teal green carpet, you’re not above ogling at the muscles that ripple beneath Eren’s taut t-shirt. The black stretches over his lithe muscles, thinning into his limber waist, and curving into his bottom, filling out the space of his jeans.

He twists at his waist, throwing you a boyish smirk. “Enjoying the view?”

Your eyes slide up, slink towards the oceanfront scape of your window, then creep back to Eren.

“Something like that,” you tease, gently nudging past him.

You press your face against the window, fawning at the coast of Sonoma decked with wooden chairs and a flower archway. You watch the ocean ebb and flow, the clement waters likened to the fluctuating beat of your heart as Eren plants himself next to you.

“You know…” Eren starts, “we could fuck against this window.”

Your lips pop open and you whip your head in Eren’s direction, batting your palm against his chest.

“What!?” He pleats his lips, “It’s true.”

“And all those vendors on the ground?” You hiss, chiding yourself for the sizzle that sparks below your navel.

Eren shrugs, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Not like we’d ever see them again.”

You can’t deny the blaze in your belly; it overrides all other sensations at the prospect of Eren taking you against the window. You, with your cardigan chucked over your tits, your body folded into his large frame and conforming arms. Eren, with his nose buried in your neck, teeth digging into your collarbone. You, stuffed with his cum as you head downstairs. Everyone else, unassuming.

You turn to Eren, pressing your boobs against his arm. He slips a finger into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you closer so that you’re pulled flush against his chest.

You brace your hands on Eren’s shoulders, clinging onto bated breath as he fixes you with a stare. He looks at you, eyes reading of warmth; lips cleaved, breath unfurling against your face; cheeks supple and rosy, bulging with his megawatt grin.

“Twenty minutes,” you bubble. You bite your lip to contain your giggles, “Or will they notice we’re gone by–”

A little tinker on your right rents the moment. You and Eren jump away from each other and, upon looking out the window, you see Connie on the event lawn—Jean balancing on his shoulders—a fistful of pebbles in his hand and a puckish grin on his face.

“Get your asses down here!” Connie loudly cackles, neck straining as he looks up at you, “Jean-boy needs to start getting ready!”

The aforementioned boy leers, tightening his legs on either side of Connie’s neck. Connie retaliates by smacking Jean’s calf—to which he locks Connie’s head, brands his knuckles, and rubs a rough noogie onto his scalp. The exertion has Connie fumbling, eventually toppling over and bringing Jean down with him, the pair ending in a tangled heap of limbs on the ground.

Eren snorts, rolling his eyes. “Those idiots are our best friends?”

“You’re that idiot’s best man,” you grin, “you should get going.”

“Yeah,” Eren airly chuckles, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck. His eyes twinkle and his cheeks burn. His chest wavers, as if he’s reminding himself how to breathe. “I’ll see you?”

You teeter on your tippy-toes, pucker your lips, and press a smooch onto Eren’s cheek. Shyness roils off of him as you pull back, his cheeks a vibrant shade of pink.

You smile, heading towards the door of your suite.

“I’ll see you,” you confirm.

—

You toy with the strap of your dress—the one that keeps slipping down your shoulder—as you watch the stylist tweak Mikasa’s hair, adjusting her pearl headpiece.

Sasha’s currently fanning her face, rallying herself on, making sure her tears are kept at bay. Hitch is adding the finishing touches to the bouquet. Annie’s leaning over the vanity, folding her lips to spread her soft red lipstick.

The door swings open and there stands Vivienne, her off-the-shoulder floral dress swaying around her calves as she struts into the room. She throws a hand over her shoulder. “Bridesmaids and groomsmen should be at the walkway.”

“Already?” Sasha gasps, sliding a finger below her waterline.

Vivienne nods. 

“Everything ready?” Mikasa asks as she turns, fiddling with the sleeve of her dress.

“Everything’s been ready,” Vivienne softly smiles, “they’re waiting for you.”

Sliding past Mikasa, you place your hands on her shoulders, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “I’ll see you there.”

You slip out of the vanity room with the rest of your friends. You grip your bouquet, and smooth a hand over the silk of your sage green bridesmaid dress.

All of the special guests—Jean’s mom, Levi, the groomsmen and bridesmaids—congregate behind the white curtain that leads to the event lawn. You’re able to hear the lull of the guests from where you stand, the seaside breeze flapping past the curtain, fanning your face.

