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ddejavvu · 1 year

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Thick Thighs Save Lives - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader x Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Summary: Being the only aviator with meat on your bones is tough. It's even more tough when you're stuck showering with two of your teammates.

Contents/Warnings: smut (minors dni), double penetration, fingering (vaginal and anal, f receiving), oral (m receiving), dirty talk, shower sex, protected sex, spit kink, body insecurities, mid/plus!sized reader, self-deprecation, arguing, angst with a fluffy/smutty ending

WC: 5.5K / navi

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

If there’s anything you don’t want to hear during a not-so-friendly game of beach football, it’s ‘shit!’. The exclamation comes from Coyote who’s branched off to your towels on the sand, fingers curled around his watch, “We’re late.”

“How late?” Phoenix is already adjusting her ponytail, as it’s frazzled from the action. She’s squinting in the sun and remedies it by knocking her sunglasses down off of her head and onto her nose. It’s smooth, and she knows it by the soft smirk that curls at her lips.

“We have twenty minutes to get on the road.”

“Shit,” Rooster parrots, dropping the ball where he stands, which is how you know he’s panicked too, “We all need showers. Penny’s gonna kill us if we stink up the restaurant.”

“We can go in teams,” Fanboy decides, already sprinting over to his towel, “We don’t have time for individual ones.”

Before you can get a word in edgewise Coyote and Phoenix are rushing to join him, Bob hot on their trail. The showers are spacious, sure, but you wouldn’t exactly volunteer to share them with anyone.

With a terrible sinking feeling in your stomach you realize that the only three left are you, Rooster, and Hangman. That means the only way you’ll get to Penny and Maverick’s engagement party is if you shower together.

They’re already at their towels, scrubbing sand out of their hair and strapping their watches back on. Hangman’s is a thick, black leather band, and you can see flecks of sand marring the sleek strap from where it laid on the towel. Rooster’s is thinner, brown in color and gold around the rim. His is clean, but he puts it on his sweaty, sandy wrist. It won’t be for long.

Both men are shirtless, too-tight jean shorts squeezing their waists. You make a point not to stare as you trek back to your towel, already picking up on their competitive banter before you’ve even stood beside them.

“-probably use all my shampoo,” Hangman scoffs, clenching his towel tight in his fist, “You always steal my shit, Bradshaw.”

“I think it’s only fair seeing as you steal my gel!” Rooster quips back, gesturing to Hangman’s stiff, shiny hair, untouched even after your game, “Isn’t it fucking weird, Y/L/N? How much he uses?”

Rooster looks back at you for confirmation, someone on his side. But you’re too disheartened to respond, dreading your impending doom. All you offer is a meager, “Yeah.”, that curls a frown under Rooster’s mustache.

“You hurt yourself or something?” Hangman raises an eyebrow, stunned by your lack of teasing, “I think we need to call the doctor, you didn’t just insult me.”

“I’m fine.” You grumble, towel held around your waist despite the presence of your rash guard, “Just tired from football.”

“Well get ready,” Rooster warns you, “Mav’s gonna have to tell us all about how he and Penny met, and I’m really hoping he withholds the details on the little rendezvous that got him in trouble with her dad, but I know he won’t.”

You shudder for a moment, if only to please him, to throw him off your scent. You’re tired, there’s not any other reason you’re in a funk. You’re tired.

You are tired. You’re tired of caring, of constantly thinking about it. You’re tired of wearing a rash guard to the beach instead of a swimsuit, because everyone else is smaller than you. You’re tired of watching people’s eyes, tracking them to make sure that if they ever dip below your chest there’s something in front of your stomach to block it from their view. You’re tired of adjusting your uniform to make it looser, you’re tired of leaning against the bar instead of sitting at it, you’re just tired.

“Hey,” Hangman’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, admittedly less grating and irritating than it normally is “You sure you’re okay?”

You blink and they’re staring at you, brows furrowed and limbs frozen in place. You wish that the waves lapping gently at the sand would crash onto shore and swallow you whole, sweep you up in a tidal wave of salt water and seaweed so that you wouldn’t have to answer.

“I’m fine,” You grit, slipping your feet into your shoes and rushing to stand outside the showers, “C’mon, we’ll be late.”

You had hoped that they’d get too busy bickering with each other to ever find you. But here they come, not five minutes later, just as Phoenix steps out of the steamy bathroom. A towel is wrapped around her torso and Hangman exaggerates his ogling of her, only turning your stomach further.

“Perfect timing,” He drawls, and she rolls her eyes.

Bob steps out next, taking one look at her face and stepping in front of her, “Your turn, Bagman. Try not to use all the gel.”

“See?” Rooster nudges you, his elbow against your arm as Bob and Phoenix walk away, “I told you! It’s absurd, he slathers it on like cement.”

“He’s gotta,” Coyote drawls, reaching over to knock on Jake’s head, “Otherwise his head’d sound as empty as it is.”

The two engage in a good-natured shoving match, but it’s one that nearly sends Coyote’s towel cascading to the ground, and you keep your eyes firmly on the tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner that you’d brought. You read over the ingredients, as if sodium laureth sulfate and glycol distearate will keep your mind off of your humiliation.

“You said you’re fine,” Bradley murmurs from beside you, “But if it’s something you just don’t wanna say around Hangman, he’s not listening.”

Part of you is less embarrassed to be honest and exposed to Rooster than Hangman. But he’s still a man, an incredibly fit one at that, and you’re not sure you’d ever want to reveal it to either of them.

“I’m just nervous,” You tell him the only part of the truth you’re willing to admit. I’ve never... showered with a- a boy before. A man.”

You cringe at your misstep, but if Bradley’s amused by it, he doesn’t show it. Instead he hums, sympathetically so, “We’ll turn around, honey. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“You’ll turn around,” You mutter, “I think it’ll just egg Jake on further.”

“What’s this I hear about eggin’ me on?” A familiar southern twang makes you tense as the man it’s coming from appears by your side, bumping his hip into yours, “You ready for our steam session, sweets?”

“Leave her alone, Hangman,” Rooster groans, feet slapping against the tiles as he goes to adjust the water. He shoves at Hangman’s back as he passes, and you stifle a giggle as the man nearly falls over.

“Hey, she’s the one that chose to shower with us,” Jake insists, and Bradley’s scoff is enough for you not to fight back, “And I would, too, if I were you, darlin’. Do you know how many ladies are lined up to see how hung Hangman is?”

You force a gag, “The only lady I see here is myself, and I’d rather smear wet sand in my eyes.”

“That’s what I’m gonna do to you if you don’t turn around and shut up,” Bradley speaks through the roar of the shower water, steam already rising from its fall, “Just drop your pants and wash your ass, so Y/L/N can shower to herself.”

“Well, well, well,” Jake smirks, towel cinched around his waist in only one hand as he stalks for the showers, “Looks like one of the ladies lined up is Bradshaw himself. Wanna see it, Rooster? Here it is.”

Jake drops his towel ceremoniously, and Bradley’s face morphs into a grimace as he turns away hastily.

“My fucking eyes,” He laments, and you pause in gathering your toilettries to laugh, while also trying very hard not to stare at Jake, “Oh my god, Y/N, you won’t have to worry about me seeing you. I’m going to pour shampoo into my eyes until I go blind.”

Jake realizes you’re taking a little too long getting ready, cocking a hip as he leans his head back to stare down his nose at you, “So what, you gonna ditch dinner, Y/L/N? Whatcha waitin’ for?”

“She’s waiting for you to stop being a perv and turn around,” Bradley comes to your rescue once again, and thankfully, Jake seems to realize it’s a real issue, pivoting until he’s facing the shower wall.

“I think she just wants a nice view of our asses,” Jake theorizes, standing with his clear on display, “Which is better, Y/N? Mine or Chicken’s?”

“Chicken,” Rooster grumbles under his breath, and if you were brave enough to actually declare a winner, you’d give it to him just for that. But, Hangman’s form is rather impressive, all tight curves and tan skin and-

And you shouldn’t be looking. You clear your throat awkwardly, peeling off your rash guard as Jake sponges his side down. There’s sand running thick down the drain and you hope it doesn’t back up, something you’d feel terrible for Penny to have to clean up.

“Uh,” Bradley stills in his place, “Shit, I think I left my shampoo over there. Y/N, could you…?”

“I got it,” You hum, reaching over for the blue bottle and tucking it in his carefully, blindly outstretched hand, “Thanks for, um- here.”

“Yep,” He nods, smearing a dot of the substance on his palm and lathering it through his hair.

“Oh no,” Jake mimics Bradley’s previous predicament, dropping the bottle in his hand so that it rests between his legs, “Y/N, could you-”

“Ass,” You drawl, reaching forwards to butt your palm against his back. He stumbles forward with a laugh, catching himself on the railing. He bends down to reach for it and you’re nervous he’ll peek at your body from between his legs, but he stays respectful, something you know he is at his core even if he pretends differently.

You find yourself relaxing against the tiled floor of the shower, feet firmly planted instead of poised to run. As much as you know neither of the men in front of you would make any rude comments about your body or your weight, there’s still the nauseating fear that they might think differently of you having seen you completely unobscured. So you’re thankful for the privacy, that lasts… well, until it doesn’t.

The snap of your conditioner cap catches the skin of your pointed finger in its jaws and a gasp clutches tight at your lungs.

“Son of a bitch!” You cry, waves of pain flowing through your finger and out towards the rest of them. On cue each man turns, eyes wide and fear-stricken, without thinking.

You know they didn’t do it on purpose. You know they instinctively thought you were hurt, and wanted to help. You know they didn’t mean to look at you. But the withering feeling in your guts knows no logic, only fear.

They’re looking, it hisses, They’re looking at everything. The way your stomach pudges into a roll at the base. The way your breasts sag. The way your thighs stretch, marks littering their stems, and present no gap.

“You’re bleeding.” Bradley observes, eyes trained faithfully on your finger, “I’ll get a bandaid.”

He rushes for the cabinets outside the shower, dripping water over the floor. Jake stands, staring, but you’re too humiliated to glance at his face and notice the soft pinky blush on his cheeks that’s spreading to his ears.

“Here,” Bradley speaks from behind you, though he molds himself to your side when you’re still frozen in fear. He brushes a towel over your cut, the turquoise material staining red. He then undoes the waxy paper wrapping from the bandaid, sticking it tight to your skin.

“It’ll get wet,” He reminds you, “But it’ll stop soap from stinging it.”

You don’t even thank him. At your prolonged silence he glances up at Hangman, intent on giving him a concerned glance, but he sees the man’s eyes rove over your form and snaps.

“Dude,” Bradley utters gruffly, “Don’t be a perv. Come on, turn around.”

When Jake stays just as still as you, he reaches for him, shoving hard, “I said turn around!:

“Please, Jake,” You whimper, tears brimming in your eyes, “Turn around.”

“You’re crying.” Jake snaps out of his trance to frown up at you, and Bradley keeps pushing, an insistent thorn in his side, “Why are you crying?”

“Because you’re-!” You gush, lip wobbling, “You’re looking at me, and- and judging me, and-”

“Judging you,” He scoffs, eyes nearly bugging out of his head, “Best body I’ve ever seen. Case closed. Court dismissed.”

“Shut up,” You seethe, tears finally dripping down your cheeks, “Just shut up! You think this is fucking funny? You don’t think there’s a reason I didn’t want to shower with you?”

“You’re private, I get that.” He scoffs. “But if you think I’m judgin’ any part’a that, then you’re stupid, too.”

“Not the compliment you think it is,” Bradley mutters, hands still prying at Jake’s shoulder, “She told you to turn around, just do it.”

“No,” Jake doubles down, pushing Bradley away and stalking towards you, “I wanna know why you think so goddamn low of me. You really think I’d rope a woman into a shower and then pick apart what she looks like? You think that low of me?”

“It’s not about you,” You gush, hands at your sides in frustration, “It's about me! And my fucking body, okay? I’m not calling you a dick for judging me, I’m calling myself-”

“What?” Jake’s head tilts to the side, eyes glinting dangerously, “What are you calling yourself?”

“....Gross.” You finish lamely, the fire in your chest extinguishing with the poof of a sigh that escapes your lips.

He’s grabbing your hand without thinking about it, gentle but firm. You stare at him, anxiety-riddled.

“Listen here, girly. I’ve let you get away with sayin’ a lotta things about yourself. Dumbass I agree with, especially considering these circumstances. I’ve heard clumsy and stubborn, those I don’t have an issue with either. But don’t look me in my fuckin’ face and tell me you’re gross, ‘cause it’s an insult to me and my tastes.”

He squeezes your hand once before releasing it, and it feels more now like a heartfelt gesture than a threatening one. You’re breathing heavy, lungs cut short from the adrenaline of the moment, Even though Bradley isn’t pushing him anymore, standing on the sidelines waiting, watching, Hangman turns around without another word. He scrubs aggressively through his scalp and you’re almost surprised nothing bleeds, your mouth hung slightly open and your tongue leaden over your teeth.

“I’m not your type.” You finally manage to mutter, voice taut.

“Yes you are,” Jake scoffs, “How would you know?”

“I saw you eyeing up Phoenix earlier.” You roll your eyes, and if Bradley hadn’t turned around again you’d have flashed him an exasperated look.

“So? A man can like several shapes,” Jake boasts, voice losing venom, “Plus I ogle Phoenix just to piss her off.”

“It works.” Bradley cuts in, and you snort.

“Point is,” Jake drawls, and you’re sure if Bradley was in his line of sight he’d have been the victim of a very withering stare, “Don’t discredit yourself. You’ve got sexy ass thighs, woman.”

“Jesus, Jake,” Bradley sighs, “Can you just hurry up, already? I’m sure there’s nothing more Y/L/N wants than to get rid of you.”

“Oh, shut up, lapdog,” Jake deadpans, “You can’t tell me you don’t agree.”

Bradley’s silent for a moment, and your gut churns.

“Whether I do or don’t is irrelevant,” He chooses his words carefully, “Let’s just leave Y/N alone.”

“He totally does,” Jake snickers, “Hear that, Y/L/N? It’s his blush.”

“Like you weren’t blushing!” Bradley scoffs, “I looked up at you and thought you’d been temporarily replaced with a baboon’s ass.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” Jake drawls, “That’s what I think every time I see you, porn stache. Then I remember it’s just your natural charm.”

The crisis has been averted enough for you to let out a shaky laugh at their insults, and the sound catches both men’s attention.

“Listen, Y/L/N,” Jake starts, voice much kinder and softer now, “The point of this isn’t me telling Bradshaw he’s got the face of an ass. The point is to get it through your thick fuckin’ skull; you’re pretty damn sexy, y’hear?”

You snort at his callous nature, “No one’s ever told me anything like that before.”

“Yeah?’ He pauses,towel in hand that he nimbly swings over his shoulder, “Well, pardon me for lookin’, and even more for touchin’, but everyone else is fuckin’ insane.”

Before you can process his words he reaches down to palm at your thigh, a hefty squeeze that sends your flesh spilling against his palm. You stiffen, even though he stays politely away from your ass, encroaching only on territory he could also grab while you’re clothed. The feeling of his touch, no matter how chaste, elicits a noise from your throat that you wish you could pass off for a scream.

It’s not.

It’s a moan.

He stops where he’d begun pulling away, eyes sharpening slightly. You don’t dare look at Bradley, but if you did, you’d see his cock twitch.

“Did I hurt you?” Jake asks, voice low.

All you can do is shake your head, teeth digging into your lower lip helplessly.

“Did you like it?” He tries again, but this time he doesn’t accept body language as an answer/ Still hunched, he ignores your nodding and reaches up with his free hand to tug your bottom lip out from under your teeth.

“I asked you a question,” Jake croons, voice smooth and soft, “Did you like it?”

All you can whimper is a meager ‘Yes’.

Do you want me to do it again?”

“Yes.” Stronger, this time.

His hand plants itself firmly back over your thigh, thumb stretching towards the curve of your ass this time. It’s a little more suggestive, and a lot more alluring.

“Jesus,” Jake groans, kneading the soft flesh of your doughy thigh between his fingers, “Bradshaw, c’mere for a second.”

He hesitates, “Do you want me there, Y/N?”

“Yes,” You nod once more, legs stiffening and thigh tensing against Jake’s palm, “I- I do.”

“You take front,” Jake instructs, falling into place behind you with his hands now greedily prying at your ass, “And I’ll take back.”

The smile that Bradley offers you when he steps in front of you is nothing short of dreamy. It’s enough to make you blush, and he lets out a soft, breathy laugh at how forward Hangman is being while he stands giddily in front of you.

“If you say hi,” Jake drawls, hooking his chin over your shoulder and reaching around your front to grip at the seams of your inner thighs while glaring at Bradley suspiciously, “I’m going to slap you.”

“I wasn’t going to say hi,” Bradley scoffs, and you can tell by his blush that he totally was.

“Jesus, enough yammering,” Jake scoffs, turning his head to press his dewy lips into your neck, “We’re gonna be late for dinner.”

You worry, for a moment, that he’ll let go. That he’ll walk away, get dressed for the restaurant, and pretend nothing ever happened. But that’s not what he does, of course. Instead, you feel the hard press of his cock against your ass.

“I’ll be gentle,” Jake croons, feeling you tense as his hands smooth over the dip of your ass, “We’ll go slow, okay?”

“Real slow,” Bradley murmurs, and it catches your attention, reeling it back to him. You realize he’s standing much closer to you now than he had been before, lips nearly brushing yours.

The second your lips meet his in a kiss, Hangman smooths his hand between the globes of your ass. You squirm at the sensitive feeling, foreign as his fingertip brushes against your hole. But he doesn’t let up, and neither does Bradley.

Rooster’s tongue slides against your bottom lip, warm and wet. At the same time Hangman’s hands squeeze your ass, pulling apart each side and smoothing down the skin between. It sends a shiver up your spine that escapes in a puff of air between your lips, one that Bradley eagerly swallows.

Bradley’s hands grab your cheeks, thumbs brushing near your eyes and yanking you closer. You can feel Jake’s fingers carefully prodding and pressing at the tight ring of your asshole, a hitch in your breath causing you to bite down on Bradley’s lip.

“Fuck,” He hisses, coming away with a red lip and a guttural groan, “Jake, just- let up. Me first, she’s obviously sensitive.”

“She’s just tight,” Jake murmurs, lips pressing to the expanse of your shoulder, “Nothin’ I can’t fix.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to fix it,” Bradley grumbles, tearing a condom open with his teeth that he’d snagged from his wallet, “‘Cause I’m going in first, and you- shit!”

His fingers, slippery from the water and probably excess soap, drop the condom. The way that you’re arched into Hangman’s touch means that your thighs are squeezed together and bent slightly, and there’s no better way to catch a condom than between your thighs.

The foil wrapper sticks between your legs, making it easy for Bradley to pluck it out and toss the wrapper aside. Penny will find it tomorrow, because you’re sure as hell not gonna remember to get it.

“Well, whaddya know,” Jake drawls, grinning against the skin of your neck so hard you can feel it, “What they say is true. Thick thighs save lives.”

You face-plant into the water-dropped skin of Bradley’s neck, ignoring the way Hangman snickers.

“Actually, I think they just stopped a life from being conceived,” Bradley reasons, only a few sloppy strokes of his cock needed to easily slip the condom on, “But that probably saved my life, ‘cause if I got you pregnant in Penny’s bathroom, she’d slit my throat.”

The tip of Bradley’s hardened dick presses to your inner thigh, skin seldom touched and sensitive. You lean into it, but Hangman’s fingers follow, gently stroking over the rim of your ass. It’s starting to feel less foreign and more pleasurable, a twinge of something sweet licking at the underside of your belly like a rogue flame.

Bradley gently presses two fingers against your slit, ever-considerate in making sure you’re sufficiently prepped, but his eyes widen at how much slick he’s greeted with just past your folds.

“Holy shit,” He breathes, nose nudging yours as his lips brush with your own, “You’re wet.”

“Duh,” Hangman scoffs, and one of his hands abandons your ass to slip between your folds, collecting slick on their tips and dragging it back to your ass, “I’ve been touchin’ up on her for a while now.”

“Pardon me for thinking that’d work like an umbrella on a rainy day,” Bradley bitches, but you cut him off with a kiss before he can spout any other mildly insulting metaphors for how bad he thinks Hangman is in bed. You’ll vouch if you have to, he knows what he’s doing.

With each slow circle that his fingers trace around your rim, you bend back into him. Until you can feel his cock pressed stiff to your backside,just as Bradley presses his tip flush with your clit.

“Oh-,” You gasp, clit sending a shockwave of electric lust reverberating throughout your body, “Bradley, I- Inside, please, now!”

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” He croons, speaking in a velvety soft hum against your lips, “Don’t worry.”

He holds to his promise, sliding his dick down from where it’s pressed to your clit and easing it between your folds. You heave a blissful sigh at the feeling of being full, and it makes you rock backwards into Hangman’s fingers.

One breaches your hole, slipping inside with an agonizingly pleasurable burn. The stretch feels heavenly, especially because your cunt is already stretched to accommodate Bradley’s cock that slowly bottoms out inside of you.

“Good,” Jake praises, kissing beneath your ear, “I knew you could do it.”

Rooster lets out a groan at the feeling of your involuntary clench around him, eyes screwed shut. His forehead is braced against yours and you take the liberty of engaging him in another kiss, letting the pleasure of Jake’s fingers at your hole compel you to lick into Bradley’s mouth.