It’s when the group starts tapering off into pairs, does a hand brushing your shoulder catch your attention.

You pivot, and there stands Eren; eyes wide, lips parted.

“You look…” he expels a heavy breath, tugging at his lopsided tie, “… wow.”

You giggle, a shy thank you crossing your tongue.

Eren’s very aura inspires euphoria. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you tuck your bouquet under your arm, adjusting his tie and the sling of his camera.

“There,” you tease, patting your palms down his chest, “now you look like a gentleman.”

Your hands loiter on Eren’s chest, his pulse rapping through the sheen of his suit and thumping beneath your touch.

He sweeps your hand up and raises it to his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the apex of your knuckles. “We should get going.”

Eren leads you to the back of the line, looping his arms with yours. You stand side-by-side, poised to walk down the aisle to open the ceremony.

Eren leans down, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “Nervous?”

You shoot him a look, nudge him with your side, and stick out your tongue. “Never.”

The line shuffles forward, parting the curtain that lets the high noon sunlight spill into the room you’re waiting in. The parents move out first, and the seated guests quieten.

The alluring air of calming violins charm you as you amble—arm-in-arm—with Eren down the aisle.

The lawn is flecked with clear balloons and blooming vines. There aren’t many guests, but the sunshine hangs over them, sluicing a twinkling lustre over the lush grass, wooden chairs, and flowering archway.

At the altar, you and Eren part. He stands by the groomsmen while you get in line with the other bridesmaids.

Eren shoots you one last smile before raising his camera to his face, squinting through the viewfinder.

The action, of course, leads you to turn your head. There, Levi leads Mikasa down the aisle, the satin of her dress soaking up the sunshine, reflecting it in waves.

Her wedding dress is silky and smooth as it sways around her like a crown of light. It’s a sheath column dress; off-the-shoulder and satin, reaching her ankles with a layered slit that shears between the middle, drawing attention to her muscular legs.

Out of everything, though—her vine headpiece, the silk that cascades down her dress, the twinkle to her shoes—Mikasa’s face is what beams the brightest.

Her smile puts the sun to shame as she eases down the aisle, eyes trained on Jean.

The violins recede to silence just as Mikasa arrives at the altar. Levi claps Jean on the back, no-doubt slipping a little something under his breath to him, too, judging by the way Jean goes rigid. The groom shakes it off with a smile, giving Levi a resolute nod.

“Knock it off, Levi,” Mikasa lightheartedly scolds.

Levi soothes his hands over his tuxedo, and draws Jean close for a tight embrace. They pat each other on the back in the way that family members should, and pull away with tears flecking their eyelashes. Levi turns before Mikasa sees his glassy eyes and—knowing her—gets the chance to pause the ceremony to tend to his overflowing emotions. Levi jams his hands into his pockets, settling into his seat in the first row.

“Welcome everyone, please be seated,” the officiant begins, “whether old or young, male or female, single or taken, we’re all here today to witness the blooming love between Jean Kirstein and Mikasa Ackerman.”

A breeze unfurls across the lawn, bringing the scent of the ocean with it. The waves curl and crest, singing a staccato.

“Many of us here have known this couple for years. We’re seen them grow, and today we get the opportunity to see them grow as one…”

The officiant’s words fade into your background as you rock in your heels, creeping your eyes across the venue. You sneak a glance at Eren, and lapse into surprise when you see his gaze is pointed at not Jean nor Mikasa, but you.

His hands are folded in front of him, his eyes depthless emeralds thronging with stars.

“We all know marriage is not created by law or ceremony, rather it occurs in the hearts of two human beings.”

The corner of Eren’s lip capers up in a tilted smile, the chub of his cheeks swelling in his sheepish show of teeth.

Eren pulls a comical face—which really isn’t all that funny—but he’s just so foolish he has you shaking with mirth, a grin unfurling upon your lips.

“So, here today, we are observing an outward sign of an inward union that already exists between two people.”

Eren’s face dwindles to something softer. Something dulcet, mellow, and ill-defined. His gaze is just as strong, though, causing goosebumps to prickle up the scruff of your neck. You maintain the stare, feeding into his allure.

The drape of Eren’s lashes somewhat dull the intensity of his gaze as the officiant continues on, easing into the declaration of intent.

Something inside of you stirs; it rouses, tailspinning its way around your heart.

“Jean, do you take Mikasa to be your–”

“Hell yeah, I do!”

A ripple of amusement fans over the lawn, guests flaring up in laughter. Eren, too. His shoulders shake, eyes crinkling as he watches Mikasa playfully swat Jean’s chest.

“And do you, Mikasa, take Jean to be your lawfully wedded husband? To live together in matrimony; to love him; comfort him; honour him and keep him. In sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward?”

Mikasa settles for a kittenish smile, breathing her reply. “I do.”

The couple skips their vows, opting to keep their words for each other privy to the walls of their suite. Gabi approaches the altar with a slab of circular wood in her hands—a rustic alternative to ring pillows.

“Thank you,” Mikasa smiles.

Between that, the voice of the officiant, and the image of Jean and Mikasa slipping rings onto each other’s fingers, it’s all a blip in the streamline of your memory, because your gaze stays locked on Eren. 

A gust of wind plaits through his brown hair, causing his tufts to twine and twist through the breeze. He smiles—that boyish, lopsided, charming smile of his—and looks away.

“It is in my honour to officially acknowledge you married. Go forth and live each day to the fullest. You may seal your marriage with a kiss.”

Jean slips his hands over Mikasa’s waist; Mikasa slides her fingers over the cusp of Jean’s jaw. The former pulls him towards her, mashes her lips to his, and breathes him in like a lifeline.

It truly is movie material—deep, unrushed and impassioned. It doesn’t cross the threshold of awkwardness, but it does tug at your heart.

“It is my privilege to present you—for the very first time as husband and wife—Jean Kirstein and Mikasa Ackerman.”

The guests exclaim in peals of good-wishes and cheers, clapping the newlyweds back inside as they retreat—arm-in-arm—down the aisle, the lilt of joyful birdsongs and happy friends serenading them as they do so.

—

Mikasa leans forward, resting her cheek on Levi’s head as they sway to the maestoso of violins.

The redwood deck is sparsely packed with guests—some snacking on hors-d’oeuvre; some playing bocce; others wreathed around the dancefloor, watching Mikasa share a dance with Levi.

Eren stays to the side—camera in hands, viewfinder near his eyes—as he captures the memory on film.

He’s dizzy. With love, cherry spritzer, or the cascade of clementine macarons he ingested? Eren doesn’t know. He thinks it may be all.

Just as he snaps another photo, he hears the call of his name. Eren looks up to see Jean shepherding him close with a grin, eyes glossy with mirth.

The first thing Eren does upon approaching his best friend is pull him into a bear hug for the nth time that night. They snivel, vulnerable yet safe in one another’s arms.

“Congratulations, Kirstein. Really, I mean it.”

Jean rolls his eyes by a pretence of annoyance, but it’s clear he’s trying to fend-off the tears that tease his waterline. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Jaeger.”

Jean hands Eren a flute of champagne. “And you? Any progress?”

Eren makes a sound between a scoff and a gasp, eyeing Jean over the lip of his champagne glass. “What?”

“Oh, c’mon, Jaeger,” Jean drawls, “I’m literally a married man—and one of your closest friends—I know how to read what’s there.”

The cast of redcurrants makes its way onto Eren’s cheeks as he folds his lips, shoulders curling in embarrassment. “I thought I was doing a good job at hiding it…” he mumbles.

“You kidding me?” Jean wheezes, “You’re more obvious than Levi and Hange. And that’s saying something.”

The pair glance to the side to see Levi stepping off the dancefloor, ambushed by a tipsy Hange. They ply him with chocolate-covered strawberries as Levi’s cheeks turn pink under the cataract of golden lighting.

“Am not.” 

“Totally are,” Jean snorts, “so? What’d she say?”

“Haven’t talked to her since,” Eren bites.

Jean pulls a face. Eren knows it, he’s just too busy scoping you out through the cleaved sea of people as you jump and laugh in Annie’s arms. You’re a beacon of light, eclipsing everything around you.

“Go talk to her.”

“Later.”

“Go,” Jean shoves Eren in your direction, taking his camera from him, “I’ll give this back after.”

Jean departs without another word, off to his wife, who welcomes him with a noogie.

Eren reorients himself before shuffling towards you, wringing his hands, cracking his knuckles. Annie heeds his approach and unsarls herself from your grasp, leaving your side as she heads for the grazing table.