Being pleasured from both sides is too overwhelming. You feel yourself already rising to a climax, pressed on by both Bradley’s thick cock grating against your insides and Jake’s fingers.

You smooth your tongue over Bradley’s, gripping his shoulder when he increases his pace to be steadily fast. He’s not speeding through anything, but he’s not slow either, and it makes your insides burn.

The feeling of his cock ramming over and over and over against that spongy spot deep within you is too much, especially when Hangman slides a single, thick finger into your ass. You can’t help it, your orgasm hits you like a freight train (or perhaps a fighter jet), and you clench sporadically around Bradley’s thick, hard cock.

You whine relentlessly into his mouth, fingers clawing and prying at his damp skin as your knees go weak. You’re surprised you stay standing at all, but you funnel all of your orgasmic vigor into the kiss that Bradley eagerly licks out of you, and clutching his shoulders is enough.

Coming down from your high is jarring, especially when you realize that the steady pressure against your clit had been Bradley’s thumb the entire time. The pleasurable sensation is starting to sour with the unpleasant sting of overstimulation, and you tear his hand away eagerly, “Too much.”

“Sorry,” Bradley grunts into the kiss, the bristles of his mustache grating at your lip.

Bradley pulls out of you, still hard and red-tipped.

Jake takes one look down, his free hand sliding up your back while his other stays firm at your ass, “Those were pretty sounds. Look’t what they did to Bradshaw. See that, honey?”

You nod, breathless as you stare at Bradley’s impressive length.

“I think you should return the favor,” Jake muses, putting pressure against your back so that you bend in half, “Suck him off, darlin’.”

You land at eye-level with Bradley’s covered cock, and you can’t get the condom off fast enough. You drag your tongue along the underside of Bradley’s hard dick, taking the heated length into your hands and squeezing fondly at his balls. He swears low and gruff under his breath, watching your tongue snake against his slit.

Your lips curl around the head of Bradley’s cock, and the way that Jake adds a second finger to your ass makes you suck hard. You feel Bradley’s cock twitch on your tongue, and you scrape your teeth feather-light along him as you take more of him into your mouth.

He tries to keep himself still, tries not to face-fuck you, but he’s hopeless. His hips jolt forwards and you gag at the feeling of his dick hitting the back of your throat. It makes him groan, fists clenched at his side.

You bob and suckle along every inch of Bradley’s dick, licking up the vein that runs along the side and hollowing your cheeks while Jake fingers you open. When there are suddenly no fingers in your ass anymore at all, you whimper, taking Bradley’s cockhead into your fist while you try craning your neck to look back at Hangman.

“Keep going,” Jake directs you, nodding his head towards your fist, “He’s not done, and neither am I.”

You slip the hand that’s curled around Rooster’s dick and slide it up his length, rubbing gently at the base while you kitten lick the head. He pants and groans, bucking into your fist and subsequently your throat. The feeling of Jake’s dick pressed tight to your stretched hole makes you jolt forwards, and you face-fuck yourself on Bradley’s dick.

“Jesus,” He hisses, “You’re- you’re good at this, baby. C’mon, a- a little more, now.”

You let out a scream muffled by Bradley’s cock as Jake slides himself into your ass, dick grating delightfully tight against your rim. Once he bottoms out he sets a merciless pace, giving you no time to adjust before you’re being hammered into like he’s a feral animal.

“See that, Bradshaw?” Jake boasts, sending a hefty slap to your ass, “Told you she could do it. Perfect ass.”

“I see,” Bradley pants, hands tangled in your hair while you bob on his cock, “I- I’m gonna cum, honey.”

There’s barely any warning before the sight of Jake’s cock ramming into your ass gets to be too much for Bradley, but you don’t need it. You’re perfectly content to welcome his warm seed down your throat, letting it paint the inside of your mouth as you tongue him dry.

You don’t realize you’re using Bradley’s cock as a pacifier until he pushes at your forehead, hissing in oversensitivity, “Okay, okay! It’s too much,” He soothes you by sticking two of his slick-stained, thick fingers between your lips instead, “Here, honey. There y’go.”

Drool gathers at the seam of your lips and Bradley smears it away from your mouth, gathering it on his palm and licking it away. He groans at the taste, his own seed permeating your saliva, “Messy girl.”

Jake isn’t satisfied with his lack of action. Apparently, jackhammering into your ass isn’t quite enough for the guy, and he fists a hand in your hair to yank you upright with a grunt.

Bradley’s fingers slip from your lips with a pop and you cry out as Hangman manhandles you, pleasurable pain flooding your senses from the hair-pulling that start waves of a second orgasm swelling below your belly.

“Open,” Jake commands, keeping your neck bent backwards so that his face hovers over yours. You open your mouth without hesitation, and he spits inside.

Warm saliva, cooling quickly the more you stick your tongue out, pools by your throat. You eagerly swallow without being told,drool now seeping backwards down your face and towards your eyes. Jake licks it off with a broad, wet swipe of his tongue, and smears it against your lips.

The kiss is messy, upside-down and drooly, but it’s hot. Jake’s tongue licks against yours and his teeth nip at your bottom lip, a real spider-man style porno.

Your spine aches from being bent like a curly-q, but the ecstasy bleeding into your core is enough to push it to the back of your mind. You reach down to finger your clit, a whimper bleeding into Jake’s mouth at the action.

“Gonna cum, honey?” Jake drawls, “Sweet pussy’a yours gonna clench around nothin’?”

His southern drawl is stronger when he’s fucking, you note. It’s attractive.

“Not nothing,” Bradley volunteers, sticking his spit-soaked fingers up into your gaping cunt, “Cum, baby.”

You’re very good at following orders.

Your second orgasm hurts, in the best way. It tears you apart from the inside out, cunt clenching tight at Bradley’s fingers as he curls them inside of you. Jake bites hard at your lip as you ride out your second orgasm, and his dick twitches inside of you once, twice, three times before he’s letting himself go in tandem.

He fills you with warm cum, the substance gushing out of your gaped hole and oozing out around his own cock.

“Jesus fuck,” He snaps, the words an unintelligible grunt against your lips, “So tight, and so sexy.”

Bradley’s free hand braces itself on your stomach, and the touch doesn’t make you recoil like it normally would. It’s lewd, but being splattered with their cum really makes you believe that they’re not going to judge your body.

Instead you lean into the touch, letting Bradley embrace you as you come down from your high a moaning pile of mush.

“Slow,” You warn Jake, who’s never heard the word a day in his life. He follows directions, though, easing his dick out of you and making sure it doesn’t burn.

“We need another shower,” Bradley pants after a moment of fucked-out silence.

You nod, brain foggy, “Yeah. We- we can’t show up to the restaurant smelling like sex. They’ll know.”

As it turns out, you don’t need to smell like sex for everyone to know you’ve just had it. You show up forty-five minutes late, sweaty-faced and rosy-lipped, all slightly out of breath. Your dress is rumpled, and Bradley’s tie is haphazardly secured.

“Oh,” Phoenix grimaces, nose scrunching in disgust, “Gross, guys.”

“In my bathroom?” Penny looks aghast, “You better not have clogged the shower drain.”

“Easy,” Maverick throws a hand out over her own, “We’ve done it in there one too many times to judge.”

“Gross!” Payback rears away from the older pilot sitting next to him, “Everybody needs to stop getting laid, but if you do, don’t tell me about it!”

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irisintheafterglow · 5 months

Note

OKAY A FELLOW SWIFTY I SEE

Okay here me out I need to express this with another SWIFTY

ALL THE GIRLS YOU LOVED BEFORE IS SO GOJO X READER CODED!!

Gege confirmed gojo was canon a player right??

He’s all about fuckboy life but THEN then he meets you and is so inlove he becomes so domestic and just <333

I NEEDED TO SHARE THIS WITH ANOTHER SWOFTY FOR YEARS OKAY THANKS BYE

every dead end street led you straight to me

wc: 2.1k

cw/tags: established relationship, first meeting, creepy guy at a club but he doesn't get very far because of unofficial bodyguard™ satoru, mostly just fluff and taylor references, little fun surprise at the very end in case it wasn't tooth-rotting enough

note: hi anon!!! first off, i'm so sorry this took so long to complete; i literally love aotgylb and so i was a little stumped for how to write this because it's just,,,,so him. i love him. i love taylor. i hope you love this lol. enjoy!!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!

“I really wish I found you sooner.”

“How so?”

“I wouldn’t have needed all that dumb shit with other girls if I knew you were waiting for me. All the lame fights, feeling alone even when I wake up next to someone. That dumb shit.”

“Who said I wasn’t doing dumb shit too?” You look at him with a sleepy smile, warm despite the biting chill of the early morning air. "You couldn't fathom how many boys I was crying in the bathroom about."

"Do you remember their names?"

"Of course not." While you press against the personal heater that is your boyfriend, the long-awaited sunlight starts to touch the very tips of the mountains before you. “You remember my first boyfriend, don’t you?”

“Mmm, yeah. The one from Kyoto that dropped out ‘cause he couldn’t stand being weaker than his partner,” he recalls. “He’s also the ugliest of your exes; it’s hard to forget him when I almost exorcized him before I met you.” You burst out laughing at the memory and a puff of your breath appears in front of your face. Satoru follows suit, exhaling a long breath and making boyish dragon noises. “See, aren’t I so much better?”

“Yes love, no one can compete with your dragon impressions,” you tease. With a shiver, you wrap your coat tighter around your body. “I won’t lie, though. My ass is freezing.”

“I was just about to say that,” he agrees, shifting uncomfortably on the stone bench. Even with the several layers of thermal long sleeves, jackets, and gloves, the winter weather seemed adamant on giving you frostbite. “Remind me to never suggest a sunrise hike ever again.”

“But isn’t it romantic? Freezing our asses off and shit-talking our exes?”

“I would not enjoy this if I was with anyone else,” he concludes. “That’s all I’ll say about that.”

“Fine, then go back to that other thing, the one about finding me sooner.”

“Oh, that?” He pauses for a moment, jutting his lips to the side in deep thought. Spots of gold start to catch on his bright white hair, strikingly similar to the snow crunching under your boots. “I was just thinking how much time I wouldn’t have wasted if I simply found you sooner.”

“What do you mean, ‘found me?’”

“I was searching for someone, you know, and I didn’t know what I wanted until I met you.” The corner of his mouth quirks as a memory pops into his mind. “Even though you hated me.”

“I did not hate you,” you argue in vain since you did, in fact, hate him when you first met him. In need of a new partner after your boyfriend (the ugly one, Satoru notes) fell ill the night before a mission, you considered feigning sickness yourself when you saw who the higher ups assigned. It was easier, logistically, to slap on the most powerful asset they had on a mission where a sorcerer dropped out, but it didn’t make him any less annoying when he picked you up at the airport. It was before the days of his current blindfold, when he wrapped strips of white linen over his eyes during the times he opted for no sunglasses. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t unnerve you, the way he navigated through the airport crowds as if his vision wasn’t impeded in the slightest. The aura that he emanated was intimidating and one of sheer power, but the goofy smile and melodic voice contradicted any assumptions you made about the strongest being alive.

“Gojo Satoru?”

“That’s me. I like it when you say my name,” he drawls and you make a quiet gagging noise in your throat.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” you say, walking in a random direction where you hope the driver is parked. To your embarrassment, you turn around to see him standing in the same spot, a smug grin on his face and a thumb pointing in the opposite direction. “I thought I read the lot was this way,” you mutter in irritation while he falls into step next to you.

“Oh, it was,” he affirms and you stop mid-stride. The shit-eating expression on his face only grows wider when he senses your increasing annoyance. “But there’s a dango stand over here and you look like you could use a snack.” He was right, of course, but you didn’t admit it until much later in your relationship. The first twelve hours with him were painfully awkward, to say the least. You shoved dango in your mouth to avoid answering any questions about yourself and stared out the dark window of the car while he snuck glances at you in the backseat. After dropping your stuff at the hotel and slipping into nicer clothes, you walk out onto the crowded street to find Satoru waiting in a sleek-looking suit that would have the girls back home fainting on the spot. He opens the door with a flirty remark that you immediately tune out and you recheck the Cursed Tools in your clutch while he slides into the seat beside you.

“You know your role?”

“I’m a wealthy businessman gunning for the weapon with the blue handle,” he states confidently.

“Green handle, not blue.”

“What’s the difference?”

“One of them has an eons-old Curse stuffed into its hilt…and the other is blue.” He makes a small noise of amusement in his throat and you feel yourself relax a little bit more. “I’ll camp out at the bar and wait for the owner to make a move. Apparently, he’s the type to bite pretty easily if he sees something good-looking and alone. When he’s distracted, you grab the weapon. Got it?”

“Clear as crystal,” he says, swiping his tongue over his top lip absentmindedly. A serious look washes over his face, something in his head making his eyebrows draw together. “What if the guy starts getting handsy with you?”

“I’ll…handle it,” you reply slowly, slightly confused as to why he cares. “Just get the weapon, Gojo. You can stall or kill time however you want before that, but we don’t have the luxury of being able to make a mess.”

“Easier said than done,” he says quietly, “So, no promises.”

It turned out that making messes was simply a part of Satoru’s daily routine. Perched on a bar stool and barely nursing a weak drink, you clearly saw what his idea of killing time was. Lean arms stretched over the back of an overstuffed corner booth in a corner of the club, pulling several nice-looking women into his side while they giggled in his lap. He’d swapped the strips of linen for an expensive pair of sunglasses and he peered over the rim at regular intervals to keep an eye on you. It made your heart pang just a little bit, seeing him easily attract girls to him like a magnet in a paper clip factory. There was no doubt that Gojo Satoru was attractive, yet every doubt existed in your mind as to whether you would ever have a chance with him. You didn’t mean to look so mopey and sad at the counter, but it seems to play to your advantage when the owner of the weapon creeps over with a sinister smile on his face.

“Hello, dear,” he purrs and it takes all of your willpower not to slap him for looking at you like a pretty thing. “Nothing is sadder than a beauty at the bar, all alone.”

“And what were you going to do about it?” You drop the volume of your voice to an enticing volume, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Inject a bit more excitement into your evening,” he replies daringly and the insinuation makes you nauseous. “That man, with the glasses? He broke your heart?” He leans on your shoulder and looks in the direction of your partner, the one who was supposed to be grabbing the weapon while you were busy being ogled by this narcissist. “You need to watch out for men like him, throwing around money and women like they’re of no value. Both have value. You have value.” Great, you groan in your head, he’s gross and a hypocrite, too.

“I wouldn’t say broke it,” you murmur mysteriously. “More like, doesn’t deserve it.”

“You’re feisty,” he observes. “I’m incredibly attracted to it.” Shit. On pure instinct, you feel your Cursed Energy flare up as his hand roams dangerously close to your thigh, sliding down your arm with a clammy palm. Despite not being a sorcerer, you know he feels the energy shift when his eyes dart up to yours not with lust, but suspicion. By some stupid twist of Fate, you’d blown your own cover. The weapon owner’s hand suddenly tightens around your wrist, chaining you to the bar counter.

“Let go of me,” you order, completely rid of the stupidly airy voice and naive smiles.

“What did you just–”

“My love, we’re leaving.” Elegant fingers effortlessly pry the man’s hand from your skin and toss them aside like garbage. You find your coat gently draped around your shoulders, and only then does he guide you up and away from the bar, with the weapon owner still gawking in his stool. Somewhere between your Cursed Energy flaring and the man grabbing your wrist, Satoru must have left his posse of gorgeous women to pull you out of your present situation. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, slightly embarrassed that he had to come in and save you. “Thanks for doing that, even though you had to leave your girlfriends.”

“Of course. They never mean anything to me, nor do I mean anything to them,” he replies and it sounds genuine, without any sort of mockery or indication that he was holding it above your head. With one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, he calls the valet to retrieve the car and you find that you don’t mind him holding you close. “Nice play with the energy flare-up, by the way. That was really smart.”

“What do you mean?”

“Smoking out the weapon’s energy signature by making it butt against your own?” He shakes his head in disbelief, city lights catching in the lenses of his glasses. “Absolute genius.”

“I…didn’t mean to do that,” you admit and he peers at you out of the corner of his vision. You didn’t know it yet, but to him, you looked prettier than any of the women he was surrounded by inside the club. “It was an accidental reflex when the guy went for my leg.”

“Want me to kill him?” You chuckle, but it dies away when you see the cold expression on his face, nothing like the playful and warm persona you’d just been speaking to. “Say the word and I’ll blow the place to pieces.”

“We’re not supposed to make a mess, remember?”

“And I said no promises, remember?” He helps you into the passenger’s seat with a gentlemanly hand, shutting it after you before settling into the driver’s seat. “Either way, I got the weapon. It was in the guy’s pocket, not in the safe like we thought it would be. But, more importantly, you got out of that creep’s vicinity.”

“I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Anytime, pretty.”

“Don’t call me that,” you say firmly and he looks at you curiously. “What?”

“Why not?”

“I’m not interested in being your arm candy; I’m not that type of person.” He pauses for several long moments, stuck in deep thought.

“I didn’t realize I was the type of person to have arm candy,” he states quietly, like it was an epiphany as he pulled away from the club’s valet curb.

“Something must be wrong with one of your Six Eyes, then, if you truly believe that,” you chuckle, trying to make the mood a little lighter. Yet, he’s still staring straight ahead with a frown on his face and a draw between his eyebrows. It was unsettling, to say the least. “Hey, I really didn’t mean any offense–”

“Let me try.”

“What?”

“Let me try,” he repeats with absolute determination. The streetlight casts his face in a dangerous shade of red.

“Try…what?”

“To win you over. Teach you what forever feels like,” he answers and your head feels like it’s been submerged underwater, all noises suddenly becoming muddy and irrelevant. “Show you that I don’t think you’re just eye candy.”

“What the hell are you playing at, Gojo?”

“I’m just tryin’ to show you that I’m not the playboy you have in your head,” he argues and it makes your cheeks heat. “Let me try. If I fail, I’ll go bald or something. Sorcerer's honor.” You burst out laughing, shaking your head in disbelief but feeling comfortable enough to take him up on the offer. Now, a few years and zero bald heads later, you were freezing your ass off with the man of your dreams on a mountain at six in the morning.

Somehow, you both felt like you’d won the bet when he pulled out that box from his pocket and got down on one knee.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#ask iris!#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff

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junicult · 9 months

Note

What do you think the bachelors prefer more, Ass or Tits? I'm just curious what you think

!! which bachelors prefer your boobs / ass

contains ; nsfw! reader is implied to have a curvier body. some smut. some fluff. fem!farmer. the words boobs & butt are used. (1) mention of f!receiving oral. not proofread / probably missing some tags.

note ; ahh, the age old question.

harvey.

- he couldn’t care less what you have under your clothes.

- that being said…boobs.

- during sex, in general he doesn’t really like when he can’t see you / your face.

- doggy style isn’t his favorite, not because it doesn’t feel good but because it doesn’t feel like he’s focused on you. he wants to see you, he doesn’t like the way it makes him feel like he’s not having sex with you.

- he’s already a big fan of missionary. he loves when he can really be in the moment w you.

- …and ur boobs just so happen to be right in front of him.

- the soft bounce, how they fit in his palms, and overall just how they look. he likes them, okay🤷‍♀️

- he’s never outright said it, though. if u asked he might but i doubt it.

- he doesn’t want to objectify you like that. it’s not like he looks at you and thinks how much better your tits look then anything else.

- it’s just obvious.

- wear a low cut shirt and his eyes might wander. i’m just saying.

sam.

- i literally can’t decide. i’m serious i have no idea.

- i just love the thought of him being obsessed with you (like a good husband should) so even if he was asked the question, he couldn’t answer!!!

- “hey babe, do you like my tits or ass more?” and he’ll ponder on it like you asked him what the meaning of life was.

- he loves your boobs because they’re soft, he likes resting his head on them, and holding them under your shirt whenever you lay together (yes he does that).

- he loves your butt because…well it looks nice. he likes looking at it lmfao.

- it’s just as soft and fits nice in his hands when he pulls you in to kiss you sometimes.

- it’d be funny if you actually asked him, cus he’d still be thinking about it hours later.

- ur laying in bed together, his cheek is resting on your chest and he’ll just mumble, “i think your boobs might be the answer.”

- and if u bend over in front of him to pick up something on the floor, he’ll just sigh and say, “maybe it’s your butt…?”

- like MOVE ON!! IT’S BEEN DAYS😭😭😭

shane.

- might be controversial…but boobs.

- he loves ur boobs, and all for the previously stated reasons.

- he’s a little more openly a pervert then anyone else💀

- he’ll stare at ur boobs mid conversation, and will just look up at you like nothing happened.

- lol if u guys were arguing or something, and you catch him looking, you’ll just stop and say, “i’m sorry, were they saying something?”

- he just chuckles, “yeah, i think they were agreeing with you.”

- he knows time and place tho. if the argument is more of a fight, he doesn’t have time to stare💀💀

- he also loves the way they feel, how soft they are when he squeezes them.

- and in general your tits can easily get him hard if that’s your goal.

- he likes to bite them, suck on them, squeeze them, fuck them. they’re pretty & he enjoys feeling them up.

- don’t even get me started on when u wear jewelry that dangles right into your cleavage.

- he’s way too horny to just ignore it.

- needless to say, you’ve given him a titjob before 😇

sebastian.