Eren’s by your side before you can question it. He rests his arm on your shoulder, watching Jean and Mikasa flail around to the current song.

Once your fleeting surprise disappears, you smile. “They’re quite the pair, aren’t they?”

“Owe it all to us,” Eren giggles, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

Eren holds his hand out, a feeble smile on his face. His eyes are blown wide, the emerald pool of his irises eclipsed by love-imbued pupils. His gaze is garnished by the sparkle of hanging curtain lights.

“May I have this dance?”

Of course, you slip your hand into his, and titter as he kisses the back of it. Eren leads you onto the dancefloor as Waterloo by ABBA plays. His skin burns the silk of your dress as he squeezes your love handles, gliding his palms up your arms before settling them on your shoulders.

The two of you slow dance like stillwater despite the upbeat song that plays. Eren weaves his fingers behind your neck in order to draw you close, anchoring you to his chest. You mould your hands against the curves of his lithe waist, tugging him forward.

A part of you swears that the earth’s final kindle gets snuffed out, and thus reduced to just you and Eren. He rests his forehead against yours as he smiles that goofy grin of his and, just as the song draws to its end, you latch a hand behind Eren’s neck, thrusting him into a theatrical dip.

A peal of laughter pools out of Eren’s mouth, the sound putting the tune of Bee Gee’s Night Fever to shame.

Eren juts out his neck, brushing his nose against yours. “That was awfully extra of you.”

“How could I resist?” You joke, standing him back up.

Eren shuffles closer, and uses his thumb to brush away the crumbs of meringue flecking your bottom lip. The sweetness mixes with the taste of his flesh, and you’re overcome with the urge to bite, to keep biting, and to inhale him entirely.

Eren lifts his hand and slots his thumb over his tongue, sucking your taste off his skin.

Your breath hitches. “Y’wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he grins.

You assure Eren’s wrist in your grasp and giggle as you lead him away from the party. Your heart stutters—not because of what’s to happen—but because of what’s already happened. His speech echoes in your mind, reverberating in your heart. The fuzzy furore of love trickles down, pooling like lava in the heartbeat below your navel.

The murmur of the ceremony drowns out as you enter the lodge. It’s seemingly a blip in time; the inn is empty, save for just you and Eren, and reads like your own little paradise. You’ve made your own liminal space as you trudge upstairs, tripping through the halls.

“I need to get my toothbrush,” Eren pants, tightening his grip on your hand.

You loop an arm around his bicep and tug him close, sliding your palm down his willowy chest. “I can’t wait any longer, Eren.”

“I don’t want my kisses smelling like chicken,” he smooths his hand over the hinge of your jaw, skating it down your neck, over your collarbone, “and I… I wanna taste you.”

Your knees go weak as you ensconce your forehead on Eren’s shoulder, whining a punched-out “Fuck,” under your breath.

And so Eren pulls you into his suite and nudges you over the threshold of the bathroom, handing you a spare toothbrush. You scrub your teeth, impatiently bump your hips together, and giggle at your reflections in the mirror as you rinse your mouths.

It’s a far cry from the tight space of Connie’s junior year car, the wall that Eren pushes you up against. He cants his head down—causing the scent of mint to sluice down your face—and cages you between his arms, interminably trapping you in a corral of Eren, Eren, Eren.

“That speech,” you slur, “it was about me.”

“Of course it was,” Eren gasps, gripping your cheeks in his hands, “it fucking always was.”

You press yourself against him, revelling in the thickening bulge that rubs between your thighs. Eren pants, his spritzer-frazzled breath washing your face, clouding you delirious. Your orientation is impaired, all as Eren skates a large hand beneath the silky material of your slip dress and chucks it over the curve of your ass, moulding your flesh in his bare hands.

The next thing Eren moulds is his mouth against your lips. He devours you—your flaws and your virtues—and as you melt in Eren’s embrace, you feel as if you’re a drowsy child again, being carried to your bedroom on a chilly evening to a summer’s end in the arms of someone warm and loved and trusted.

Eren threads his fingers in your hair, tugs on it to lever your head back, and walks his teeth down your throat.

He flirts with the flimsy strap of your dress; you pull him closer by the lapels of his suit. It feels so natural, feels so right as Eren slews his hand under your panties, working his fingers between glossy folds. Your head swims. It’s a culmination of champagne, arousal, and love.

You toe off your shoes and bully Eren backwards until the back of his knees hit the mattress, sending him flopping onto the bed.

He draws his hands up your hips and pulls you between his legs, running his fingers over each divot of your spine—each divot he commits to memory.

“Can’t wait to get this off you,” he huffs.

“What happened to fucking me against the window?”—You cut yourself off with a gasp as Eren yanks your dress down to take your breast into his mouth, tounging at your nipple—“Thought you wanted everyone to see?”

“Want you all to myself,” he moans, “waited so long for this, had to sit through all your shitty boyfriends you introduced me to.”

A muted buzz crawls up your spin as you pull away, cradling Eren’s face in your hands. You pant, but your inflexion is doused in seriousness. “If you told me how you felt, I would’ve left them. All of them.”

Eren stares up at you, eyes glazed over with a lustre of love. And before your next breath, your vision is whirring by an abundance of degrees, and your back is suddenly sinking into the plush foam of the mattress. Eren reigns above you, his lips against your mouth.

“We’re here now,” he mumbles, “that’s all that matters.”

Eren crawls off of you and unbuttons his shirt, capitalising off your rapt attention as he makes slow work of peeling back his clothing, unbuckling his belt. The clanging metal sends shockwaves to your pussy, sticking your panties to the lips of your dewy cunt.

Eren shoves his pants down and haphazardly hops out of them, palming his erection. His fat cock distorts the fabric of his boxer-briefs, causing moltern to slip its way under your skin and wreath around your heart.

Eren creeps onto the bed again, pressing his lips to your legs. He sucks a mulberry-red mosaic over your thighs. He kisses a trail up your legs, and sinks his teeth into your flesh; he nips the hem of your panties, and presses a chaste kiss to your clothed clit.

He pinches the front part of your panties between his thumb and forefinger, bunching it up. Eren draws his hand up and down, back and forth, letting the soft gauze of your thong slip between the fat of your pussy, and slide over your puffy clit.

The string of your underwear cuts into the slit of your cunt, catching onto your nub. Embarrassment flares over your face as you spread your legs, squirming at the sticky sound of your pussy. Eren furrows his lips and blows, expelling a cold breath that unfurls upon your folds.

You twitch and gasp and loll your head to the side, shrinking under Eren’s predatory gaze. He grins, sharp fang teeth peeking from the hood of his pink lips—his pink lips that he puckers, lowers levelled to your cunt, and brushes over your clit.

“Your panties’re fucking ruined, baby,” he croons, pulling at your panties, relishing in the way your back arches as the froth of your intimates rubs over your hole, “you’ve soaked ‘em.”

Eren tugs your panties off and tosses them behind him, lowering to his chest. With his dominant arm, he slides his hand between your folded fingers, grounding you, and with his other, Eren slips the tip of his thumb under the hood of your clit, rolling circles over the engorged pearl.

“You’ve got the prettiest fuckin’ pussy,” Eren mumbles, brushing a feather-light finger over your sticky folds.

He swats your pussy and drinks in the scent of your arousal, dragging his nose over your drenched hole. Your thighs quiver as your wetness coils over your clit, each sensation causing your toes to curl.

“Wanna taste you,” he swears, gently rutting his dick into the mattress.

You reply with a tight groan, fingers twisting in his hair as you hook your legs over his svelte shoulders, shepherding him close. Eren digs his fingers into your skin, kneading the chub of your thighs in his hands. He leans close, noses at your clit, and flattens his tongue against your pussy, licking a fat stripe up the slit.

Eren loses himself in your taste, gloating at your sweetness that soaks the buds of his tongue, gleams his lips, and trickles down his chin.

His fingers cut into your flesh like the sands of time as you drag your pussy against his face, fucking yourself on his tongue.

Eren’s calloused hands bite down on your skin as he grips your hips, holding them in place.

He’s attuned to your every whimper, your slightest twitch. Eren’s lips move in sequence to your smallest needs—adding and relieving pressure where you need it most, sucking where you want it most, kissing where you demand it most—you move like the ocean with a shared heartbeat.

Your heart and stomach synchronously capsize as he snags your clit between his lips to suckle, slurp, and twirl his tongue around. Eren makes slow work of tasting you; of gushing his tongue up your every curve; of spreading your hole open around his tongue.