- he’ll never admit it.

- and he definitely loves both, i promise.

- it’s a close second…but i think he likes ur ass more.

- in general, i don’t think he actually dwells on that stuff. he thinks it’s silly, and stupid because he loves you no matter what you have.

- i don’t even think he’s ever even given it in-deep thought.

- if we’re talking non-sexual, he might prefer your boobs only because they’re so versatile 😊

- he’s just like any other guy: he wants to lay between them with your arms wrapped around him while he naps.

- he’ll hold them while you spoon. he’s no different then anyone else.

- but when he’s horny, and he’s looking at your body sexually, he might like your ass a bit more.

- it’s sorta obvious in the way he’ll get hard so quickly if you turn around to take off ur pants in front of him lmfao.

- he runs on auto pilot when ur ass is in front of him, i’m just sayin.

- he’ll definitely want to squeeze it, especially when you’re sitting on his lap.

- or when he’s fucking you from behind, he’s addicted to the way you arch into him, and the way your skin ripples when his hips slam into yours.

- he’s pretty lanky, & something abt ur phat ass just drowning him makes him a little excited. i’ll say it.

- if you ever asked, he’d probably just say, “i dunno, i like them both.”

- and if you told him you think he likes ur ass more, he’ll just shrug and say, “i guess so.”

- he really doesn’t gaf.

alex.

- ughhhhh

- i feel like this one kinda depends on whichever you have more of.

- he’s not a pig (anymore.) it’s not like he’s married to you because of your cup size.

- he likes all of you, not just your body.

- he’s also not picky!! i’m just saying, if his ex had larger boobs when you have a larger ass—that literally means nothing to him.

- it’s your boobs and your ass that sexually attracts him. not anyone else’s.

- and also, if you don’t have larger boobs or a larger ass, he doesn’t care either.

- he’ll still smack your ass if you walk past him, and eye ur tits in a tank top.

- if u have larger boobs, he’s definitely wanting to moterboat them😭😭😭

- he likes to hold them, press them together and squeeze them whenever u give him the chance.

- he acts like they’re the first pair of tits he’s ever seen.

- and if your ass is larger, dw, he’s unrelenting.

- his hands will always wander whenever you give him even just a quick kiss.

- he’ll give it a little squeeze and grin at you like he didn’t.

- …he’ll eat u out from the back just so ur ass is in his face🫣

- but the thing is, no matter what you have larger or less of, he’s still doing all of these things 😭

elliot.

- is there a third option?

- i’m not abt to say personality, bc obviously all of these men love your personality. they’re grown adults, they’re not married to u bc of ur body.

- if we bring thighs into the mix, then i might have to rewrite some things (sdv men love thighs it’s canon.)

- it’s impossible to tell if he actually did have a preference because of the way he treats you so delicately.

- like, if he did prefer your ass, all you would have to show for it was when his hand would already be resting on your lower back, before he moved to just cup one of your cheeks (lol)

- or your boobs, when he’d gently kiss over your heart as a sign of affection.

- if we’re heading towards sexual, i still think he doesn’t have a favorites

- he does everything in his power to show every bit of you as much love as he can.

- you’re perfect to him, and he wants you to know that.

- he doesn’t wanna potentially make you insecure if you know he prefers your boobs, which you have less of then your ass, or vise versa.

- he loves all of you, and he’ll absolutely prove it.

psa: pls take this lightheartedly, i don’t intend to hurt anyone’s feelings. it’s all in good fun!!

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 4 months

Text

THE MORNING SKY

— (Young) Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader

CHAPTER ── 1 [ THE REAPING / THE SPARK ]

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | TABLE OF CONTENTS

a/n: first chapter is finally here! i don’t use y/n and try my best to avoid descriptors, but i do use she/her. also reader had a twin brother who passed away.

ALSO just a quick thing about those asking to be tagged but i can’t tag you. so far everyone that i can’t tag is either a blank blog with no profile pic, or even if they have a profile pic there are either 0 things on your page or there are only reblogs. if any of those apply to you, tumblr views you as a bot and your account isn’t visible. i can’t even search your user and you pop up, i have to press “go to @ user”. okay first chapter below the cut!

WHAT IS A SOULMATE? The answer to that question depended on 2 things: who you asked, and how old they were. The soulmate process was complicated, and to this day there was still not a single person who fully understood how it all worked. The bond, or “the spark” as it was often called, didn’t happen until at least one half of the pair laid eyes on the other.

Before that, people simply felt no romantic interest towards anyone else. As for the spark itself, it was described as a warm happy feeling. That lasted for a few minutes, and was your bodies way of making sure you knew what was happening. Then even once the warmth went away, there was still that sense of happiness.

But back to the question. To those in the Capital, those who came from wealthy families or whose last name meant something, a soulmate was often no more than a recommendation. If it turned out their soulmate was someone who lived in a poor district or who lived in but worked for the Capital in a lowly position, it was common to sever the bond. When that happened, both halves would feel like something was missing for the rest of their lives. It was described as a sense of longing, a dull ache that all you could do was learn to live with.

Once the severing happened, those in the Capital would simply find another with a severed bond. After all, the goal was still to secure a (wealthy) future.

Because at least one person in the pair has to lay eyes on their other half, some people go nearly their whole lives before meeting their soulmate. Some of them would tell you that this was worse than meeting them early on and having the bond severed.

One of the oldest pair of soulmates in District 12 (your district) was a sweet couple in their late-80’s. Despite being up there in age, they’d been together for less than a decade. Having lived on complete opposite sides of the district, it was just a sad coincidence that they’d gone nearly their whole lives without ever being in the same place at the same time.

And for some, the opposite rings true. There was a 4-year-old boy and a 4-year-old girl who had their spark occur when they move next door to each other. For now they were the best of friends. Romantic feelings would come much, much later.

Some people get really unlucky, and go their entire lives without ever meeting their soulmate. If yours dies before you’ve met, you’d get a worse version of that aching feeling that comes if a bond is severed.

There were often discussions about what the worse situation would be. Not meeting your soulmate until you didn’t have much longer to live, meeting them and they want nothing to do with you, or not ever meeting them and they die before you. One could argue that the answer was all of the above, and that the worse case would also be if a pair were put on opposite sides of a terrible situation: someone from the Capital bonded with a tribute in the Hunger Games.

Wealthy folk liked to place bets on if each year was the year it would finally happen, and those that said this is the year were always wrong. That is, until the 11th Hunger Games.

🐍🎶🐍🎶🐍🎶🐍🎶🐍🎶🐍🎶🐍🎶

You were among the many who had yet to meet your soulmate. Though at only 18, it didn’t bother you yet. You were still eligible to be thrown into the games, and you figured you had much bigger things to worry about. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that you’d yet to meet whoever they were. It wouldn’t be fair to them if you met and then your name was drawn, and you were killed. Though the alternative to that would be that you’d die before at least meeting. And based on stories you’ve heard from those who were put in that situation, that caused just as much (if not more) heartbreak.

“Just one more year,” you whispered to yourself. You could only hope that you at least looked braver than you felt.

It was the morning of the reaping for the 11th Hunger Games, and you were doing your best to look good. It was no secret that the Capital paid close attention to appearances, even from those not selected to compete. And it was also no secret that Mayor Lipp’s other daughter absolutely hated your guts, so you already had a sinking feeling what was going to happen. (a/n: pretend your outfit / hair is whatever you’d like!)

After a few more minutes fixing your outfit and hair in front of the mirror, you finished up just as a series of knocks could be heard at the door.

“Ready?” Archer greets you with a grim smile. When he takes a closer look at you, he raises his eyebrows. “What’s the occasion?”

Under any other circumstance, you might’ve laughed. But you both knew what the occasion was, and that he was only attempting to lighten the mood.

“Juniper Lipp, that’s the occasion.”

“Hey—”

You shook your head. “No point in trying to paint a different picture. We all know what Mayfair did. She had Mayor Lipp call out Lucy Gray for last year’s reaping, all because of Billy. She admitted as much. Now Billy, Lucy Gray, and Mayfair are gone. Juniper knows that Lucy Gray and I were friends. Add to that the fact that Juniper’s supposed boyfriend tried to kiss me, twice. After I shoved him the second time, he started going around telling people that I came on to him and that he had to tell me to back off. You and I both know what’s going to happen today.”

Deep down, Archer knew there was no point in arguing. Juniper Lipp was just as bad, if not worse than her sister was. From the moment Mayfair had it out for Lucy Gray, Juniper took an instant disliking to you. Combined with the incident with Juniper’s boyfriend, at this point no one your age would put it past her to make sure today was a repeat of last year.

After a tense moment of silence, you speak up again. “I know this is going to be the last time I—”

Archer cut you off with a quick shake of his head. “No. Don’t talk like that. You and I are gonna walk over together, and it’ll be the last reaping that we’re eligible for. That’s that. This time next year, these thoughts will be gone.”

One of the things you loved about Archer was his optimism. You’d known him practically your whole life. You met in 1st grade, and he quickly became friends with your twin brother. Then when he died, Archer stuck around. He said it was to make sure you were okay.

Anxiety began to creep in. The light at the end of the tunnel was so close, but you were almost positive you wouldn’t reach it.

“I almost made it.” You laugh, but there is no humor in your tone. “We’re finally eighteen. You said it yourself, after this we would be done. I would’ve been free. Got all the way to the end and today I’m getting picked and that’s means I’m going to d—”

“No,” Archer used your full name, so you knew he was serious. “You’re gonna shut up and listen to me for a minute. You are the strongest, bravest person I have ever met. You are a fighter. And stop looking at me like this is goodbye because even if it does happen today, I know you can win.”

“Archer—”

In lieu of a response, he shook his head again and held his arm out for you to take. “Shall we?”

Less than 10 minutes later, he gave you a hug and went to go stand with the rest of the boys.

Right on schedule, Mayor Lipp came out and gave the same boring speech about the games that he gave every year. After talking about how it was a great honor to compete, he had the audacity to say that although it was a sacrifice, it’s as ultimately a privilege to serve your district in this way. Hearing that last part, you had to use all of your mental strength to keep yourself from laughing.

What the fuck does he know about sacrifice? You thought to yourself. Looking at those around you, you guessed they were thinking the same thing. In fact, you’d bet everything you owned that Mayor Lipp’s daughter(s) names were conveniently not in that bowl of potential tributes.

“And now,” Mayor Lipp finally pulled you from your thoughts, “we’ll begin with finding out who this years female tribute will be.” He made a big show of putting his hand in the bowl and swishing around, which made you tilt your head down so you could roll your eyes. Such a dramatic gesture considering you knew he was going to say your name.

Time felt like it stopped. When you glanced up, it felt like all eyes were on you. Looks like you were right after all.

Although you wanted nothing more than to drop to the ground and cry, you forced yourself to keep your head held high as you made your way to the stage. That’s when you first heard it.

So soft, at first you thought that you might be imagining things. But you’d know that annoying sound anywhere. Juniper Lipp was laughing.

“Oops, I’d say good luck but I wouldn’t mean it,” she whispered as you walked by.

Originally, you intended on ignoring Juniper as best you could. But at the last possible second, she stuck her foot out and caused you to trip and land face-first.

Almost immediately, you felt the blood begin to drip from your nose, and you forced yourself to hold back tears as you picked yourself up. It was a miracle she hadn’t broken your nose.

In a moment of bravery that you’ll later come to say you have no idea where it came from, you wiped some of the blood from your nose with the palm of your hand and turned around, smearing it all over Juniper’s face and clothes.

The reaction from the crowd was a mixture of mostly gasps, but a few quiet cheers here and there. Juniper was clearly disliked by a majority of the youth in District 12.

Juniper stood in the same spot, screaming at the top of her lungs. Once you finally reached the stage, you were greeted with a harsh shove from Mayor Lipp. This caused you to stumble back onto the stage, falling for the second time in just a few minutes. The crowd was stunned into silence. Almost everyone was filled with a terrible sense of deja vu as they recalled the events that took place only last year with Lucy Gray.

When you thought of your friend that you missed dearly, you could practically see Lucy Gray in the audience. You know exactly what she’d tell you. Give ‘em a show.

With Lucy Gray in mind, you waited until Mayor Lipp was escorted (practically dragged) back inside. Once the doors shut, you walked to the front of the stage and stood near the microphone. The crowd quickly fell silent, assuming you were going to speak. But instead, you bowed, and when you stood straight, held both middle fingers high.

All of a sudden, you felt it. That warm, happy feeling. Your eyes scanned the crowd, wondering if this was really the fucking moment you were going to meet your soulmate. Did the universe actually hate you that much? The feeling could’ve very well been nerves. But you weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what was happening. Though try as you might, by the time the warmth faded and you were just left with that happy feeling, you couldn’t see anyone who was having the same reaction. And once the warmth was gone, your anxiety was quick to overpower anything good that you felt.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain blonde hair, blue eyed boy sat back in his seat as he did his best to subtly look around at his classmates. None of them were looking around like he was, and it took him a minute to work out what happened.

As panic began to set in for him, he only hoped that none of the people in the room could tell what was going on.

The sad truth was that neither of you could focus on the major event that just took place. He, for example, had to already think ahead as a mentor. From his perspective, he knew that if any of his fellow mentors figured out what you were to him, they’d encourage their tributes to kill you first simply out of spite. No one forgot the water bottle stunt he pulled to save Lucy Gray last year.

And now more than ever, Coriolanus Snow couldn’t let that happen. It nearly killed him to lose Lucy Gray in the final moments of last years games. Add on to the fact that he now knew you were his soulmate, the stakes just became so much higher.

Coriolanus didn’t think either of you could handle any other outcome. No matter what it took, you would have to win this years games.

i promise you meet coryo next chapter!!! just had to get these parts out of the way.

TAGLIST — (if you requested to be added to the taglist, check the table of contents (linked above). if your user is in bold and / or not tagged it means I wasn’t able to tag you. everyone that hasn’t been able to be tagged so far is either 1. a blank account with no profile pic and nothing on their page, 2. no profile pic and only reblogs, 3. they have a profile pic but only reblogs. any combination of these means tumblr viewers you as a bot and your page isn’t visible. those in bold I couldn’t search and they just popped up. I had to press “go to @ user”.)

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honestsycrets · 10 months

Text

Amor y Respeto II: Corazón [Miguel O'Hara x Reader]

chapter I: mi alma

❛ pairing | miguel o’hara x reader

❛ type | continuation of one shot.

❛ summary | you're trying to forget miguel with hobie's help on the field. but miguel isn't quite ready to let go.

❛ tags | jealousy, latina reader, slightly nsfw (only nudity), spanish is not translated, some mention of blood and wounds, violence, some paranoia, miguel is not pleased, an attempt was made at british slang, some creative liberties.

❛ sy’s notes | gif credit to aehanse. a little reference to gilgamesh with a golden bull in this chapter because i wanted a simple anomaly and for some reason a golden bull just makes me giggle a bit.

Miguel only left Nueva York for very important reasons. Very important reasons usually entailed a little stress relief at the end of a very stressful day. Very important reasons like your gentle fingertips running over his sweaty chest. Very important reasons like your plush lips wrapped around his--

“No chance,” Lyla chittered in his ear. “There’s the whole ‘I don’t love you’ thing. And that kiss?”

A headache was brewing: everything twinkled, glistened, and refracted light.

“I was there, Lyla. Could do without the reminder.”

“Really because--”

“I can fix it,” Miguel growled, clawing past the tall buildings rife with beautiful flowers. It was your favorite time of year. The perfect time to go to the balcony and wait for him to follow behind, to pick off the yellow pollen that dusted his burnt umber hair.

When he finally breached your plant-filled balcony, the window was open despite his warnings to keep it closed. You loved the light and drew the blinds open day by day to let in the bright light of the day. In contrast, he could have done without the bright light streaming in during his early morning visits. That wasn’t wholly the issue. The issue was anyone who wanted to watch you sleep in your love-rustled sheets could. He could.

Miguel’s hands hooked on his slender hips. He glanced at the offensive presence of a singular powdery pink rose in a vividly graffitied cup that he hadn’t given you. He didn't need to guess to know who had. As your shorthair cat trotted into your bedroom, he realized that the rest of the apartment was empty. He wouldn’t be mewing at him if you were singing in the kitchen and making cookies that he shouldn’t eat. It's little, you would guilt him and squish a bite-sized morsel in his mouth.

Miguel jerked his head to the side and threw a look at Lyla. She threw up her hands in response. They came to the same conclusion. “The roof?”

There wasn't a worse time to climb the last few floors of your apartment. Light battered his senses as the sun crested past the rooftops of your city and emitted pastel crystal hues. Soon, the night would fall on your busy city and cloak it in darkness. In the darkness, problems always arose.

"Se dice-- never mind, it's a pastellio," you brushed off the small chunks of crystal that nipped at your forearms and picked a chunk up off of a paper-thin napkin. The crumbly remnants held their own memories. Memories of your fingers sealing pastry dough over a cool picadillo, arguing about the quality of HQ cafeteria’s empanadas all by yourself despite knowing that he liked them. They didn’t taste the same lately.

“Tastes like a meat pie,” Hobie waggled a crusty corner. “Must be a meat pie.”

You brought the rim of an opaque brown glass bottle to your lips. The malt drink coursed down your throat slowly, leaving your throat cool and refreshed. Just the way you wanted to feel after a long day of work. “If that’s a meat pie, this is beer.”

Hobie-- Miguel sneered. There had some alternative, impure reason he was here. Maybe it was to piss him off, to distract him from the work really at hand. If that was it, he lamented, he was doing a good job. Why else would he be here?

“A kiddy beer,” he flicked over one of his empty beer bottles. “Listen. You coming to see the concert?”

“Whose?”

“Mines, who else?” he answered. “Gwen’ll be there.”

“It’s not really my scene, Hobie,” you said. “Don't you think I’m a bit old for that sort of thing?”

“Old?” Hobie chirped after you. You swayed under the force of his playful punch to your shoulder and returned one to his willowy arm. Your eyes turned back to the crystalized sun dipping beneath the horizon. He sucked his tongue against the roof of his tongue. “Letting that muppet shoot his cum in ya is the only thing that’s gonna make you old. Complicit. You wanna be complicit?”

“¡Fo! Gross, stop,” you dropped your drink to the side and flopped back onto the unforgiving concrete roof. But he had a point, your palm migrated over your belly. His spunk was probably still wiggling around in your stomach. Miguel simpered in the shadows.

“You never see these autocrats for who they are," he lamented.

“It has nothing to do with… Hobie. Hobie, my love isn’t politic--”

“Everything is political.”

“Hobie, I take care of him-- them,” you motioned to your city, glittering in the fading sunlight. “For love and laughter. That’s what we all deserve. Love and laughter. Miguel wants it too, he’s just,” Incapable or unwilling, you suppressed. “Complicated.”

“Complicated,” Hobie spat out as though it offended him. “It ain't complicated to me. He don’t love you. Half the time he don’t even like you.”

“But I love him.”

“His love? It ain’t enough.”

“It matters to me.”

A low growl emanated from his deep chest. It was enough to cause your heads to wrack around in his direction. Miguel steeled his body against the wall he dangled from, shielded in the dark crystally shadows of a mural.

“Should we--” you stared at the wall, eyes narrowing.

Fuck.

“Ain’t nothing to be worried about. Probably a rat— a big rat,” Hobie lurched over your body. His long and lanky arms caged your body beneath him. It was a universe apart from Miguel’s well-corded arms, broad and strong. Arms that, at the moment, Miguel used not to spring off the wall.

“It’s his muscles.”

“¡Ay cállate! Why is it always his muscles?” You ruptured into laughter and reached up to push him away by his thick wicks. You crawled out from underneath Hobie and stretched out your arms behind your back. Tension unwound from Miguel with an exhale of stale air from his lungs.

“You got a type,” Hobie lazed his elbow over his knee.

“You don’t know any of my exes, Hobie,” you swept up your trash and covered your head with your rebozo-like cowl. At that exact moment, your watch blared. “And you ain’t know mine, either.”

“Vente, Corazón. I have a call.”

Corazón?

“Can’t handle it yourself?” Hobie hopped up and adjusted his guitar, slouching off his shoulder.

“Just because I can, doesn't mean I have to,” you took a step to the edge of the rooftop. You turned your hands up. “C'mon, I’ll even make you cookies.”

Make him cookies. You would change out of your blood-smattered outfit into a little slip to make Hobie, a man that you knew he had a very poor opinion of, cookies. A man that was reckless in life, reckless in HQ, and would not take orders that didn’t benefit his perception of the world. His breathing hitched, heavy and sharp, to keep his rage in check. If you respected him, you would never invite Hobie anywhere near your apartment. Especially not at night. What were you thinking?

“That your way of keeping me for the night?” Hobie asked. “Think I’ll get lucky?”

“Is it working?”

You looked Hobie over once, starting at his boots and ending at Hobie’s pierced lip. Your lips budded in a terrible smile. A look that Miguel did not like, not at all. You turned and stepped off the building, out of his field of vision. Hobie followed soon after.

The sun faded far past the horizon, cloaking Miguel in solitary indigo darkness. His fingers teased the ochre face of his watch-- he had things to do.

You didn’t need backup.

You crawled out of the rubble of one of your favorite flower shops. Bits of lavender crystal embedded in your arm drew blood down your arm. As of late, it felt as though you couldn’t do anything right. Hobie was a consistent fixture in your life and fixed the amateur mistakes you were making day by day without mentioning your incompetence. He was good to you.