Your cunt drools over his lips, to which he gladly laps up, muffling his moans in your folds. Your eyes gloss over upon pulling Eren closer, fucking his face for your climax.

He’s in awe at how your face screws into pleasure. You reel the edge of your orgasm and, simultaneously, a wave of heat washed through Eren, and before he know it he’s soiling his boxer-briefs because your pussy is literally gushing on his tongue, his head locked between your thighs.

Eren wails as he creams his underwear—all from eating you out—as he humps the bed, his resonant mewls ringing in your ears.

You go slack, ribs rattling with each leaden-footed breath. Eren slides out from underneath you, palming his neglected cock.

He snivels as he speaks, squeezing the aching balls that swell from his underwear. “Want you to cum on my dick next. Can y’do that, baby?”

Eren cages you with his arms, kissing your forehead. You nod—or, at the very least, produce a jerk of your neck that permeates one.

Eren tugs his underwear down, groaning at the friction of froth against his cock. His dick springs out—angry, red, tip pearling with precum—and bobs in place as he settles himself in front of your pussy.

He locks his lips with yours, carding his tongue past your mouth, curling it over your teeth.

He kisses your hole with the flared tip of his cock, sliding it up and down, coating his dick in your arousal. He slaps your pussy with his cock as he folds you in two, sinking into you, concurrent with the moment all air from your lungs is seized.

Your lips pop open, your back arches as he glides deeper, filling out your every crevice.

“Wait–!” Eren chokes out, “Are you– fuck– serious?”

Eren’s pupils flare as he gawks down at you. You squirm as he bullies his cock into you, squeezing past your pussys first ring of muscle. You claw at his arms and palm at his chest, simultaneously sucking him deeper and pushing him out.

He’s big. He’s so fucking big. 

And Eren’s hard, he is so damn hard.

His thumb finds your nub at the same time he falls into a rhythm; keeling his hips, rolling your clit between his fingers.

Your legs dumbly flay as Eren batters your insides, fixated on how your pussy pulls him in, gushing around his dick. He stretches you to your limit with his fat cock and swallows your salacious moans, pawing at your bouncing tits.

Eren fucks you like he’s been looking for you for a lifetime. He holds you close as though he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers. He fucks you with acute, deep thrusts, with strokes that you feel in the sizzling pit of your belly and in the curl of your toes.

He leans in close and licks your ear, his quivering balls excruciatingly salient as they slap against your ass with each thrust. Your skin is searing, embers dot your bloodstream, your marrow goes numb.

Neither of you are going to last. Not when you can barely last the weekend apart; not when you can’t last an afternoon without your hands on each other.

You force your eyes open as you crest your second orgasm, straining through a tearful gaze to gape at Eren’s face.

His hair is wild—wispy and tousled—bouncing like spun-thread sepia as it frames his face like a halo.

Eren grins as if he’s not stuffed balls deep inside of you, pummeling your pussy.

Your legs tremble, and even before you’re able to voice a warning, you find yourself spurting all over his chest and thighs. Eren slows his circles on your clit, drawing out your orgasm before you go slack.

Eren gets thwacked with the cusp of his orgasm not half a second later. With his cock snug inside your walls, Eren rockets his release inside of you. He coughs out an animalistic groan, pressing a hand down on your navel as he rocks himself deeper—as if that’s even possible—seized by the rattling of the hotel bedframe and its wailing of bedsprings.

He spills into your tummy, filling you so full. He shoves himself so deep that he pushes you up the mattress, curving your back. And once his balls are empty, once you’ve milked his cock dry, Eren cries, collapsing against your chest.

Your hand finds his hair as his cock marinates inside of you—twitching, softening.

He twists his neck, staring up at you.

“Hi,” he whispers, not wanting to ruin the post-coital lull.

You smile, giggling. “Hello, Romeo.”

“In case I haven’t made it clear,” Eren continues, “I’m in love with you.”

He slides his cheek against your tits, walking his lips up your chest.

“And I love loving you,” Eren mutters against the murmur of your pulse, pulling you flush against his chest. His cock slips out of you, leaving creamy strands of your mixed cum to trickle down your thighs and pool upon the sheets.

Your heartbeats click together in sync. You card a hand through Eren’s sweaty hair, smiling at him. He looks down at you, rich face mounted with muted love.

“Did I tire you out?” He asks.