This time was different. You recognized this anomaly from another time, but not another place. It was here, at the intersection of Cereza and Trini, that months ago that Miguel and you-- No, you did not need backup. You didn’t need him.

The thick, muscular leg of the stupid bull stormed by. The thing was comically obnoxious. Just as obnoxious as the ache in your chest every morning when you woke up alone in your bed with Miguel visiting… not even once in the past few days. You wondered if he even thought of you.

“Miss Spider lady, are you okay?” a little girl with thick brown pom-pom puff hair and the warmest caramel eyes asked. Usually, she sold singular flowers at the cash register of her parent’s shop. You hated to think what hardship would come to them because of your inadequacy. If you could control your emotions, as Miguel rang true, this never would have happened.

“Si, si, Zaniah,” your head spun with the pain radiating from your side. You broke something, and of course, it wasn’t healing. You blamed him. Your feet stumbled forward in a line. You didn’t want to see the headlines of this one. Most spiders dealt with villains worth the name, villains with prowess. You? A shiny fucking bull from heaven. “No te preocupes, go, go.”

“Mami, mami!” the little girl shrieked and bolted, her flowy purple cape dissipated as she disappeared into the back. You felt bad for the mother that would have to deal with that for the next few days as you broke into a run, flexing your wrist for webbing.

If you could just-- trip the damn thing. Then, somehow, with enough time you could… oh, you didn’t know, bind its legs? Or bind its legs first then tip? But where would you even tip without casualties? Maybe, if you were lucky, you could lure it to the river-- but that was on the outskirts of town. You were running out of time. You had to deal with it. Had to. What would that little girl think? What would Miguel think?

“You sure you don’t need backup?” Lyla asked, her gilded frame bending at the waist. "Because you look like you need backup."

“Si,” you hissed. “I am sure, Lyla. I don’t need anyone. And I especially don't need Miguel. I got this.”

Your red boots connected with its fuzzy back. Its great, golden chain skid across the concrete floor, emitting an awful hissing noise. You seized its collar and jammed your heels into its back to try and force the thing to heel. It wasn’t. Despite your strength, you weren’t strong enough to do it on your own. The pressure on the side of your rib cage was becoming immense. Breathing became a chore.

“No you don’t,” she sang.

It was moments later that the bull howled pitifully. It slid on its side, crunching old cars and taking out rusty street lamps under its thick muscle. Despite digging your heels in, the damn thing whirled you off like a children’s dreidel. The force of the impact thrust you off its back and into a rusty tow truck. The pain burned low in your back. Hobie: to the rescue again. At some point, you were going to have to give him something better than cookies.

“Get up,” rasped your backup, cloaked in vast dark blue and red. Not Hobie, then. Your hazy eyes were playing tricks on you. You heaved out rattly breaths as you obeyed, or tried to obey the dumb big man in your life.

It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. Heavy and hard, your limbs fought the attempt to move. Before you could complain a minute further about how fucking infuriating it was to have him run to your aid, your world eclipsed into the darkness.

You woke up with a pulsing headache and the very unwelcome sight of Jess. Through her yellowy glasses, you recognized her colorful kaleidoscope of emotions: annoyance, derision, and eventually… relief. It wasn’t the infirmary. The bed was too comfortable for that. You quickly realized that you were in his room with nothing but one of his annoying tech bandages mummified to your chest. You knew from that alone that you were in for it-- if not for her face becoming increasingly more stoic. They should have been siblings.

“You needed backup,” her arms encircled her belly. “Didn’t you?”

Your eyes fell to the soft sheets that tickled your skin. Breathing was still hard, harder with the anxiety of knowing a lecture was headed your way. You couldn’t lie to Jess. Tears pricked your cheeks and you tried to steel your heart from them.

It was impossible. His room overwhelmed you: from his rich scent that perfumed the sheets you laid on to the air you breathed. He was close by. That alone was more stress than you could handle.

“I know Jess. I needed backup. Pero, the anomaly, it was-- I thought I could handle it.”

“Pero nothing,” she held a gloved hand up. “Girl, I don’t need your excuses.”

“But I’ve called Hobie too much this week.”

“Is Hobie the only one here? You could have called me. Or-- and I’m just being crazy here. Miguel? Your man?” she rolled her head toward the back of the room. She must not have heard. You followed her gaze to where he stood, his uniform flopped unceremoniously about his waist. Your heart strummed and skipped a beat. With her words, Miguel turned his eyes up from the wound at his waist-- to your eyes. They pierced your heart in the darkness. He would have come.

“You know what? I’ll just leave you two alone.”

“No, no, no Jess, por favor--” She left without another word. Punishment in its own right. Your hand approached your chest, covering your cleavage from his sight. His hand swayed over the pad to lock the door shut.

Your head dropped back on his flat pillows. Whether it was the bundles of discomfort at his presence or actual shots of pain, the awkward silence was growing increasingly too much for you to handle. He brought you here, into his bed, for a reason you couldn’t understand. You both were done. Finished. Miguel didn’t seem to think so.

“You act as if I haven’t seen you naked before.”

Maybe, he had seen you naked before. He had no right to anymore. You opened your eyes to look at him, noting the strong scent of sweat permeating his skin and the warm sheen that dusted his chest. You had your increased senses to thank for that. You swallowed air in forceful gulps and burrowed painful shockwaves in your chest. If nothing else, you could at least swallow pain with some honor.

Everything that Miguel did had a purpose. You couldn’t help but eye the way his thumbs looped around his waistband to draw his pants lower, freeing his swarthy skin from indigo fabric. Your eyes fell on his flaccid cock that sat on a tuffet of his thick black pubic hair, chased the curve sight of his shapely ass, and settled on his strong rideable thighs. It was the least egregious sight to stare at. He slipped the suit over his shoulder, raising his brown brows in unison.

“And as if you haven’t seen me naked before, either.”

“It… it’s been a while.” Your eyes darted past his figure to the door. You were sure it was locked.

"Has it really?" Miguel threw out as he disappeared into his bathroom. For a moment, you debated running. Your heart ached with the knowledge that he would just come to find you. He left knowing that you would not disobey him because, after everything, you respected his wishes.

What Miguel's wishes were today was up for debate. The only thing you were sure of was the gentle pitter-patter of water droplets, the steam that emanated from the bath, and his lofty figure swaying in the distance. The warm certainty that filled your body knowing that he would come back to bed. Because that’s what Miguel did when you were hurt: he paid attention.

He came back into the room nude, ruffling his hair with a fluffy towel. You couldn’t convince yourself to act as if you were asleep. His presence shattered any illusion of ignoring him, even with the expressionless way he considered you tonight. He was utterly intolerable.

After an eternity boxed in with your thoughts, reality came as Miguel, a smooth wall of muscle, clambered into the bed. The bed shifted under Miguel’s weight. Just as you predicted, the warmth of his chest was against your slight back and his large palm was flat against your stomach.

You broke up with him for a reason, you broke up with him for a reason— Miguel didn’t seem to care about those delicate details. He caressed your neck with his nose. His lips dragged over your unmarked skin. As certain as a clock was to click, your body became slick with anticipation. You knew he could tell.

You were weak. Weak out there. Weak in here. Weak everywhere.

“You smell… different.”

“Miguel, por favor,” you breathed, thready and thin. “It’s just Hobie.”

“Hobie?” he growled. Miguel’s hand encompassed the large space of your belly. Your legs shifted as Miguel held you a little firmer. You expected his hand to move lower, but he didn’t.

“Hm. Why would it be Hobie?” he asked, his voice dripping dangerously low. “Is there something I should know, Corazón?”

“No, I, no,” you stammered. He knew. Though you said the words, they felt cut off from what you were saying. As though the threat of his rejection took over all the confidence in your world. "You were watching?"

You turned in his arms to face him. His forehead creased in disapproval. You opted to press your forehead against his, running your nose against his, breath puffing his lips.

"You thought I wouldn't," he said. His eyes spun with sharpness, searching your face for evidence of the truth. As though he were asking if you’d been unfaithful despite the breakup. Your face was always pitifully easy to read. Even with the breakup, he could read your intentions as clearly as the words on his lab screens.

"I didn't think you cared."

You were used to a Miguel who crept into your bedside window, slunk into your bed, and woke you up from your slumber with the weight of his body between your legs. A Miguel that only had time for brief moments of pleasure and successful results. This Miguel was different.

"You know I do."

And there it was. He pushed himself free of the bed in search of pants. You watched him pull them over his ass before he flopped into the one chair in the middle of his room, head in his hand. Lyla, he rumbled something under his breath you couldn’t quite hear. Your senses were dull, something you equated to the exhaustion and sleepiness that threatened to overtake you at any given moment.

“Something is different. And it isn’t him,” he sneered.

You missed the warmth of his body against yours. The ginger way he touched you just moments before. After days of being without his touch, you missed the simple things. Like the way he touched you. The way he focused on you alone in a room full of others. You hated yourself for craving it. You made a choice. Why couldn’t you stick with it?

“What did I do wrong now?” Your tongue felt thick and heavy in your mouth. It was the very cottonmouth you feared you would have when telling Miguel about Gwen and Miles. Your mind was too hazy to rationalize what you possibly could have done this time. Miguel would always be an impenetrable castle, one you could admire from afar but never enter.

“Nothing!” He snapped. You recoiled from the shrill in his voice. Miguel ran his hand through his hair, easing his tone down to a murmur. He threw you a small, bittersweet glance. Almost a smile. “Muñeca, you did nothing wrong. Get some rest.”

He sat there a moment longer. A frown grew on his lips as Miguel stood up and walked toward the door. After one, two, then three attempts to open the door, his closed fist slammed a hole into the siding. It finally whirled open and allowed him to exit. It left you in the sea of silence that was his dark room. You never liked waking up in his room alone. It was bare, too bare, for anyone to live in. You worried that his mind was just like that.

“Lyla? Lyla, I want to go home.”

It was a long time-- too long-- before she answered. “You should sleep.”

And though she advised that, it was a restless night.

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel/reader #miguel o'hara/reader #across the spiderverse imagine #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #atsv x you #atsv x reader

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scarthefangirl · 10 months

Text

Don't make me call your sister

Hobie Brown x younger!sister!reader

Request: Hello! Could I possibly request a hobie x younger sister!reader? (Maybe the same age as miles) meeting his friends for the first time

Warnings: Use of the A word lol?

Story type: headcannons

A/N: im slowly making my way through the requests, but please request more lol

Masterlist | REQUESTS OPEN

When the group of spider people first met you they all loved you

You were similar to Hobie but still your own person

“I’m sorry you all have to work with him,” You had teased

“Y/N, I’m sorry you had to grow up with him,” Pav apologized

Gwen and you bonded over Hobie’s disorganization and messiness

“I didn’t know bringing you around them meant getting attacked,” Hobie rolled his eyes

You guys all bonded over your favorite Hobie stories

Hobie tried to get back at you by telling embarrassing childhood stories of you, but it wasn’t the same

“He really cut your hair just because you didn’t remind him to take his dog out?” Miles laughed

“Yes, and he was literally 16.” You informed and Hobie groaned

He wasn’t embarrassed, he doesn’t ever get embarrassed, just annoyed

“Don’t cross me,” he shrugged

You told them that even though your brother is Spiderman doesn’t mean you can’t be a crime fighting badass

You took a bunch of martial art and acrobatics to be able to fight like him

If you dared flirt or crush on any spider people? Pavitr would NEVER let you live it down

Hobie’s, and now your, friends are constantly shipping you with people

Whenever they are done with missions they invite you to hangout with them or they come to you

You train yourself to stitch up wounds so you can help patch them up

Everyone likes you, you just have this energy that’s so likable

If you ever go to the headquarters? You and Hobie steal so much junk

You could probably make like 10 suits with all the stuff you’ve stolen

You would climb onto Hobie’s shoulders to get things high up

Then you’d fall and yell at Hobie

“You could’ve held on tighter!! And also, you could’ve crawled and got it!” You would shout

Change of subject but you would show Pavitr, Gwen, Miles, and anyone else who wanted to see pictures of Hobie as a kid and baby

There is a picture of him holding you as a toddler (him not even a teen yet), holding you by your ankles and you’re face is red, screaming and his with a grin

“What cute picture” he smiled

“I almost died!”

“What a cool way to die!”

People use you as blackmail fsss

“Stop or I’ll call Y/N.” “If you do it I’ll tell Y/N.” “Don’t make me call your sister.”

Everyone tries to convince you and Hobie to have a fight because you’re always arguing about who is a better fighter

“I’d whoop your ass” you told him

“You’d never even lay a finger on me.” He’d said

Overall, everyone likes you and wants you around and treats you like part of the team

Tags: // @liliummz // @themarvelprince // @misselsbells06 // @american-sataness // @cr0ssoverf4n4tic // @depressednoob // @cerene-ciderr // @leighanne03 // @inluvwithfictionalwomen // @singhfae // @mythixmagic // @itsyourboymicheal // @Ravensinthedaylight //

Join my taglist!!

#I had little inspiration for this im sorry #marvel #it's #atsv #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #spiderverse #spider punk #across the spiderverse spoilers #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown fanart #hobie brown fic #pavitr prabhakar #miles morales #gwen stacy

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kilistina · 1 year

Note

hiii just wanted to say i love ur posts so much. ur so good at writing pls never stop😫 i just finished reading punk 57 and the whole “tell me something true” line has me in a CHOKEHOLD. pls pls pls write about assholery being cold and distant with y/n out of nowhere even though they’re friends. can the reader be fem and have bunny as a nickname too? it’s been on my miiind and i just know you’ll write it to perfection <33

i fucking ADORE this suggestion sm. whoever you are, message me pls bc i wanna rack your brain for more lmao

lmk if you wanna be tagged in part 2 when—if—it comes out <3 i hope y’all enjoy this part though bc it’s truly one of my favourites so far.

i recommend listening to these two songs while reading: wet dream - wetleg, desire - meg myers

•••

dirty dancing. pt1

word count: 4.4k-ish

disc. nsfw content ahead. mdni. brief coke mention—in passing, includes fem! reader n harry styles, bold ass language, kinda slow burn but not really, some sexy dancing ig n aaaangst. enjoy my whores <3

•••

Things have been weird with Harry for a while now. You’re not exactly sure how or why the rift even started, but it did. And it’s only been getting worse.

You’ve been friends for what—two years now? Never too close, but close enough to be able to communicate about any issues you’ve had with each other. You and Harry don’t really argue, he’s not the confrontational type. Not with you, anyway. And not when he’s sober.

You aren’t the biggest fan of confrontation either. When things get too heated or overwhelming, you cry. It embarrasses you—being unable to handle your emotions. You know that you’re only human, and you’d never judge someone else for crying in the middle of an argument, but because it’s you, because you know yourself so well, you judge yourself over it. Weird pattern, but hey, it’s real.

Right now, you’re out at a bar with your friends—the same group you’ve been hanging around since high school. Mitch and Sarah have been highschool sweethearts for as long as you can remember, they’re like the parents of the group. The cool parents. The parents everyone secretly wishes they could have. Niall and Lewis are attached at the hip, too—platonically. Been best friends since the day they met.

You’re the closest with Niall since you’ve been living with him through college, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You have other girlfriends but they’re not as close to you as Niall and Sarah are. Sarah’s like a diamond you’ve always loved. They all are. They’ve always been by your side when you needed them—Harry included. You got lucky, sure. Not everybody has the luxury of picking the good ones before college and life gets in the way.

The bar is slowly coming to life. People who came for a meal are leaving, and people in the mood for a night of drinking and dancing are all piling in. You’re excited. It’s been way too long since you’ve let loose. You’ve been too stumped with work and college lately, you’ve barely had any time to breathe without someone breathing right there with you. And of course, you enjoy the company of others. But when you have to be sober for it all? Eh.

Harry’s similar to you in that sense. He loves socialising. Absolutely adores it. He’s an extrovert. But after weeks of constant company, he gets burnt out. The only thing that helps toughen the blow is alcohol. Or coke, but he’s stopped that for a while now.

You prop your elbows up on the edge of the bar and lean against it, looking around for the bartender. He has his back to you, mixing someone else’s drink. You clear your throat and he turns his head to the side, catching sight of you and nodding his head to let you know he’ll be a moment. You nod back and wait, turning to face your friends.

“Anyone wanna shot with me?” You arch a brow at your five friends, and they all smirk and nod their heads. Harry included. “We all good for a vodka?”

Everyone nods a second time in response, and you turn back to face the bartender.

“What can I do for you, gorgeous?” He shoots you a warm smile.

“Five shots of vodka, please.” You smile back at him and he nods.

“Straight?”

“No, gay,” You murmur a witty reply and he laughs, beginning to fill five shot glasses for you. You swear you can hear Harry coughing back a laugh from behind you too, but you don’t pay him any attention.

You double tap your phone’s off switch, activating the apple pay, and you hold it up to pay for your drinks.

“No need, beautiful,” The bartender holds his hand up, “This round’s on me.”

You shrug, exhaling dramatically, “I won’t try and convince you to let me pay.”

“I wouldn’t let you try.” The attractive bartender plays along, smirking at you.

You mouth a quick thank you to him and he gives you one final wink before turning his attention to the small group of girls next to you, catering to them now. You grab the shot glasses off the counter and hand them out to everyone, and you all hold them up and clink them together before downing them in seconds.

“Fuck,” Sarah sticks her tongue out as if that’s going to help the taste in her mouth, “Never gets easier does it?”

“Doesn’t need to,” Niall grins proudly, setting his shot glass down on the counter, “You’re just weak.”

“Yeah we fuckin’ get it, you’re an Irish heavyweight. We should all bow down at your feet, you’re a king and we’re peasants who can’t handle a measly shot.” Lewis rolls his eyes and pretends to worship him.

Niall frowns in confusion, “Who you calling a heavyweight?”

Harry snorts at the two men bickering. They’re like two peas in a pod, and typically, people who are so close tend to argue every now and then.

The group has that dynamic. Sarah and Mitch, Niall and Lewis, you and Harry? You’re not sure if you and Harry count. You’re not as close as the others. You wouldn’t call him a best friend. A friend, yes. A good friend? That’s pushing it, but still, yes. A best friend? No.

It’s not that you wouldn’t like to be closer. You’ve just never really been given the chance. Harry’s always kept a safe distance from you. You’ve hardly ever spent time alone, always speaking and engaging with each other the most when others are around to witness it. Sure, a part of you wishes that Harry would pay you more attention, but the other part of you doesn’t think he deserves it. If he wanted to, he would, right?

“And aren’t you Irish too?” Niall questions Lewis, continuing on with their unserious bickering.

“Yeah like a third,” Lewis shrugs, “From my dad’s side, but you already knew th—stop deflecting. Y/N, tell him to stop deflecting from how much of a cock he is.” He points towards you and tries to get you involved.

You giggle and shrug your shoulders, “You are a bit of a cock sometimes, Ni.”

“Both of you can suck me, honestly. I’m fuckin’ great.” Niall flicks his hair dramatically and you and Lewis snicker.

“I’m with Niall,” Harry lightly nudges Niall’s chest with his elbow, joining in on the joke, “Both of you can suck him.”

“You fucking weirdos,” Mitch shakes his head at the lot of you, not surprised in the slightest by your antics, “Miss Jones and I are gonna go dance, you lot can either keep bickering or come join us. Choice is yours.”

With that, they both head for the dance floor together, holding their hands in the air and laughing.

“I’m joining those twats,” Lewis gestures to them, looking at the rest of you, “You three game?”

Niall nods, “Course. Harry, Y/N?”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” You nod towards the bar, “I feel like some more drinks.”

Everyone’s attention shifts to Harry. He clears his throat as he thinks for a moment, “Yeah, me too. Be there in a bit.”

Lewis and Niall both nod at Harry and beeline for the dance floor, already beginning to bicker again on the way. You giggle at the sight of them and shake your head, turning to face the bar again. Harry joins you, standing by your side. Neither of you look at each other, you keep your eyes in front of you at the neat array of liquor set along the counter.

“Nice night, don’t you think?” You break the awkward silence threatening to form between the two of you.

You catch sight of Harry nodding his head, “Always a nice night with this lot.”

Dry as fuck. You might not be close with Harry, but you aren’t stupid. You know the way he speaks to people, you’ve seen it. Harry could have an hour long conversation with a tree. But with you, it seems like a fucking chore.

You want to scoff. You want to scoff at how fucking childish Harry’s acting with you. Why can’t he look at you or have a normal conversation with you?

You sigh, not wanting to overreact over such a minor reply and ruin the night for yourself. Although Harry seems to be doing a decent job of that himself.

“Can’t argue with that.” You murmur.

“Mhm.” Harry murmurs and you wait a beat for him to say something else, anything else.

He doesn’t.

That’s it.

“I feel like I don’t know you.” Your words spill out before you can stop them.

Harry’s taken by surprise. He turns to face you. Now he’s looking, at least. “Sorry?”

“I feel like I don’t know you.” You sigh, repeating yourself.

“What is there to know?” He furrows his eyebrows at you, gesturing to the bartender that he wants a glass of something.

“You tell me, Harry Styles.”

He sighs, running a hand through his curly hair, “Y/N, what are you trying to get at here?”

You shrug, “I dunno, I feel like I click with everyone else. I’ve got a connection with everyone, H. Everyone but you.” Your words come out harsher than you intended. You’d feel a little guilty if they weren’t true. But they are.

“That was unnecessary.” Harry murmurs so quietly that you almost don’t hear him.

“You asked me a question and I answered it.” You stand your ground, sick of Harry’s half-assed efforts to conversing with you. You’re a catch, your friendship is amazing, and you’re great to talk to. What the hell is Harry’s problem?

He laughs, scoffing at you in disbelief, “Fuck, you’re such a bitch sometimes.”

You almost choke on your own saliva, “Excuse me?”

“You fuckin’ heard me, Y/N. I called you a bitch. Because that’s what you are half the time when shit doesn’t go your way.” Harry doesn’t know where this is all coming from, but it’s coming.

He doesn’t mean it, obviously. He’d never mean that. He doesn’t think you’re a bitch. Again, never. But he’s angry. He’s angry and you’re angry and you’re both speaking without thinking it through properly and you’re both making an absolute mess of the situation and each other—

“What the fuck?” You stare at Harry in shock, your eyes wide with disgust.

He’s confused by your offended reaction, “What, are you surprised or something? Come on, Bunny. You know better than that.”

“You don’t have to be such an ass,” You scold him, “We used to get along. We used to be closer. We’ve never been as close as the others but at least we used to speak. At least I was able to walk into a room knowing you were there and look forward to it.”

His face relaxes at your words. He knows you mean well. You’ve both been hotheaded for a moment but now you seem to be calming down. You’re bringing your point across well and he can’t fault you for it.

“But what now? What fuckin’ now, H? You never speak to me when we’re alone, and then when you finally do, it’s this. It’s an attack on my character. Does this shit get you off or something?”

Never mind.

Harry scoffs at your sudden change in tone, feeling agitated again, “Fuck you.”

You slam your hand on the counter, “Fuck you, Harry!”

He glares at you as you continue scolding him, “What the hell are we even doing here? Go spend time with your actual friends.”

“Hey, wait a second. What?” He leans his head to the side in confusion, not knowing what you mean, “We’ve known each other for years, Bunny.”

“I don’t know a single thing about you.” You point out, making him roll his eyes. “Don’t roll your—“

“Where’s my favourite place to eat?” Harry cuts you off with a question. A question that you know the answer to.

 “That’s not—”

“Where do I go when I’m upset?” Again, another question you can answer.

“Harry—”

“How did I get the scar on my chin?” That’s a special question. You gave it to him the day you met.

You sigh, knowing where he’s going with this. He’s not understanding what you’re trying to tell him and it infuriates you.

You tap the tips of your fingers on the countertop, feeling anxious, “That’s not what I—”

“You do know me, Y/N. we don’t need to speak every two seconds or braid each other’s hair to know each other well.”

Your eyes begin to prick with tears. That isn’t what you meant and he knows that.

“That’s not what I meant.” You lower your voice as it threatens to crack.

“Then what did you mean, Bunny?” He crosses his arms and stares at you, waiting on an explanation.

You groan, throwing your head in your hands.

The truth is, you can explain. You can explain everything you’re feeling well. But is that going to get you anywhere right now? Maybe. Maybe not. You have a better idea.

“Do you consider me a friend?”

Harry’s face drops. You can tell that he’s upset and borderline offended that you’re even asking that question.

Of course you’re friends. You’ve been friends for years. He adores you. Why can’t you see that he adores you?

“Bunny..” He takes a step towards you, and you take one back.

“Do you?” You insist on getting a solid answer.

“Of course I consider you a fr—”

“Don’t lie.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m not—”

“Tell me something real, Harry. Please. God, please just tell me something that isn’t base level for once,” You beg, “Tell me something true.”

He raises his eyebrows slightly. He’s taken back. He wasn’t expecting that from you at all.

He stays silent.

“You can’t, can you?” You scoff at him, not knowing why you expected anything to come from this conversation. You should’ve known better than to be hopeful about how things were going to go with Harry..because it’s Harry, “I don’t know why I thought you’d—“

“I still smoke cigarettes.” Harry cuts you off, blurting out an admission. He tenses his jaw in realisation—he’s just as shocked as you are.

Oh.

Your eyes widen at his confesion. Harry’s been gloating to everyone about how he so easily quit smoking three months ago. You’re all so proud of him, considering how difficult it is to quit something cold turkey the way he did. The rest of you haven’t been able to shake the bad habit. Apparently, neither has he.

“You do?” You question.

He nods, “Less. But I do.”

“Why?”

He almost smiles at your question, “Why do I smoke?”

“Why did you lie about it?”

He sighs, looking down as he answers you, “Everyone’s got something, right? Sarah and Mitch have their relationship, Niall has his singing, Lewis has his stand-up every Friday, you have your double degree. I just wanted something that everyone could be proud of. Felt like something small like that would’ve been manageable to keep hidden from everyone.”

You frown, “Harry..”

“No,” He shakes his head, refusing to let you feel sorry for him, “No. Seriously, no. We’re not about to do pity. That’s not what we do with each other.”

“Okay,” You clear your throat and agree to let it go, grabbing a now filled shot glass and handing it over to him, “Drink?”

He smirks at you, silently thanking you as he reaches forward and takes the shot glass from you.

“Sorry for calling you a bitch.” He murmurs, offering you a small, sincere smile.

You give him one back, “Sorry for being one.”

His small smile turns into a grin.

“To the truth.” You hold your glass up to cheers his with.

“To the fuckin’ truth.”

You both down your shots and tap them down on the counter to gesture for the bartender to refill them. He complies and neither of you waste a second to down the next ones. Over and over, shot after shot, you continue to drink until you’re buzzed.

You’re both good at handling your liquor, and you know how much you can take. By the time you’re done with your shots, you’re over the moon. Buzzed and aware. Aware of what you feel, aware of where you are, aware of who you’re with. Aware.

Harry leans down, his face dangerously close to yours. He’s never been this close, you don’t think. You’ve never seen his face so clearly, you’ve never seen his chest tattoos so well, his necklace dangling, his—

“Should we go dance with the others now, you think?” He speaks into your ear and you feel your stomach beginning to erupt with nerves.

“Yeah,” You inhale sharply, nodding, “Sure.”

Harry grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd, keeping a hold of you even when you reach where your friends are. The contact is strange but you welcome it, liking the new barrier that’s being broken between the two of you.

Over the years, you’ve noticed how touchy he can get when he’s under the influence, so you have an idea of what you’re getting into. You like being on the receiving end for once. You could get used to this side of Harry. You like being his friend. His real friend.

Once you get to where the others are, you quickly gauge what they’re all doing. Mitch and Sarah are in their own little world as usual, dancing together as if it’s their wedding night. Niall’s dancing with a random girl he’s probably going home with later tonight and Lewis is making a fool of himself in the middle of them. Ah, friendship. You love to see it.

“Nice song, yeah?” Harry leans over to your ear, speaking over the music. The song playing is one of your all time favourites—Wet Dream by WetLeg.

Anyone who knows you, knows the way you feel about this song. It’s become tradition to play it everytime you carpool. A fine tradition, you think.

“Oh, the best.” You start bopping your head to the beat of the song, singing along with the lyrics you know and love.

“I was in your wet dream driving in my caaar, saw you at the side of the road, there’s no one else around you’re touching yourself, touching yourself—“ You start yelling out the words along with everyone else on the dance floor, shaking your head side to side and dramatising every word. Harry watches you and smirks, letting you have your moment.

“You said—“

You’re about to keep singing the next part when he beats you to it, “Baby do you want to come home with me? I got Buffalo ‘66 on dvd!”

You let out a surprised laugh at the fact that Harry even knows the words to the song, loving that you’re seeing this side to him. You’d never expect to have something as simple as loving a song like this in common, but here you are.

Beam me up—beam me up!

Count me in—count me in!

Three, two, one—three, two, one!

Let's begin!

The song continues and you realise that you’ve both been staring at each other for a good ten seconds in silence, just taking in the sight of each other. Harry really is beautiful. The way his hair hangs perfectly below his shoulders. The way his dimples show at the smallest hint of a smile. The way his eyes burn into yours. You never want to see anything else. Just him. Just Harry.

“I was in your wet dream, driving in my caaaar!” Harry’s voice breaks you out of your daydream, and you laugh as he grabs your hands, dancing with you to the beat of the song.

“What makes you think you're good enough to think about me when you're touching yourself?” You continue the song and he pretends to be shocked, acting out the song with you.

“You climb onto the bonnet and you’re licking the windscreen! I’ve never seen anything so obscene!” You both sing the next part together, leaning in close to each other’s faces and practically screaming with the biggest smiles on your faces, “It’s enough! To make a girl blush! It’s enough! It’s enough to make a girl blush!”

The rest of the song plays and you both continue to scream out every word, making the most of the moment you’re having and hoping it never ends. Neither of you are sure what’s going on but neither of you are complaining. You’re both witnessing a new side to each other and you’re enjoying it. Perhaps you were made to be best friends like the others. Maybe it was meant to happen like this.

The song eventually comes to an end and you both let out a deep sigh, catching your breath for a moment as another random song plays.

Harry looks down at you with parted lips, “Nice singing, Bunny.”

“Could say the same to you, H.” You smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. The move is natural and you don’t put too much thought into it. Neither does Harry.

His hands find their way to your waist and you both sway in time with the music, singing the lyrics into each other’s faces and having the time of your lives.

“I haven’t had sex in 5 months!” His voice is just loud enough for you to hear over the music.

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

He leans closer to your face, “I said—I said I haven’t had—”

“No I—I heard you H,” You chuckle, “I’m just a little—”

“Surprised? Yeah me too.” He grins at you, suddenly seeming to be completely comfortable with you in a way you never expected, “I stole that chocolate bar from you last week by the way, it wasn’t Niall.”

You laugh for a moment at his strange confessions until you process what he just told you, “Wait that was you?”

 “Loud ‘n proud, bunny.” He grins proudly.

“You—you fucker!” You gasp, playfully hitting his chest with one of your hands, keeping the other where it was around his neck.

 He chuckles, playing along, “Did you forget what I just—”

“Shut up!”

You both laugh, continuing to move your bodies together.

“What about you? Tell me something true.”

You purse your lips together, trying to come up with something to tell Harry. There’s a million things you could tell him, but you want to catch him off guard. You want to see an honest, raw reaction from him.

“I think you’re really pretty.” You finally say, shrugging your shoulders.

Harry raises his eyebrows at you, unsure if you’re being serious. “Pretty?”

You nod.

He tilts his head for a moment, “Weird choice of words.”

“I don’t think so,” You smile at him, “You’re a pretty boy.”

He smiles back, “You’re a pretty bunny.”

“We’re pretty.”

“We are.”

You both smile at each other and share a brief moment. A moment of what—you’re not sure. Two friends being supportive of each other? Two friends suddenly becoming closer and making the most of it? Two friends two friends two friends—

The next song begins playing and your heart begins to pace more. Desire, Meg Myers.

The two of you exchange a look, knowing that you won’t move together to this song the same way you have been for the others.

You know that you won’t be singing along with this one. You’d rather feel it. Feel Harry.

You move your hands away from around Harry’s neck, and he keeps his on your waist, holding you close. You move your hands down and place them over his, feeling electric all of a sudden.

Baby, I wanna fuck you

I wanna feel you in my bones

The song is loud and the coloured lights are flashing red. The atmosphere has changed—not only in the bar and on the dance floor, but between you and Harry. The way he’s looking at you is different. The way you’re looking at him is different. The way he’s touching you is different. The way you’re touching him is different.

I’m gonna tear into your soul

You begin to sway your hips to the beat of the song, holding your eyes over Harry’s. Neither of you dare to look away. You wouldn’t dream of it.

How do you want me?

You begin to turn your body in time with the music, turning your back to Harry. He leans his head down, resting his head on your shoulder and keeping his hands by your waist as you continue to move against each other. You feel a surge of confidence—you’re not sure if it’s the song, if it’s the alcohol, if it’s Harry’s random confessions, if it’s the feelings you’ve been suppressing from him for years—but it’s here. It’s here and you’re about to make the most of it.

Yeah I gotta hurt you, I gotta hear it from your mouth

Boy, I wanna taste you, I wanna skin you with my tongue

I’m gonna kill you

You lean your ass back, moving it against Harry’s crotch. He sucks in a breath, and the only way you know it is because you feel his teeth graze the skin of your bare shoulder. Your eyes close at the feeling and you grow bolder, moving the same way a second time.

He tightens his grip on your waist. You can feel the bulge of his cock against your ass and you can only imagine how much it’s straining against the band of his jenas. You almost pity him. Almost.

I wanna feel you

I want it all

I wanna feel you

I want it all

You continue moving against Harry, enjoying his little reactions to your touch. To the way you feel. He begins trailing kisses down your neck, applying pressure and sucking on your skin. You still. You can’t focus on anything but the way his lips feel against you.

What’s going on between you both? What the fuck is happening? Why the fuck has it taken so long? Why couldn’t it happen sooner?

So many questions.

“Bunny,” Harry groans against your shoulder, placing one last kiss to your neck before moving his mouth to your ear, “Tell me something true.”

You know exactly what you want to say. Again, there’s so much you want to tell him. You want to tell him how good he feels against you, how much you love the way he moves his body against yours. You want to tell him that you feel the connection now. You want to tell him that you know he can feel it too. There’s so much to say, but you settle for the most simple thing. The most important one.

“I want you.”

•••

aaahhhh!!! i’m sososo proud of this one. idk why but this shot has a special place in my heart. the smut will be included in the second part. and believe me, it’s gonna be SMUT. i’m such a whore for angst n this friendship trope is just chef’s kiss.

anyway enough chat. i hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 if you liked what you read then please reblog n comment. feel free to suggest ideas for new posts too.

have a good day or night wherever you are n stay safe, always <3

- k

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aeaean--bliss · 1 year

Text

maybe

summary: you and Tangerine haven't spoken in almost a year. now you've been ditched, and he's picking you up.

pairing: tangerine x reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings/tags: a tense ass car ride. swearing, tension, arguing, excessive rudeness, pining

masterlist

a/n: this was not the fic i intended to write or finish or upload:))) but here it is

He’ll be up. He owes you one, anyway. And it’s not like he sleeps.

Plus, it’s you.

You did think it would take him longer to get here, though. It’s not like he lives nearby. Hasn’t even been ten minutes since the three dots popped up on your screen, followed immediately by the “omw” that your eyes have been glued to ever since.

You should have just walked home. Bit the bullet, and walked the hour and a half trek back to yours. But it’s getting dark, you’ve barely slept, and your ankles are already starting to ache, just from the five minute walk down the block and back again.

He doesn’t get out when he pulls up; doesn’t even roll down the window or turn his head to look in your direction. Just leans back, one hand on the wheel, one elbow resting against the car window. The chain hanging off his wrist gleams in the light of a streetlight a couple of metres away. It’s one of the only things you can focus your eyes on as you stalk towards the car.

The slam of the car door rings in the night. The car is dead silent; no radio on, no phone call over bluetooth, no nothing. It’s never been this quiet.

The engine purrs gently. It’s strange. He’s sat right next to you, but he might as well be on the other side of the world. He hasn’t even asked for your address.

“The fuck you doin’ out here?”

His voice sounds strange. Maybe it’s the silence. Makes it sound almost distorted. Maybe it’s ‘cause you haven’t heard his actual voice in months. Maybe you forgot what it sounds like. Maybe it’s the hint of concern in his voice.

No - that can’t be right. This is the same guy who told you to “walk it off” when you got your femur shattered by some dickhead with a golf club.

“Just some guy,” you mumble. If there was one place you didn’t want to get ditched, it was here. Your phone’s nearly dead, and you don’t really know your way back to the main road. But he can’t possibly know that. Right? All you sent him was your location.

“Boyfriend?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Jesus, darlin’, no need to bite my head off.”

Maybe you’ve come in a bit too amped. Nevermind the fact that the last time you saw him, he blew your cover to help his own; he’s come to pick you up out in the middle of nowhere at eleven p.m., no complaints, and he’s not said anything out of order yet. You’ve come to think Tan’s the type of guy you gotta judge on an encounter by encounter basis. Maybe you shouldn’t, but it makes it easier.

“Not anymore, I guess.”

He grunts - there’s no other word for it - and brings a hand up to smooth down his moustache.

“Forgive me, darlin’, but you don’t sound very upset.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly flowing over with love for the guy.”

“You really know how to fuckin’ pick ‘em, don’t ya,” he mutters. You glare.

You’d think after having known him for - what, six, seven years? - you’d be used to his bite by now. Maybe it’s just tonight. You’re in a weird mood. If he calls you sensitive, you might actually start to cry.

“Probably better off then, ain’t ya, if he’s left ya to hang about outside by yourself an’ all.”

He must have clocked that you’re a bit off tonight. It comes out as an afterthought, barely audible above the soft purr of the engine.

“What you goin’ out with a prick like that for, anyway?”

“S’not like anyone else wants me.”

Everything gets heavy, then. In your peripheral vision, you try not to notice the way his knuckles tighten around the wheel, or the way his jaw tenses just the slightest bit. He doesn’t respond. You didn’t think he would. You’re in a torturing mood. Just want to poke and prod at the wound for a bit and see what happens. Because he says you know how to pick ‘em, but won’t let you pick him. Even if you both know he wants to be picked.

After about ten minutes of ear deafening silence, he clears his throat quietly.

“Still workin’ down the bank?”

You hum, non-committedly. You can’t tell if you’re happy or sad that he’s stopped pushing for more on this other guy. Odds are, he’d be in the papers tomorrow for all the wrong reasons. You’ve got goosebumps from the cold. They itch a bit. Maybe waiting outside wasn’t the best idea, but it’s better than hanging around inside like some loner. Maybe you were just eager to see him.

You see him less now that you’ve gone civilian. Five bullet wounds and a back injury will do that to a person. It’s been around seven months since you last had anything to do with him. Seven months since you quit. The last message from him on your phone is from nine months ago. It says, “give me back my tie.” You didn’t respond.

More than anything, you’re tired. And bored.

You never told him you worked at a bank.

“Might get back into liquidation. Lemon says he knows a guy.”

It’s a lie. You don’t want to get back in, and Lemon wouldn’t help you even if you did. Doesn’t mean you don’t hate your life the way it is right now.

“Nah, you wouldn’t survive out there, darlin’,” he mutters, little finger flicking up to switch on the indicators. “Times have changed. Good thing like you? They’d tear ya apart, I mean, look at ya.”

You can’t tell if he means it. Can’t tell if it means something. It hurts more than you think it does. It’s also kinda backhanded, even if it is a lie.

Flecks of rain have begun to spatter the windshield, their outlines illuminated by each passing streetlight. You’re seething. The type of thing where you can literally smell it off someone. You want him to mean it. But he probably doesn’t. And even if he does, he’s not gonna do anything about it.

“D’you even know where you’re going? You don’t have an address.”

“You think I don’t know where you live? Give me some credit.”

You never gave him your address.

“I’m not going to mine.”

He frowns, then, lips twitching like he wants to say something, like he’s getting ready to speak but hasn’t decided on the words yet. You can almost hear the sound of him blinking, like a cartoon. He looks kinda funny when he’s frustrated, like a muppet with a big, bushy moustache.

The hand comes out to gesture a “what the fuck” before he even speaks, almost in slow motion, like the thought is loading.

“Well, why the fuck didn’t you say somethin’ before I-”

“You didn’t fuckin’ ask, mate,” you groan, “Literally didn’t even fuckin’ say anything until-”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know where the fuck-”

“I didn’t ask you to know, I was gonna fuckin’ tell you.”

“Takin’ your sweet fuckin’ time, ain’t ya!”

“Would you relax, it’s not like you’ve gone the wrong way, I would have-”

“You know,” he cuts in, pointing his index finger accusatorily at you, “you’re a lot easier to deal with when you shut the fuck up.”

You shove his hand away. He’s not making sense.

“Fuck you.”

Green becomes amber becomes red light, shining through the watery sheen of the windshield and hitting his skin like a coloured lens. Without the grumble of the engine, you can almost hear him breathe. It grounds you. Reminds you he’s a real human being. Sometimes he’s such a caricature that you forget.

When he speaks next, his voice is uncharacteristically light, and void of aggression.

“Thinkin’ of gettin’ a new suit.”

It’s so dumb. It’s so. dumb. And no one cares. But it’s his attempt at normalcy, and it’s a hell of an olive branch, even if it does give you whiplash. You don’t even know what to say to that. What are you supposed to say to that?

Go get one, then. You don’t want to pick another fight. You’ve already got steam coming out of your ears from the last one. But it’s not like he’s broke, or doesn’t know where to get one. He’s trying, he’s really trying to make conversation, so you voice - quietly - the only thought that comes to mind.

“I like your blue one. Not the… the dark blue one.”

“Not the dark blue one?”

“No, I mean, the dark blue one.”

And then, completely out of character, in a moment of absolute weakness;

“I’m going to Italy next week for a conference. Maybe you could… come with? Maybe get something…”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t got the time for that, do I.”

Shot down.

“Fine. Forget I said anything.”

He inhales deeply, like he’s either about to explode or implode. To your relief, he exhales slowly, a hand coming up to scratch at his stubble.

“Where you goin’, anyway?”

“A friend’s,” you mutter, pulling at the hems of your sleeves.

“Yeah, but where’d they live? I gotta drop you somewhere, right?”