You snivel out a drawn-out whine, moving to cover your face with your arm—but Eren’s quicker. Quicker with the way in which he catches your hand and swipes it toward his lips, plastering a kiss over your knuckles.

“You’re breathtaking,” he admits. 

And you believe him.

You lean in close and work your jaw against his lips, pulling him towards you.

“Say something,” he nudges you, whining into the kiss.

“Do I need to?” You ask, biting your lip to suppress your giggles, “I think we’ve said enough. For long enough.”

Eren petulantly pouts. “I needa hear you say it.”

You click your tongue and cup Eren’s face—holding your world in your hands—as you slowly brush his tears away.

“Eren Jaeger,” you purl, squishing his cheeks, “I think I love you more than life.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger x reader smut #eren yeager x reader smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #mine

[shubblelive]

— HOW IT WORKS

summary : you have never liked wilbur soot. the two of you just always seemed to butt heads. you’re civil, though, especially because you have mutual friends. one of whom seems to have an ulterior motive.

genre : fluff

warnings : swearing, alcohol/drinking (not to excess) protective!best friend! niki is pissed at wilbur the ENTIRE time, reader has hair that reaches at least their shoulder (type, texture and colour aren’t described), tommy being a shithead

pairing : cc!wilbur soot x fem!cc!reader, one-sided enemies to lovers

pronouns : she/her

featuring : cc!wilbur soot, cc!nihachu, cc!tommyinnit (mentioned)

word count : 1.4k

note : ty for 300, can’t even begin to explain how much i appreciate it tagging @starsyoubreaklikesugardust because of how lovely she is. title stolen from one of my favourite taylor songs ofc

“please, niki,”

he’d been begging for nearly 15 minutes at this point, but niki was stone faced. she was one of his best friends, he knew all the tricks to make her give in. he’d complimented her, talking about her new hair colour and how it suited her. he’d made himself seem as pathetic as possible so she’d be more likely to help. he’d given her begging eyes, trying as hard as he could to convince her.

he only had one more trick left, and after that it would be pure brute force: asking over and over again until she got pissed off enough to either yell at him to fuck off or she’d agree.

“but, niki, please,” she huffed as wilbur started talking again. “imagine,” he pulled his face up beside hers to guide her on his journey of persuasion. “events in which you can hang out with me and not feel guilty. events in which you can hang out with her and not feel guilty. picture not having to be weird and squirmy around me when you say you can’t film with me because you’re filming with her. not having-”

“enough!” niki put her phone down, looking at wilbur, unimpressed. “you know she’d kill me, right?”

“pretty sure she’d thank you if it works out the way i want it to,” wilbur said innocently, and niki picked up a pillow, ready to hit him with it. “come on! for me? for your best friend?”

“the answer is no wilbur,”

“but-”

“no, i already have to listen to you whine about how much she doesn’t like you, i don’t want to have to listen you talk about how much she does.” niki shook her head. “i’m sorry. i can’t help you.”

lo and behold, thanks to brute force it was less than twenty minutes before she finally agreed, and wilbur walked out of her flat armed with his new knowledge.

there was only another 2 weeks before he had to use it. tommy had finally moved out of his shithole apartment, and he had a small get together with a few other brighton streamers. including you.

your cardigan had slipped off your shoulder, and he resisted the urge to pull it back up. not in a predatory “no one should see your shoulders” sort of way, but more in a protective, wanting you to be warm way.

you’d first met wilbur six months ago, and he’d declare it was love at first sight. niki had actually been the one to introduce you, and he’d never be able to thank her enough for all the help she’d given regarding you. the first night, you’d were lovely. all soft smiles and laughing too hard at his shit jokes. he’d brushed a lock of hair off your shoulder and it had given you both goosebumps. wilbur had decided right then and there that before the night was over, he was going to kiss you. or at least attempt to, unless you weren’t interested.

he’d left you alone for fifteen minutes to go get a drink and to use the bathroom, and on his way back he’d been apprehended by tommy. the bastard had made fun of him for how whipped he looked the entire night, and wilbur had been too self conscious to admit he wanted to go back to talk to you. when he’d finally lost tommy’s interest, he’d also apparently lost yours.

you avoided him for the rest of the night, sending short replies whenever he messaged you until finally, he stopped.

he hadn’t dated anyone since, putting it down to it simply not being something important right now. he pointedly ignored the fact that he still really wanted to kiss you.

now, he watched you sip your drink while you chatted with tommy. someone new showed up and tommy had to excuse himself to say hi, and that was when wilbur approached. "fancy seeing you here."

you smiled politely, trying to mask your evident distaste for him. "hi,"

"you look really nice," he tugged gently on the sleeve of your cardigan. "'s this new?"

you pulled back. "thank you. and no, i've had it for a while. i think i see niki, i should go talk to her. have a nice night, wilbur."

perfectly polite, if a little brusque. you floated off, pulling the cardigan back up over your shoulder as you reached your best friend. "what did he want?" niki asked curiously.