“Just… The Square is fine.”

“No chance. Are you fuckin’ dense?”

“Jesus Christ, fine,” you huff, grabbing his phone from the cup holder so you can plug in the address. But it’s fucking locked. You don’t know why you thought it wouldn’t be. You click the power button a couple of times before shoving it into his lap. “Unlock it, then. Jesus.”

He mutters something you can’t hear, and tosses it back in your general direction. It almost ricochets off the arm rest.

The audio assistant on google maps pipes up every thirty seconds. Other than that, it’s quiet. He’s always so unnecessarily tense. It gets to you. All you do is argue. But it’s not like you hate each other. Is it? If he did, he wouldn’t have come to pick you up. If you did, you wouldn’t have asked him.

The car slows to a halt. He lets out a long, loud sigh, and drums his fingers against the wheel. Then he stops, and turns to look at you for the first time since you got in.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry, darlin’.”

“Thanks for the lift.”

You’ve dipped before he can get another word out. It smells like rain on tarmac, like sweat and humidity, like headache and sleep. Just before you slam the door shut, he leans over the passenger seat.

“Wait, wait.”

You jerk forward and pull the door back open mid-swing. You glare.

“What.”

“If you ever need somewhere to go, I’ve, uh… I’ve got a nice flat. Just up…”

You almost want to let yourself fall for it. Just for fun. His eyes are so serious it almost makes you laugh. You’ve never known him to be serious about anything. But you can’t stop the belittling scoff that leaves your lips before it’s too late.

You miss the way his eyes stay on you as you head up the steps and hit the buzzer. He stays parked outside for a good while after you’ve got in.

Maybe one day he’ll get up and walk after you.

Maybe.

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #tangerine fan fiction #bullet train #tangerine #bullet train fan fiction #maybe #aeaean bliss

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animementrash · 3 months

Text

AOT Veterans red flags Pt.1

Characters: Levi Ackerman, Erwin Smith, Hange Zoe

Tags: headcanons, implied established relationship, annoying things I think they would do, they/them pronouns for Hange <3

A/N: Listen, I don't know about you but I can't enjoy anything without trying to find something bad about it No wonder why I've been in therapy for 4 years, so this is me trying to find annoying things they would do when in a relationship. I will also post the cute/nice things version soon, so don't worry! :p

Levi Ackerman:

Will snap at you when mad. Even if you manage to get him to date you and even if he really loves you, when he’s mad, he doesn’t make exceptions on anyone and will most likely snap at you if you’re nearby or if you’re the reason he’s upset.

Will give you the cold shoulder after arguing. He may be a strong and composed man but most definitely lacks of some emotional intelligence so if you have a fight his first response is to back out and ignore you until he’s sorted his mind. It may be hours, days or even weeks until he starts reaching out to you normally.

Will never admit he’s wrong. Following with the arguing theme, if you guys are fighting about something he is wrong about, he will rather leave you talking to yourself than to admit he’s wrong. He may reach out to you and admit it afterwards but will never do it at the moment you’re arguing.

Will expect you to adapt to his lifestyle and not the other way around. He’s been very independent since a young age and his lifestyle is ruled by very specific ideals and schedules, which means he will most likely expect you to understand and adapt to said rhythm instead of asking for your way of doing things or even try to adapt to yours.

Will not “get out of his shell” for you. He’s a very reserved, quiet and simple man; no, he will not eventually start to like going out and meeting new people and no he will not suddenly change his attitude to be a friendly sunshine just because you’re like that or you want him to be like that. He is who he is and will not change for anyone, take it or leave it.

If he must choose between Erwin or you, he will choose Erwin. This isn’t even a question for him, and it’s not even an Eruri kind of thing, it’s just that for the most part of his life his only reason to keep going has been Erwin’s ideals, the only constant in his life has been Erwin and for him to choose something or someone else above that is almost impossible.

Will not like the things you like just to make you happy. If you like drinking coffee instead of tea it’s alright for him, but don’t expect him to start liking it too just because you offered him a cup. Also, if you are a social person and love to go out and befriend everyone, he will not stop you but won’t go out of his way to be friendly either.

Will most likely ignore you if he gets too overwhelmed. He will not do it on purpose or without a warning but if he’s tired and you keep on rambling about something that may not necessarily be interesting to him, he won’t hesitate on asking you to stop talking or to let you know he’s not interested.

Erwin Smith:

King of gaslighting. Erwin is such a great strategist, he’s smart and analytical, of course he will find a way to make you believe you were wrong when arguing even if he’s actually the one who messed up.

Will neglect the relationship more than expected. Whether you’re dating or married, you really should understand the role he plays inside the walls. He is the Commander of the scouting legion and will almost always be drowning in work, he may not like to do it but will sometimes put aside your relationship for the sake of his job, even if this makes you upset.

Won’t tolerate too much bs. Another practical man who’s been alone most of his life and already has everything figured out the way it works for him. If he dates you and you start to try to change his way of living or his routines, he will break the relationship without hesitation. He needs someone as mature and practical as him who will understand him without fussing about trivial things.

Will flirt and court other ladies if needed. I previously posted a HC about Erwin knowing he’s handsome and using that to his advantage sometimes and I firmly believe he would keep doing so even after he is in a relationship, he may not go all the way and cheat on you for the sake of the scouts but will probably accept an invitation to dinner or a flirty kiss on the cheek if he knows that can be beneficial to the legion. He isn’t trying to make you jealous or upset you, but don’t expect him to pass on an opportunity if the time is right.

King of mansplaining. He does not do it on purpose, I promise. But very often he will explain the most basic thing to you as if you were a toddler who just learned how to talk. He will also use that slow and condescending voice when explaining things that makes your blood boil.

Is a very jealous partner. Yes, he may flirt with a lady on a ball but that’s just because it’s for the sake of the scouts; your sweet greeting to that seller at the market isn’t saving the world so why do you need to greet him in such way?

Will leave to expeditions without saying goodbye. This behavior may appear only the first two or three times after you get together, this man is afraid of dying outside the walls and leave you waiting for him forever, so what does his smart yet dumb brain tells him to do? Leave without saying goodbye. that way if he does come back, he can always apologize and if he doesn’t, well, hopefully you’re too mad at him to notice he didn’t make it back home this time.

Hange Zoe:

Will prioritize their projects above anything. And yes, that includes you. If you’re expecting them to push everything away and come running to you just because they’ve been secluded in that office for too long, think again. Because they won’t.

Does not understand boundaries at all. Oh, you’re sleeping after a tiring shift? Don’t care, come look at this cool rock I found. Do you have an irrational fear of titans? Close your eyes, I will show you something so cool you will forget you fear them! (They will take you to see a real titan up close).

Will look down at you if you don’t understand them. They will constantly ramble about things that sometimes may be too complicated to understand, and if you dare to tell them that, they will stop talking and go find “someone who’s smart enough to understand”.

Hygiene isn’t their priority. They will run and hug you even if they just came back from training and they’re sweaty and smelly. Your clothes will never be clean again because they will randomly wipe their hands on whatever surface is near and, sadly for you, that will be you most of the time. “No, I don’t need to shower just yet, I did it a few days ago”

Will zone out when you’re talking. This isn’t necessarily their fault; they are just so invested on that new formation they suggested for the next expedition and can’t stop thinking about it that your childhood story about that bruise isn’t worth the time.

Will steal food from your plate without asking. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were saving that piece of meat as your last bite, it seemed so delicious that I thought I’d take it before it went cold”. “What do you mean it’s disgusting if I put my hand on your soup? I just wanted to fish that tiny potato and eat it!”.

#levi ackerman #erwin smith #hange zoe #aot headcanon #aot headcanons #aot vets #levi headcanons #erwin headcanons #hange headcanons

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tofulune · 8 months

Text

༻skin/flesh/beating hearts

i. SKIN (down to the roots)

ii. FLESH (all that i am)

iii. BEATING HEARTS (new beginnings)

—"Darling, did you mean free from me?"

Vi x F!Reader

Synopsis: You live underneath Vi’s ribcage as a squiggly, fading stick-and-poke Vi had pressured you into doing.

A series of drabbles in which Vi copes with the loss of her first love (you).

Tags: [1,122 Words], First Love, Tattooing, Petty Arguments, Cuddling

You live underneath Vi’s ribcage as a squiggly, fading stick-and-poke Vi had pressured you into doing for her.

She never thought you’d actually do it until your shaky hands found its way onto the needle. Vi remembers the quivers with each stroke and the pain hidden behind her amusement for your careful gaze.

It’s amusing to Vi.

“I don’t know why you’re making me do this…” You mumble out.

A secret part of her relishes in the moments where you fuss over her, when you're careful with her. She smirks when you’re not looking.

Even though she’s upset at you right now, one look at you and Vi wants to promise you the world.

“I’m just so…mad! Like, don’t you ever get tired of it?” Vi says and her ribs puff out with each angry sigh she lets out much to your alarm, your eyebrows furrowing in concern as you try to smooth the skin taut again. You scold Vi, but she keeps talking as if waving you off. “That enforcers can just do whatever they want to us because of where we come from?”

“I thought you said we’d stop talking about this.”

“Not until I understand what your problem is.”

This morning, the two of you got in a fight about a job Vi heard about from Little Man. Vi, you, and the others were supposed to be packed and ready to go by tonight, but when you found out the job was in the heart of Piltover you and Vi started to argue which ended up in you guys not heading out anymore.

Now, Vi did not care about what anyone else thought. If Mylo or Claggor had anything to say about a job she’d tell them to suck it up and keep on.

With you it’s different.

She could probably keep on without you…for a little bit anyway. The thing is, that unlike Mylo and Claggor who follow Vi trying to catch up, you plant your stubborn feet into the floor and not too long later Vi’s ego comes running back after you, upset and all.

Safe to say, even if she did leave she wouldn’t even have made it out the door.

You take the needle back huffing and furrowing your brows at Vi and Vi immediately shuts her mouth and holds your wrist keeping the needle there with a determined look on her face.

It’s quiet a moment.

“Tell me your greatest dream.” Vi says still a bit angry, but you can tell she tried to soften her voice.

“My greatest dream?” You reply, raising a brow, confused at the sudden change of topic. Your hand relaxes though and you resume the tattoo on the second loop of the letter in your name.

“It could be anything.”

Vi watches you carefully and attentively as if she’s ready to ingrain your words to memory.

You’re still quiet as a mouse.

Vi grumbles sighing thinking you might not want to talk. Vi looks away with a small frown on her lips though her brows remain furrowed.

You pause the tattoo and sit up a bit. Your eyes wander around the room before a slight sheepish smile appears on your lips. Vi notices it, confused a bit.

“It’s silly…”

Vi’s own small smile appears at your shyness. Did your greatest dream have something to do with…her?

“I won’t judge.”

The room is tense as you stare at Vi, gnawing at your bottom lip before sighing and giving in.

The way you look at Vi makes the butterflies in her stomach flutter. She hopes she’s not blushing as she tries her best to have a neutral face.

“…A princess.”

“Huh…?”

Vi snorts thinking it was some sort of joke and she laughs, which was a mistake because her rib aches and she holds your name (or at least half of it) with a groan.

“I mean it…!” You smile rolling your eyes chuckling at Vi’s agony, the atmosphere becoming a lot less tense. “I really do think it’d be nice to be a princess…”

Vi grimaces as she looks back at you slowly laying on her pillows again. You pull her skin taut and start working on your name again.

“Sure, but why a princess?” She shrugs.

“Well…we always scale those tall buildings when we head topside. Maybe I’d like to be inside one day. High ceilings and all.”

You pause, just taking in the sounds of Vi’s small breaths whenever you poke at her.

“I mean, Piltover looks like a fairytale compared to Zaun. I spent all my life looking up at what could be.” You decide to say.

“Then…I guess that makes sense.” And Vi means it.

When Vi looks at you, you were the perfect princess. She wants that for you and she imagines that for you. You, in a castle with a crown of jewels and clothes that weren’t worn out or faded.

Vi smiles before snorting. “There’s not really an opportunity to be a princess down here.”

“Well…I like being down here with you.”

You say it as if you were wondering if it was such a crime to want to be with Vi. To be safe under Vander’s protection. You two were still just teenagers, you understood that much.

Vi smiles. Though she loves the feeling she gets in her heart when she hears it, she never understood until later that this is enough for you.

She supposes that’s where you two were opposites.

You and Vi were always a push and pull with each other.

You were steady and she would always rock the boat, yet you both were too stubborn to see the other’s side.

You lift the needle off of Vi’s ribs staring at her.

You two were so upset with each other.

Yet there was your name like a promise.

In squiggly black ink is your name, carved into her ribcage.

You don’t move when Vi then takes your hand holding it against her cheek as she closes her eyes.

Vi’s love felt like a curse sometimes. The shield and the blade all at once.

Vi loved so hard sometimes it felt as though you were suffocating.

But someone like you who’s parents are always working in the factories, who didn’t have a brigade like Vi did, her love was all you’ve ever known and you were selfish with it.

“First thing tomorrow morning we’ll go to the penthouse in Piltover.” You say softly laying down and resting your head on Vi’s shoulder.

Vi’s eyes perk up a bit and she raises a brow.

“You think it’s a good idea?”

You nod, “I trust you.”

Though you and Vi had your differences, the love was there. That much was known.

#vi x reader #arcane vi x reader #vi arcane x reader #arcane x reader #arcane imagines

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rubyreduji · 1 year

Text

friends don't — lc

summary: you and chan are friends, but friends don't do what you do

tags: angst, fluff, pining, college!au wc: 3.3k an: yall are gonna hate me for this one (based off “friends don’t” by maddie & tae)

“Hey Y/N, Chan just got here, he said he was looking for you,” one of your friends tells you as they pass you. You thank them as your eyes start to scan the crowd, landing on the subject matter standing near the front door.

You push through the bodies of the partygoers until you’re standing right in front of the boy who was seeking you out.

“Hey Chan.” When the boy sees you in front of him, his face lights up.

“Y/N! I was just looking for you.”

“Well here I am! Do you want a drink?” Chan nods and you lead him through the crowd into the kitchen. You pour a drink for Chan and then one for yourself.

“You look really good tonight, by the way,” Chan mentions as he takes his cup.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I think some of the other guys are in the backyard, if you wanna head out that way.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Chan takes your hand and pulls you behind him as he leads the way this time. The feel of his hand in yours burns against your skin and you can’t help but glance down at where your palms are pressed together.

Chan is your…friend. Yeah, you guys are friends.

Sometimes though, late at night when you’re staring up at your ceiling, you wonder if you’re something more. You know you wish you were something more, but there’s always that fear that Chan feels differently and you ruin a perfectly good friendship. So for right now you guys are…just friends.

In the backyard of the house is a large group of your friends standing around a firepit, various drinks of alcohol in their hands. You and Chan fall into place in the circle, standing between Seungkwan and Jihoon.

Everyone is discussing something, but you can’t totally pay attention because Chan is standing so close to you and you can smell his cologne and you want to do nothing but bury your face in his neck. The night is a bit chilly and you shuffle a bit closer to Chan to try and steal some of his warmth.

“Y/N-ah, are you going to that seminar on Tuesday with that one producer? That Bumzu guy?” Jihoon asks you. You turn a bit to face him, where he’s standing next to you.

“Yeah, probably. My professor said he’d give us extra credit if we went,” you tell the older boy. You two share a major, but most of your friends have some kind of music or performance related major, like Chan, who’s a dance major.

You and Jihoon continue to chat for a while, before Vernon jumps in as well. You’re not paying much attention to the others, but you’re still always slightly aware of Chan’s constant presence. You can feel the back of his arm press into your back, the heat of his body, as you both hold your own conversations with your friends.

A bit of time passes before you’re interrupted by the conversation that Chan is having with Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seungkwan. They’re arguing about something, but you can’t think about a time when those four aren’t arguing.

“No, no way! You’re completely wrong,” Seungcheol says. “I’m right!”

“Yeah, yeah, when is he not,” Chan mutters to you. “Someone’s got his panties in a twist.” You snort at Chan’s remark, only to draw the attention of one of the older guys.

“What are you two laughing about over there?” Jeonghan calls.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Chan retorts. “That was a Y/N only sentence.”

“Of course it was,” Seungkwan mutters with a playful eye roll.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you two are always in your own little world,” Jeonghan says. “It’s like nobody else even exists when you two are around each other.”

“Yeah well, maybe I don’t want anyone else to exist in our world. It seems pretty good just the two of us.” Chan wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer, sending a chill through your spine. The other guys brush Chan off and go back to their conversation.

Even without the attention of the other guys, Chan’s arm stays around your waist. You look at him and smile softly. “Do you wanna leave soon?”

“Sure. You need a ride home?” You nod. You guys say your goodbyes to your friends before you and Chan head to his car.

Chan opens the door for you before running around to the other side of the car to get into the driver’s seat. You settle back on the leather seats of his car and kick off your shoes that have been pinching your feet all night.

You reach over and turn up the radio as Chan starts the pull away from the party. You softly hum along to the familiar tune on the radio and soon Chan joins in as well. You notice Chan’s driving slower than he normally would (he’s a chronic speeder and he’s going under the speed limit) but you don’t mind. He does this every time he’s going to drop you off home, just to get a few more minutes with you.

“So pretty girl,” Chan reaches across the center console and grabs your hand in his, “tell me about that thing you and hyung were talking about earlier.”

“Oh yeah! So there’s this producer coming in to talk to all of the music composition students on Tuesday and we’re going to be able to ask him questions and then there’s a rumor going around that he might give some of the students an opportunity to work on some music with him,” you explain. “I’ve listened to some of his music and his work is amazing.”

You continue to ramble on about your passion for music until Chan pulls up to your apartment. You barely even realize you’re home until Chan shuts the car off.

“Let me walk you to your door,” he says and when have you ever turned him down. You two climb out of his car and you two slowly start towards your door.

This time it’s Chan who starts to ramble about this new song he’s choreographing for his dance team. He doesn’t finish up until you’re inside of your apartment and you’ve already slipped into comfier clothes and started boiling water for tea.

You glance at the time, then back to where Chan is fiddling with his keys in your doorway. It’s late, you know he should go, but you don’t want him to, and from the looks of it Chan doesn’t really want to either. “You should stay for tea. I mean it’s already steeped, the least you could do is stay and have a cup.”

Chan doesn’t argue as he takes a seat at the counter. You pour two cups before you sit down next to Chan. You two continue to talk until late into the night. You glance over at the clock at 2:00 am and turn to Chan.

“You should just…spend the night tonight. Since it’s so late.” It wouldn’t be the first time Chan has slept over, but even then it rarely happens.

You can see Chan brighten at the idea but calm himself down so he comes off cool. “Yeah, if you’d be okay with that.”

“Of course.”

So that’s how you and Chan end up laying next to each other, shoulder to shoulder on your bed. Neither of you say anything, but you know you’re both awake. You stare up at the ceiling, too afraid to glance to the side and look at Chan.

You feel him stir a bit next to you and you can’t take it any longer. You roll to your side to look at Chan, only to find him already looking at you. “Can we…? Would you mind if I…?” You gesture a bit to his body and thankfully Chan understands because he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close to him. You settle into place, pressed up against him. It feels right. You fall asleep shortly after, safe in his arms.

It isn’t until about a week later that another situation occurs with Chan that has you wondering that maybe he wants to be more than friends as well. You’ve been out late working on a project at the library when you get a call from Chan as you’re walking into your apartment.

“Hey? What’s up, everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I just…wanted to say hi. Hear your voice.” His tone is soft and it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“Well then, hi. What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been in the studio, working on some choreography, but nothing special. I got a call from my mom earlier and that was a conversation. I love her, but she just keeps pestering me on ‘what comes next’.”

“Well, what was your response?”

“I don’t know, and I told her that. I don’t have any big plans, just things I want to happen. I want to choreograph for real, something big even. Wouldn’t that be awesome? To be able to do what I love, and have people recognize me for it. And of course you’ll be there too, getting the same kind of recognition for your music. We could be like a power duo. You make the songs, I make the dances. Maybe we could get signed by some big K-Pop label and we could be a power couple!”

You listen to Chan ramble on as you move around your apartment getting ready for bed. You smile at the idea of being in Chan’s future, and you can’t help but wonder what he means by “power couple”. You try to ignore the way it makes your cheeks and your heart warm.

“Sorry, I’m talking when I was the one who called to hear your voice,” Chan says.

“No, no, I like hearing you talk. The future you want…it sounds nice. I wouldn’t mind living a life like that.”

“Yeah?” Chan sounds hopeful. You hope it means what you want it to.

“Yeah, of course. I want you every step of the way to where we’re going, which of course is only going to be the top.”

“That’s my girl, that’s what I like to hear.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Uhm…I had plans to meet up with someone from my studio, but I can cancel on them. It’s nothing important, and it’s not like she hasn’t canceled on me before.”

“Oh, are you sure? I don’t want you to cancel just for me, it’s nothing important. I just wanted to know if you wanted to go grocery shopping with me, but it could be another day, or I could just go by myself.”

“No, no,” Chan interjects, “I want to go with you. You know I’d take any opportunity to see you. I promise you, no plans are more important than you. So I’ll pick up tomorrow at noon, okay?”

You smile. “Sounds perfect.”

“Hi gorgeous,” Chan says as soon as you open the door. You roll your eyes but still smile at the nickname.

“You’re one hundred percent sure your friend is okay with you canceling?”