"just trying to talk to me," you didn't wanna start a fight, so you waved him off. niki, however, kept pushing.

"yeah? about what?"

"doesn't matter, nik-"

"why do you hate him?"

you shut your mouth. "i don't-"

"yes, you do. and i love you both, and i just want to fix it but i don't know how!" she sounded upset, and you frowned. she took a gulp of the rest of the water in her glass. "i'm going to get enother drink. i'll be back."

so you were left alone in tommy's crowded living room, having pissed off the one person you'd really want to talk to. the only other person who wasn't speaking to someone else was wilbur.

there was no point in staying at this point. you finished your drink and grabbed your bag, stepping out into the hallway to call a taxi. it was raining outside, and you were huddled under the awning as best you could, pulling your cardigan back over your shoulder.

the metal door to the building buzzed as it was open. it was wilbur, black coat pulled tight around him. he shrugged it off, shoving it towards you. rain had started trickling down your back, and you were shaking uncontrollably.

"are you insane?" he had to yell for you to hear him. when you didn’t take the coat, he tossed it at you. you caught it instinctively. "what are you doing?"

"going home." you replied, throwing it over your shoulders, leaving your arms out. "what are you doing here?"

"i came to check on you!"

"we're not friends, wilbur!" you rolled your eyes, rain pounding the top of your head and soaking you to the bone. "what do you want?"

"why do you hate me?"

your voice went up an octave. "why does everyone keep asking me that? i don't hate you! ok, we're fine. just go back inside, my cab's coming." you looked at your phone and your face fell. they'd cancelled on you. "fuck.”

"let me drive you home," he begged. "please."

"we are not friends!" you emphasised. "wilbur, come on-"

"you know i'm in love with you, right?" you stopped in your tracks, mouth left open. "i have been since i first met you! i thought you were the prettiest girl i've ever seen, and i was going to kiss you. the very first night we met."

tears had welled up in your eyes, blending with the rain. he wanted to wipe them away, but he kept talking. "and i had just worked up the courage to, when suddenly you decided you hated me! why? what did i do? please, just tell me!"

"you're being cruel, wilbur," you sobbed. he was taunting you. telling you what you wanted to hear, making you admit to how you felt only to shove it in your face. you were being pathetic.

"i love you," he said quietly. "and if you don't feel the same, then that's fine. but this has been the longest six months of my entire life. and it's because i was a coward. i was too afraid to tell you how i felt."

"you talked to tommy that night," your voice was low, so soft he almost couldn't hear you over the rain. "kid was making fun of you, said you were being a simp, or something." you wiped a tear away furiously. "and you said. "her?" as if the idea was so terrible. "sure." you said. you laughed, and then came right back to my side and tried to flirt with me."

he faltered. he did say that. it had been loud that night. he was a little drunk, and irritated with his younger brother figure, and all he had wanted was to get back to you. tommy wouldn’t stop making fun of him and he wanted to kiss you so bad his mind went blank. he was an asshole.

“believe me, darling,” he pleaded. “i know i was a dick, and i hurt you. but that was a lie. i wanted tommy off my back, so i said it to shut him up. but trust me, it’s not true at all. i love you, really. and i’ll wait forever and ever, if that’s what it takes for you to believe me.” there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes. “please, let me drive you home.”

so, you ended up in the front seat of wilbur soot’s car on your way back to your place. you’d noticed that he’d nearly died of shock when you’d let him hold your hand with his free one. you could only imagine how he’d react when you let him kiss you on the sidewalk in front of your house.

he’d have to thank niki later.

#wishing i could write my name on it #wilbuh #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot x reader fluff #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x fem!reader #wilbur x y/n #wilbur soot fic #wilbur x reader