“Of course. Stop worrying that cute little head of yours, okay?” Chan shoots you his signature smile and it calms your nerves so you drop it.

You and Chan drive to your grocery store of pick and Chan grabs a cart for you. He follows behind you, pushing the cart, as you go through the aisles looking for what you need. You and Chan make idle chatter as you search for each thing on your list.

Traitorously, your mind points out how domestic this feels. It doesn't just feel domestic, it feels natural, like this should be Chan’s permanent place in your life. You don’t mention it when Chan grabs a few things for himself as well, throwing them into the cart to keep on hand at your place for him. Just like a boyfriend would.

You can’t shake the idea out of your head until you get to the cash register. The cashier looks to be a guy on the younger side and you smile at him and exchange niceties as you start to unload your groceries from the cart.

“So, are you from around here?” The cashier asks as he starts to ring you up.

“Yeah, I go to college just down the street.”

“Same, Sebong U?”

“Yeah!”

“Crazy, I’ve never seen you on campus. Trust me, I’d remember if I saw someone as pretty as you.” The guy flashes a smile at you and you blush a bit.

All of a sudden you feel Chan slide up behind you, a protective hand on your waist. “Can you ring us up? We’re in a hurry.”

The cashier flushes and nods. “Of course, sorry. Cash or card?”

You want to question Chan on his actions but you have to pay for the groceries so you turn your focus back to the task at hand. Even as your paying Chan doesn’t loosen his grip on you until you two are exiting the register.

“The check out guy was flirting with you,” Chan says as soon as you two exit the building.

“He was not. He was being friendly, it’s his job.”

“No, he was flirting with you.” Chan’s pouting. Why is he pouting?

“Does that bother you, Channie?” You joke, but he answers seriously.

“Yes. You’re my pretty, and my pretty girl only. Anyone else who wants to flirt with you has to get through me first.” He’s jealous. Chan is jealous someone was flirting with you and if he wasn’t standing four inches away from you, you’d probably celebrate. That doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering the whole way home.

“What’s going on between you and Chan?” The question takes a little off guard as Seungkwan sits down next to you in class.

“What do you mean?” You ask him nonchalantly, but deep down you have an idea of what he’s asking about.

“Don’t play that game with me Y/N. We all know you and Chan are oddly close to each other, but it’s been getting even more intense lately. Are you guys dating or what? Remember you’re not allowed to keep secrets from me.”

“Okay, I’m actually so glad you brought it up because I’ve been dying to talk to someone about it. Chan and I aren’t dating, but I like him, and I think he likes me, but I’m not completely sure. He’s been a lot more flirty and sweet to me lately and I can’t tell if he’s giving me signs or not.”

“I mean, you guys can’t be just friends, friends don’t act like that. I know Chan, and trust me, he likes you,” Seungkwan tells you.

“So do I make a move?”

“Unless you want to be in this weird dating but not dating limbo for the rest of time, then yes! Ask him out!”

“Okay, okay!”

Your stomach is giddy but your talk with Seungkwan has made you feel worlds better about your decision to finally confess your feelings to Chan and ask him out. You don’t know why you’re so nervous, all signs point to good things. He’s practically your boyfriend anyways, so it’s not like things are going to change much.

You and Chan are meeting up at a park where you’re going to tell him everything. You get to the meeting spot first but you only have to wait a couple minutes until Chan is strolling up to you.

“You know it’s not safe for a pretty girl like you to be out here all alone.”

“Well good thing you’re here to protect me,” you tell him as you reach out for his arm. He lets you take it and you two start to walk.

“You said you had something important to tell me?” You nod. “Well I have something important to tell you too, but I’ll let you go as it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“How chivalrous,” you tease him, but can’t wonder if you have the same important thing to say. You chew at your lip a moment, thinking of how to start this.

“Is everything okay?” Chan stops walking to look at you directly. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, okay?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “Chan, we can’t keep kidding ourselves anymore? I’m tired of walking on eggshells.”

“Y/N? What are you talking about?”

“You can’t tell me that this, us, isn’t nothing. I know there’s something, I just know it. I look into your eyes and I know it.” You grab his hand and hold it in yours.

“Know what?” You don’t get why he doesn’t understand what you’re saying.

“That we’re more than friends Chan! I love you, and you can lie and say you don’t love me, but I know you do!”

“Y/N…” The look on Chan’s face makes you feel ill. Your heart clenches at his tone of voice.

“No, no, Chan whatever you’re going to say you don’t mean it. You can’t tell me I’m wrong because what have all of these months been? The hand holding, the late night talks, the pet names. That can’t be nothing.” You know you sound desperate. You don’t really care.

“Y/N, I have a girlfriend.” Your ears start to ring. Your chest feels tight. You don’t think you’re breathing. “I wanted to see if I would be a good boyfriend so I-”

“What? Lead me on? How did you think that was going to go?”

“I didn’t think it would end like this! I never meant to-”

“No, no. You don’t get to do this. I-,” your voice breaks, sobs threatening to pour out from your lips. “Fuck you Lee Chan.” You barely spit the words out before tears start to stream down your face. You quickly turn and leave before Chan can see you at your lowest point.

You’re devastated, you’re heartbroken, but more than anything, you’re humiliated. Chan just used you, and all the while you were falling in love with him. You’re nothing but a fool.

You’re not prepared to see Chan when you run into him a few weeks later when you’re out with Seungkwan and Soonyoung. You’re even less prepared to see the girl standing at his side, hand enveloped in his.

You haven’t seen Chan since that day. That hasn’t stopped you from crying about him almost every day.

“Oh, hey guys,” Chan says when he notices the group. You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you a little too long.

“Is this your little girlfriend, Channie?” Soonyoung teases.

This seems to break Chan’s gaze from you as he turns his sight back to the girl. “Yeah, this is Jaehwa. My girlfriend.”

“I still can’t help but get all excited to hear you call me that,” Chan’s girlfriend, Jaehwa, says. She then turns to the three of you. “It took him nearly three months to ask me out. Not that I didn’t know he liked me, he was always flirting in dance practice. He’s a little tease like that, you know?”

Yeah, you do know.

You feel Seungkwan silently reach under the table to grab your hand. You squeeze it tight.

Your gaze meets Chan’s and you stare at each other for a moment. You can tell he knows that he’s hurt you. You used to love the fact you two could communicate with just your eye, but now you just break his gaze, hoping he feels as much guilt as you feel shame.

It doesn’t take long for Chan and his girlfriend to leave and you finally start to feel yourself relax, but your eyes sting like tears could burst out at any moment.

Seeing Chan with his girlfriend upsets you, but it also angers you. You’ve spent the last three weeks pitying yourself, when really you should be furious for Chan for how he’s treated you. For what he’s done to you.

Friends don’t do that to their friends.

But then again, you don’t think you and Chan have been friends for a long time.

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#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #lee chan #dino #svt dino #dino fanfic #dino angst #dino scenarios #dino imagines #dino x reader #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop angst #rru.fics #★ sfw #rru.writes

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g0ds-w0rst-m1stake · 1 month

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The Pain of losing him (Pt. 1?/Intro)

Summery: After Luke left, his girlfriend is alone to find herself. And as the years pass by, the girl with pretty hair becomes the Son of death.

FYI: This is part one of a fic I'm also posting on Ao3 and this is gonna serve as a background for the actual story (starting in chapter two) I'll be posting soon.

Sorry if this is bad lmao

No major content warning xx

~~~~~~~~~

When Luke Castellan was 19, he left. It was only three weeks after his birthday, the last week of july. He tried to take me with him, he really did. At night, as I toss and turn in my sheets, I can still hear his sweet voice filled with venom.

“Darling, Please. Whoever Your Dad is still hasn't claimed you? Don't you think we could-”

“Stop it luke. You’re crazy. I’m getting Chiron-”

“Y/N, Darling, don’t.”

And as i broke into a run, Something stung my ankle. When I woke up in the medic cabin hours later, he was gone. And a uncouncus Percy Jackson was beside me, his body turning in his unwanted sleep.

I was fifteen then. My own birthday was coming up. I spent it at camp Half-blood without luke. Without knowing who my godly parent was. The Hermes cabin wasn’t the same without Luke, but I couldn’t leave camp. I attracted monsters like flies to honey. I didn’t know what else to do. I spent my nights in Luke's empty bed, any of the Hermes kids could have tried to take it from me. They didn’t. They missed the ghost of their brother just as much as I missed the ghost of my boyfriend.

I was sixteen, when I went with the son of Poseidon to receive the golden fleece. It was supposed to be me, Percy, and Annabeth. And grover, after we rescued him. Clarisse tagged along. I hadn’t spoken to her, not since Luke. Believe it or not, they were friends. Despite the bickering and arguing, they were close.

Talking to her again made it impossible to not think of him.

Then, there were the sirens. Despite my better judgment, I tied myself up with Annabeth to hear their song. The first thing I saw was Luke. Then I saw myself. The scrawny girl was long gone. In her place, a boy. A boy with dark hair and eyes that matched mine. He looked like the boys in my old pinterest boards, in the stories with the morally gray characters. He looked like me.

When Percy freed me from the ropes, and received Annabeth from the deep, which was horrifying. I asked Annabeth for her dagger. They were both horrified as the hair fell over the side of the boat, but as I ran my hand through my new hair, I smiled.

When I went back to camp with Grover and the golden fleece, I went back to the Hermes cabin. And I still slept in his bed, but I felt so much better because not only was I a different person, I was myself. I talked to Chiron, and got a proper chest binder and then everyone knew I was a boy.

I was still sixteen when My hair went from blonde, to brown, then to an inky black. The change in my hair was something I didn’t know how to feel about it. But it looked like me. And then, when I woke up from the nightmares of Luke, and I went outside to escape the restraints of his cabin, the grass died under my feet. I didn’t tell anyone.

Percy Jackson was fourteen when his mom drove Grover, Thalia, Annabeth, Percy, and I to a boarding school. Me and Thalia had become quick friends and her anger towards Luke made me feel so, so much better.

That was when I met two kids with the same dark eyes as me. I felt some uncanny urge to protect them. When the quest was put forward, I wanted to go. I didn’t. Not until a disheveled looking Percy Jackson found me that night.

Percy promised Nico something that I didn’t quite hear.

Percy Jackson Held up the sky. So did Annabeth Chase. And so did I.

The cosmos weighed nothing compared to having to tell that little boy his sister was dead. I held his hand, and he said it, not to me, but to percy.

“Where’s my sister?”

I hugged him tightly as Percy handed him the last thing his sister wanted him to have. And the ground split open underneath me.

As Nico ran, the dark blur over my head told both me, and Percy Jackson about my father.

#luke castellan x reader #Luke castellan x trans reader?#Percy Jackson #pjo x reader #Hades!reader #nico di angelo

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 7 months

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Been a while since we did this: It’s midnight and I’m thinking about six of crows, so let’s chat. I’m currently thinking about the experiences of Wylan and Inej echoing each other on opposite ends of the spectrum of cruelty created by the environment in Ketterdam, because ultimately it’s a system that favours no-one but the men who created it. Even though Inej is a foreign immigrant brought to the country against her will and Wylan was born to one of the richest families in the country, they both suffer greatly at its hands - arguably even in similar ways.

*Spoilers ahead!!!!*

Ok so this particular thought occurred to me a little while ago, and it was first sparked by the conversation Van Eck has with Inej at the beginning of Crooked Kingdom when holding her captive. He tells her he is not “a brute” but has simply “employed the methods you are most accustomed to - threats, violence” and her immediate response is “He sounded like Tante Heleen”. She goes on to remember Heleen’s words saying “Why do you make me do these things? You bring these punishments on yourself, girl”. So of course there’s this immediate link between them, and I would argue that the parallels are perpetuated throughout the novel as well. Quickly want to add as well that it’s really interesting to see Tante Heleen call her “girl”, because although this denies Inej identity and aligns greatly with the way she sobs at hearing her own name said aloud for the first time in a year when she meets Kaz, it doesn’t come across as immediately dehumanising in the way that other epithets used against her, like “little Lynx”, do. But interestingly enough, I actually think that it still is a dehumanising word when it comes from Heleen - because she does not see “her girls” as human. First of all, whenever the children at the Menagerie are referred to as “girls” it’s always in an entirely possessive manner - “your girl will he returned to you” “where is my girl?” “That is not my girl” (these are literally all from one scene, and there are way more throughout the books) - but the idea is only intensified by Inej’s own sentence: “not really people, not even really girls.”. As if “girls” and “people” are two separate entities. As if “girls” are not human. This is the language and the attitude that she was surrounded by at the Menagerie and is still surrounded by in the city, and what was forced upon her throughout her experiences in the country. But you know what else might be a genuinely horrifying little detail of this????? Inej may have actually taught herself that the words “people” and “girls” are not synonymous. Because when Inej was brought to Kerch she wasn’t fluent in the language, she spoke some of it and quickly learnt the rest through circumstance, so if this was the way she heard Kerch people use the word “girl” this is how she would internalise the definition of it. I hope this makes sense I’m not sure if I’m relating my thoughts very clearly, it’s kind of like how Matthias was forced to learn Kerch because he was in a Kerch prison so he doesn’t know words that would easily come to him in Fjerdan, like the snow goggles, but instead of simply having gaps Inej has actually learnt a false grammar system that defines “girl” as a dehumanising term because it means someone who is less than or someone who is property. Anyway, that was quite a tangent so let’s keep going.

I talked quite a lot about Wylan’s experience with abuse in my post about the similarities between him and Kaz so I won’t go into too much detail here (if you want to read that though it’s on my page, it’s called Kaz and Wylan’s Potential to Become Each Other, I can tag anyone who’d like to be tagged) but I want to mention the way Van Eck has conditioned his son to blame himself for everything he’s been through, rather than his father. Wylan actively blames himself, even after he discovers what his father did to Marya he says to Jesper “you don’t understand, it’s my fault” because he believes that Van Eck needed a convenient way of getting rid of her so he could remarry and have a child that he didn’t view as “defective”.

I want to talk about Inej during the bathroom scene in Crooked Kingdom, specifically focusing on the fact that this is really the moment she is most open about her trauma and reveals herself to be at her most vulnerable. Now I could talk for DAYS about the way she expresses herself in this scene in comparison to Kaz and why their vulnerabilities differ in different moments, but I’m trying to stay on track so maybe I’ll talk about that another time, the focus here is that in this moment when she is her most open with another character about what she went through she tells Kaz that “Tante Heleen wasn’t always cruel” and explains emotional abuse and manipulation that Heleen layered with her physical and financial abuse. It so importantly echoes Van Eck’s abuse of Wylan, because ultimately he was always an emotionally abusive and manipulative person. Discovering that Wylan couldn’t read at age 8 didn’t magically switch him from a loving husband and father to the monster we see in the duology, and it is implied that he was abusing Marya in some form prior to sending her away. But Wylan clings to the things that his father did that seem loving, at least on the surface, and blames himself for any problems in his parents marriage - “they argued a lot, sometimes about me. But I remember them laughing a lot too”. (The quote is along those lines sorry I don’t have my book on me right now). This quote always intrigued me because not only does Wylan label himself as the common denominator in any issues they had, he also quickly jumps in to add defence as if their relationship is never supposed to be touched upon or examined too closely. Wylan also says “My father trusts himself first, Alys only so far”, which is really interesting to me because it clearly implies that there is a limit to anything positive Van Eck shares with his supposed loved ones. I don’t think there’s supposed to be any implication that Van Eck is abusing Alys right now, but if you disagree please let me know if be interested to hear it, but I do think that we’re supposed to be aware that he would begin to do so further down the line.

Ok I won’t lie to you guys I’ve kind of lost track of my point, so I’m gonna leave this here for now and if I decide to add anything later then I’ll reblog to continue. If anyone would like to add anything please do, and thanks for reading!

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glazemeda · 2 years

Note

HEY DARLING OKG OMG OMG IM SO EXITED GO SEND THIS IN OH GOD

So i saw ur alphabet event and i really couldnt hold back but to join, i hope u dont have to many requests u dont have to do it if ur overhelmed

So i would love to see scaramouche with

J-jelousy

F-fight

L-love confession

R-romance

Andd

N-nicknames

Dont overwork urself, drink water, eat smth and have a nice day :}

note: hi there!! sorry for the wait, it's been a long while since i last wrote for scaramouche, but i hope you like it! <3 tags: fluff, slight angst and violence, scaramouche spoilers(!)

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Fights with Scaramouche aren’t uncommon, but most of them are actually just aggressive banter. It can go wrong, or maybe you’re having a serious fight, which will end up with him going away for a while to avoid saying too many things. You’re still his lover, and he doesn’t want you to leave him for not being able to control his words.

If you’re in the wrong, or did something that felt like betrayal, he’s not going to forgive you. Even if a part of him, the naive, gentle Kunikuzushi wants to talk and stay with you after that, he won’t do it. He won’t forgive anyone who betrays him, and that includes you.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Your lover does indeed get jealous easily, mainly because of his own insecurities and memories from the past. He can’t help but feel upset when someone else makes you laugh, a whisper in his mind wondering if you’d be happier with them rather than with a broken puppet like him.

He won’t let you go, though. Scaramouche isn’t afraid to resort to violence to force that person away from you, but he knows you wouldn’t want that. So, he’ll force himself to act calm and give that person the chance to go away. If they take it, good, but if they don’t… Your lover’s smile as he tells you to walk away for a bit is anything but comforting.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

It most likely happened in a moment of stress, completely unexpected for the two of you. Maybe you were in a dangerous situation, injured or arguing with him. It’s hard to control one’s words while upset, so he probably slipped up.

In reality, Scaramouche thought of ignoring his feelings, he hated the fact that you made him feel such warmth with just a look, as well as pure fear when you did something reckless. Unless his mouth is faster than his brain, he wouldn’t confess. He would, however, give it a chance if you took that step.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He usually calls you by your name, or a short version of it if it’s on the longer side. He tends to call you “dummy” sometimes, or “idiot” if he knows you don’t mind too much. Your lover doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you, but he’s not the most vocally affectionate.

In private, during nights where his mind is plagued with thoughts and he can’t help but chase after your touch for a reminder that you’re by his side, he calls you “love”. A simple nickname, but one that also describes his feelings for you at the same time. You might also hear him calling you “dear” or “darling” when he’s especially relaxed.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Scaramouche isn’t very romantic, mainly because he doesn’t really know much about romance. But, he’s willing to try if it makes you happy. A romantic dinner, walking side by side under a sea of stars, watching the sunset together… Tell him what you’d like.

You’ll have to be the one to think about what to do though, if you’d prefer something creative. He’ll go for safer options if you’d let him, at least the first few times. And, even though he would never admit it, he started enjoying the romantic gestures after a while. He may surprise you by getting you your favorite flowers or snacks from time to time, acting like he didn’t actually search for something to make you smile.

glazemeda 2022

#genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche fluff #200 followers fluff event

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justauthoring · 6 months

Text

the bond - chapter eleven.

*bond: a relationship between people or groups based on shared feelings, interests, or experiences.

word count: 6177

based off of: 2x09, 2x10, 2x11 & 2x12

a/n: finaleeeeeee of seasonnnnn twoooooooo

tag list: @ernyaeger - @luvelyxp - @urfictional - @decaffeinatedtealover - @ange-lica-3 - @midzuumi - @leiriswhore - @urfictional - @frasheliza - @echothy - @usernamehere91 - @happygirl5798 - @dwarfnip - let me know if you’d like to be added!

“Mikasa!”

The sound of your horses racing through the forest is loud, pounding through your ears as you strain to focus, fingers gripping the reins of your horse tightly–enough that your knuckles have turned white and the muscles in your fingers ache. But you don’t let up, your body tilts forward to keep the pace of your horse fast and so that you don’t stray behind the others. The exhaustion of the past few days is creeping up on you, but you refuse to let it win.

Not now.

You needed to talk to Reiner and Bertholdt yourself, you needed to know why and most importantly, you needed to get Ymir and Eren back.

“Hey, Mikasa!”

It’s Hannes calling for Mikasa, and you know for a fact that she can hear him. She’s quite a far bit ahead of everyone else, a little more desperate than anyone and far more determined. You understand why–but it’s hard to ignore the fact that she’s blatantly disregarding orders given to you all in her drive to save Eren.

“Mikasa!”

Hannes is able to reach Mikasa, falling next to her as you glance ahead, eyeing the back of their heads, noticing the way Mikasa finally seems to register Hannes, a gasp of surprise leaving her lips as she glances back at him.

“Stop pushing so hard,” he advises, “you’re drifting near the vanguard. It’ll ruin the whole formation. I know how you feel, but… didn’t I tell you? Eren won’t get taken away without putting up a fight. Don’t you agree?”

Feeling your nails dig into the palm of your hand, you let a small smile slip onto your lips.

Hannes was right, even if he wasn’t talking to you. You like to think you know Eren, even if not as much as Armin or Mikasa did–you felt the two of you understood each other in ways maybe others didn’t. You understood his drive to kill the Titans, you understood his desperation to join the Scouts when you all were training. Most importantly, you knew that if there’s one thing Eren would never do it was give up.

And he certainly wouldn’t let Reiner and Bertholdt crush his spirit like that.

He wouldn’t let them win.

“So,” Hannes continues, “it’s up to us to stay calm and be there when he needs us. Just like we did back then.”

Your eyes flicker to the back of Mikasa’s head, trying to think about what she must be feeling now. It was obvious to anyone with a brain that she was in love with Eren (and you’d argue, the same went for him, but Eren would never admit to it). You couldn’t imagine what it’d feel like to know the person you cared so deeply about has been taken by people you thought were your friends… not knowing if he was okay, where he was, when you’d see him again…

As if on instinct, your eyes flicker to your right, gaze drifting across Jean next to you. It’s unconscious, you barely realize you’re looking at him before you blink, snapping your head back ahead of yourself, feeling your cheeks warm, just faintly, despite yourself.

You’d looked at him without thought, your head had moved on your own, the thought of how you’d feel if it was Jean and not Eren… and how that had scared you so bad you didn’t even want to think about it.

It comes a slow, startling realization that you think you understand Mikasa a little bit better in that moment – because if it was Jean who was the Attack Titan, and it was Jean that had been taken by Reiner and Bertholdt, you think you’d be out of your mind with worry. You’re not sure when your feelings for him grew to be so strong, strong enough you don’t even really know how to describe them–or rather, are too scared–but they’re there and it’s striking enough that you realized you’d do anything to make sure Jean stayed out of harm's way.

Anything.

“Straight ahead! There’s a light ahead!”

Lips parting, you raise your head, following the direction Armin’s pointing at. The light is gone, but you have no doubt about Armin’s words – if there was a light, that means…

“It’s the light that appears when a Titan transforms!”

“Then we’re just in time,” Commander Erwin mumbles, before his back straightens and you watch as his face hardens with determination. “Soldiers, disperse! We believe the enemy has already transformed! Locate Eren and recover him!”

You turn left with Jean and Connie, trying to ignore the racing of your heart as you race forward.

A scream catches your attention, head turning to the right as you watch one of the Military Police get grabbed by the surrounding Titans, crying out for help, but nobody can do a damn thing as the Titan opens its mouth and rips him in half. Frowning, you watch as the blood comes spurting out, body tensing and muscles freezing at the sight, before slowing your head turns forward, swallowing thickly.

“Another one of the Police!” Jean cries.

“Battle is not our objective!” Erwin cuts in, voice carrying over the crowd. “Prioritize recovery and retreat!

With a single nod, more to yourself than anyone else, you stand from your horse and click your ODM gear into action, zooming through the forest, feeling the rush of the wind blow through your hair, keeping a clear eye out as you maneuver your way through. You’re looking for any sign of Reiner and Bertholdt, and more importantly, Eren and Ymir. You didn’t have very much time left, everyone knew that, so every moment was of the essence. Saving your friends was the most important thing.

A sudden bellowing scream cuts through your thoughts, loud enough to feel the trees rumble as you zip through, and enough to make you feel like it’s shaking you yourself.

That was…

“A titan’s scream!”

“It came from ahead!”

Never faltering, you race forward, eyes peeled for a single sight of the Titan – you couldn’t let it get past you, especially if it was Reiner or Bertholdt. You don’t you’d miss it, it was more of a case of if you’d be able to stop them or not. This might be your only opportunity to find Eren and Ymir.

You zip through a foliage of trees, and when you come out the other end, your eyes widen at the sight of a Titan right across from you. Only, it’s not just any Titan; it’s not the Armored or the Colossal, and it’s not Eren’s Attack Titan either–it’s Ymir’s! You’d recognize it anywhere. You still remember clearly when she’d leapt off that castle, in a fit of bravery, could still hear Krista’s cry for her as she shifted into a Titan and fought off every Titan that had had you surrounded.

A cry catches your attention, gaze snapping to your left where you see one of the Scouts preparing for an attack. Instantly, you rush forward, Connie who’d been beside you getting the same idea as he cries out for him to wait, the both of you landing on either side of her Titan.

“Don’t attack!” You bellow, voice screeching as you hold your hands out before yourself.

“This is Ymir,” Connie explains for you, “she’s the one they took! In Titan form!”

“Please just wait!” You add when you see the look of uncertainty on the Scout’s face, him shuffling in the spot, as if unsure whether he should trust you both or not.

“Hey, Ymir!” Connie calls to her, “why are you the only one here?!”

She doesn’t answer, just simply turns her head.

Your eyes widen at her silence, turning to her; “where’s Eren?! What about Reiner? Bertholdt?!”

In the next second, Jean catches up, landing on the tree to your left. Your eyes fall on him, and he gazed back at you confused.

“So that’s Ymir?” Armin asks.

Mikasa shakes her head; “did she turn into a Titan and fight with Reiner?!”

“Ymir?” Jean calls in disbelief, “did you get away from Reiner?! Where are they?!”

You turn back to Ymir, lips left parted. There’s something… something wrong. Why isn’t she saying anything? Why isn’t she doing anything?

Why is she alone?

“Tell us anything, Ymir!”

Her head turns, left, then right, she’s looking for something.

Someone.

“Hey, say something already!” Connie cries, frustration bleeding into his tone as he moves to land on her head, harshly kicking at her. “Hey, ugly! We’re in a hurry!”

But she just continues to glance around–looking at everybody one by one.

When her eyes turn to you, you shake your head.

Something’s not right.

“Ymir!”

It’s Krista. A quick glance behind you tells you she’s making her way here fast, and instantly, Ymir turns in the direction of her voice.

“Thank goodness!” Krista smiles softly, “you’re all right!”

In the next second, Ymir’s leaping off the tree next to you, nearly crashing into you as you lean back, narrowly missing her shoulder into your head, and as you turn your head, disbelief floods through you when she… eats Krista.

“No way…”

“She ate Krista!”

She’s racing forward, not with a single care towards any of you, getting further and further away.

“Don’t just stand there!” Jean calls out, racing forward, “chase her!”

Blinking, you follow his lead not a second later, zipping forward with a single click of your omni gear. This is your chance, whatever was happening with Ymir, you… know she’d never hurt Krista. Something was wrong, something happened. If you reached her maybe you’d finally get some answers.

You’d have to.

“She’s fast!” You bellow, glancing back at Mikasa and Armin, “we’re losing her!”

“Why would Ymir do that?” Mikasa calls out, confused.

“I can’t be the only one who could’ve guessed it would turn out this way!” Jean argues.

“Yeah!” Armin agrees, “she’s clearly hostile to us now! Looks like she’s cooperating with Reiner! She lured us right in!”

“But Krista!” You cry, pulling their eyes on you briefly. “She would never hurt Krista!”

And nobody says anything, because nobody knows anything anymore.

A bright light stuns you, causing everyone to pause, landing on the trees, unable to see anything before a loud thud hits the ground, rumbling all the way up to the trees, and a blink later and suddenly–it’s the Armored Titan!

It’s Reiner.

A small figure follows after him. You squint your eyes to confirm it’s Bertholdt, but on the back of him… strapped to him, it’s… it’s Eren!

Bertholdt lands on Reiner’s back, Ymir still in her Titan form following not a second later, whilst Reiner never stops. Never falters.

Getting further and further away.

“Oh, no! Eren’s being taken away!”

You all stay there, watching in disbelief.

“Don’t stop!” A new voice cries, pulling your attention behind you, only for your eyes to fall on Hannes. He comes to a stop behind all of you, voice bellowing; “get on your horse and chase!”

It’s all it takes.

Everyone moves without hesitation, not wasting a second or uttering any words as you all get onto your horses, racing in the direction Reiner had gone.

You were getting Eren back, no matter what.

Reiner is a lot slower than Ymir. he doesn’t have the speed or the litheness to race ahead like she had.

Slowly, you can see yourselves gaining up on him.

“He’s not fast enough to escape! We’ll catch up!”

“This time,” Mikasa speaks up, voice low and you’re not sure if she’s speaking so much to herself or everyone else. “I won’t hesitate. I’ll kill them both, I swear! And if Ymir gets in my way, she’s asking for it, too. No matter what it takes… I will!”

Glancing ahead of yourself, you frown.

Landing next to Jean, you swallow thickly, glancing down at Bertholdt who has yet to notice any of you.

“Quit it, Eren!” He cries, face pressed against the back of Reiner’s Titan form. “Don’t struggle!”

“Good luck with that, Bertholdt,” Jean calls out, pulling Bertholdt’s attention on him and thus, everyone else, his eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of everyone surrounding him. “It’s impossible to get him to calm down. He’s the most irritating guy there is! I know better than anyone! I hate him as much as you do. So let’s beat him up together.” And slowly, as his face falls, before he adds; “why don’t you come out of there?”

“Bertholdt!” Mikasa bellows, voice pitching as she glares down at him, sword held threateningly before her. “Give him back!”

“Hey…” Connie speaks up, voice wavering as he glances down at his hands. You turn to him, frowning, as he still wants to believe that this is all one big misunderstanding. “You’re kidding, right? Bertholdt? Reiner? This whole time… you kept quiet and deceived us? That’s so cruel!”

“You guys!” Sasha finishes, “Tell us it’s all a lie!”

Biting your lip, you shuffle forward, meeting Bertholdt’s gaze with something you hadn’t thought was left – hope. You’d seen it yourself, watched them turn even if you hadn’t heard what they said. The proof had been there, plain for you to see, but maybe… maybe it was just one big misunderstanding.

“It has to be,” you cry, feeling your vision blur as you let yourself fall, “this can’t be real, right?”

Bertholdt doesn’t say anything.

Reiner keeps running.

“Hey, hey, hey…” Jean calls, shaking his head. “You think you can just keep running away? That’s not gonna happen! For three years, didn’t we sleep under the same roof as comrades through thick and thin? Bertholdt… your odd sleeping positions were truly an art form. After a while, we all looked forward each morning to seeing your pose… and tried using it to predict the weather. But you… to think you, the invader… could sleep like a log… right next to your victims…”

Jean’s head falls, a curse leaving his lips as you lean forward, shaking your head; “we worked together for three years! We laughed and joked… and complained about how hard it was… together! So, please…”

Hands clenching shut, you feel yourself give in, a small sob breaking past your lips.

“Was everything just a lie?” Connie utters, eyes wide, disbelief still flooding through him. “Remember we talked about surviving this together? And that we’d grow old, and someday we’d all go out for drinks together? Was everything… all a lie? Was it?!” Connie screams, frustrated by Bertholdt’s lack of response. “You guys… what were you guys thinking this whole time?”

“What’s it even matter anymore?” Mikasa cuts in, and you turn to her, lips left parted in disbelief. “Just focus on cutting open his neck. If you hesitate for a moment, we won’t be able to get Eren back. They are enemies of humanity. That’s all there is to know.”

You meet her gaze, and you want to argue… but you can’t.

“T-Tell me who!” Bertholdt suddenly screams, eyes flickering to him in disbelief. “Who the hell would want to kill people by their own choice?!”

Shoulders falling, you feel frozen in place.

“Who the hell would like doing this sort of thing?! Do you think I wanted to do this?! People hate and despise us… we’ve done such terrible things, we deserve to die. Things we’ll never be able to take back… But… we just… couldn’t come to terms with our sins.” He’s crying, you realize, somewhere along the way – there are tears streaming down his cheeks. “The only time we had some respite… was when we pretended to be soldiers. That’s not a lie! Connie! Jean! Y/N! It’s true we may have deceived everyone, but it’s not all a lie! We really considered you comrades!”

Then…–

“Neither of us have any right to even apologize. But… someone… Please… someone, please… Someone find us!”

Silence follows for a moment. You don’t know what to say.

“Bertholdt,” Mikasa mumbles, “give Eren back.”

“It’s no use,” he whispers, “I can’t. Someone has to be the one to do it. Someone has to be the one to stain their hands with blood.”

What–

“You guys! Get away from there!”

It’s Hannes. Screaming at you all. But why…

“Guys!”

Following where Connie is pointing, your eyes widen.

It’s a hoard of Titans heading right for you and Commander Erwin is leading them.

“You guys! Jump and get out of there!”

You follow without another second of hesitation, turning in the same direction as Jean, Connie and Sasha, landing on your horse as your head turns, eyes widening as Reiner turns, bracing his shoulder as he barrels his way through the Titans. He only makes it two steps before he’s surrounded, Titans climbing their way over him, knocking him to his knees.

“What the hell,” Jean utters, “is this Hell?”

“No,” Erwin bellows, racing forward and past all of you. “But it will be. All soldiers, charge! The fate of humanity will be determined at this very moment! There is no future where humanity can inhabit these lands without Eren! We recover Eren and immediately retreat!”

He turns his body towards you all, bracing his right arm across his chest, saluting in Scouts honour.

“Give your hearts!”

He takes off, sword held before him.

Mikasa then takes the initiative, racing forward instantly after Erwin and your eyes fall on her in momentary disbelief before you realize–this is it.

This is your last chance.

Kicking at your horse, you race forward in the next second.

Because of the Titans surrounding him, Reiner is forced to remove his hand which had acted as a barrier around Bertholdt and Eren, providing the opportunity you’ve all been waiting for.

It’s just all the Titans…

“Advance!”

Your eyes follow Erwin as he races past you, watching with disbelief as he races forward almost with no fear, only for your eyes to widen in disbelief as a Titan comes barelling towards him, it’s mouth wrapping directly around his right arm and lunging forward. It takes Erwin with it, stumbling forward as Erwin is carried off by the arm, every single soldiers attention following his body with a mixture of disbelief and fear

“Commander Erwin!”

He…–

“Advance!” Erwin screams, despite the Titan holding him by the arm leading him off, despite the blood that flows around him, despite the fact that his arm is now being bitten by a Titan, his determination never wavers. His goal never changes. “Eren is just ahead! Advance!”

That’s all it takes. Despite the disbelief, everyone’s resolve is hardened then, the realization of what he and everyone else is sacrificing reminding you of why you’re all there. You grip your reins tightly in your hands, kicking off as you race towards the herd of Titans. There’s screams that follow, cries of pain, people being grabbed, stomped, but you don’t let it stop you, don’t let yourself get lost, you refuse for this to be your final moment.

Mikasa breaks through first, not wasting a second as she leaves her horse, heading straight for Bertholdt and Reiner. She’s able to reach the former, him just narrowly missing her hit as he dodges, flipping the two of them around, and your eyes widen when you see the Titan looming behind her, hand stretched out towards her.

“Mik–!”

She’s grabbed in the next second, the hand of the Titan wrapping around her as it squeezes, pulling a cry of pain from her lips. You move to help her, but a body zips by you before you can, and a single blink in its direction tells you the body is Jean, crying out for Mikasa; “let go of her, you piece of shit!”

He reaches the Titan in time, effectively slicing the back of it’s neck so that it lets go of Mikasa. She’s able to catch herself, but your eyes flicker to Jean who’s stumbling about, having lost his balance in his rush to aid Mikass. Clicking your ODM gear, you race forward, weaving your way around a Titan that lunges towards you, just managing to grab Jean before he crashes to the ground, arms wounding around his waist as the both of you hit the ground with a loud thud, a cry leaving your lips in response.

It takes the both of you a moment to land, skidding across the ground, before you finally stop, breathless as you try to ignore the way your heart is pounding against your chest.

“Are you okay?” You turn to Jean without a second of hesitation, wild, concerned eyes falling to him as he stares back at you in disbelief. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Slowly, he shakes his head; “no, no… thanks to you.”

Relieved, your shoulders fall, the momentary fear that had flooded your body fading as you glance around, just realizing what a vulnerable spot the two of you are in.

“Is your gear broken? Does it still work?”

Eyes widening, Jean shifts, glancing at his gear and you watch him carefully, before he shakes his head; “no… it’s still good. I just lost my balance.”

You nod, standing up. “We have to get off the ground before–”

“Look!”

Turning, you follow the direction Jean’s pointing, eyes widening when you see Eren flying down towards the ground, Bertholdt nowhere near him, only for Mikasa to catch up before he crashes into the ground head first.

A smile curls onto your lips – that was it! You had Eren!

“All soldiers, retreat!”

Turning to Jean, you meet his gaze, nodding.

You couldn’t retreat yet – Reiner, still in his armored Titan form, had started throwing the Titans that had swarmed him off of him and towards everyone. Mikasa and Eren had been left stranded without ODM gear, and you and Jean had regrouped with Armin to try and reach them and provide backup. It was hard to focus on what was happening, and part of you is not even sure if you’re heading in the right direction towards Eren and Mikasa, not to mention you and Jean had gotten separated from Armin moments prior and you weren’t even sure where the rest of your comrades were.

It had all, quite simply, turned to chaos.

One second you’re racing towards Eren, Mikasa and Hannes and then you notice a shadow falls over you.

You notice it too late. It’s flying over your head, soaring above you, and then just as your eyes lower, falling ahead of you, you realize–

“Jean!”

But it’s too late. He doesn’t hear you, and even if he had, he’s not able to react in time. The Titan’s body comes soaring into him, knocking him straight off his horse with enough momentum it sends him spinning, before he harshly crashes into the ground, body twisting unnaturally. Something painful twists inside you, your breath getting caught in the back of your throat as you watch blood come flying from his nose and the cry of pain that leaves his lips.

When his body falls, limp and unconscious, you move without thinking. His name leaves your lips in a desperate cry, abandoning your horse as it goes racing the other direction at the sight of all the Titan’s surrounding you. You skid to a stop in front of Jean, burning your knees but you hardly care as you gather him in your arms, heart pounding madly against your chest, turning him over so you can look at his face.

“Jean,” you cry, voice pitching, “wake up! Jean!”

But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t – he’d smacked his head hard enough on the ground, you’d watched it happen, he probably has a concussion. Maybe something worse. Feeling your eyes water, you brush your fingers across the blood pooling from his nose, fear striking you, before a distant groan catches your attention and you glance up.

There’s a Titan heading straight your way.

Glancing around, you try to look for someone–anyone that can help you. When you’d both gotten separated from Armin earlier due to a previous near collision, you’re not sure what direction he’d ended up going in. It was just as possible he was stuck somewhere stranded himself. And you haven’t seen Connie or Eren or any of them since you first saw Mikasa grab Eren. You had no idea where any of them were.

And there wasn’t a single scout in sight.

Let alone your horses — they’d ran off the second you left because of everything happening.

The Titan’s growing closer by the second–if you don’t figure something out it will attack you. It will…

No. You refuse to let that happen.

Pulling Jean up by his arms, you get to your feet, dragging him with you to the nearest tree. You let yourself fall against the trunk of it with a huff, falling to your knees as you pull Jean closer to you, trying to keep him as least vulnerable as you can, an arm wrapped securely around his chest as you pull your blades out with your free hand, held protectively in front of you as the Titan gets closer and closer.

It’s pathetic, really. For someone who had ranked so high in training, you felt utterly and completely useless in this moment. But you refused to leave Jean. He needed your help or else he’d die, and you refused to let that happen–you’d give yourself up first before you ever let a Titan grab hold of him.

So, desperately, pitiful cries leave your lips as you wave the sword in front of yourself, trying to keep the Titan at bay in any way you can.

“Please!”

But it’s getting more and more hopeless by the second. Other Titans grow closer, swarming around you as you press your back desperately against the tree, your grip on Jean tightening as the terror makes everything freeze.

You feel like you're ten years old again, watching the Titan’s destroy everything you’ve ever known.

Blade dropping, you wrap your other arm around Jean, pulling him closer as you press your head against the crook of his neck and shoulder. The Titan that had first swarmed you leans in close, smiling wide and eyes crazed as it looms closer and closer, and you stare back at it in fear, realizing this is it.

This is the end.

You’ll never see your home again.

You’ll never get revenge for your mother.

For Ms. Schneider.

You’ll never find your father.

You’re going to die here, utterly and completely helpless, without even being able to save Jean’s life.

The Titan’s mouth opens and your body tenses, bracing yourself as you press your head into Jean’s neck, angling your body so it’s the first thing the Titan grabs, unable to stop the whimper that slips past your lips, waiting.

Waiting for your death.

But…

But nothing ever happens.

A moment passes, it feels like eternity, before you slowly peel your eyes open, unsure, only to see the Titan facing the other way. Like its attention has completely lost its focus on you.

A second later and it’s running off, the opposite direction, getting further and further away from you.

“Ugh…”

Body startling, you sit up as Jean moves in your arms, shifting slightly. You watch as he slowly flickers his eyes open, blinking, dazed, and his vision is distant, hazy as he tries to register what’s happening. Your hands move to grip his cheeks, pulling his gaze on you as you hover over him.

“It’s okay,” you whisper gently, “I've got you. You’re okay.”

His face twists in pain, and your lips part to say something more, positive he’s not even aware of what’s happening around him, before;

“Y/N!”

Raising your head, you’re more than relieved to see Armin racing towards you, an extra horse in tow. Slowly shifting Jean, you move so you’re standing, grabbing hold of the horse just as Armin reaches you.

“What happened?” Armin breathes, glancing from you to Jean in concern.

“Jean got knocked off his horse and he’s hurt,” you explain with a shake of your head as Armin jumps off his horse, moving towards Jean. “We were surrounded and I didn’t know what to do. I thought we were about to be eaten but then…” and you trail off; mainly cause you’re not even sure what happened.

Armin nods; “I think it was Eren,” he explains as you climb onto your horse, moving to help settle Jean behind you.

“Huh?”

Armin meets your gaze; “I think he was controlling the Titans.”

You want to say more, but there isn’t time. This was your chance to retreat, and thanks to Armin, you and Jean weren’t stranded. Wrapping Jean’s arms around your waist, you let him lean his waist against you, making sure he’s stable behind you before grabbing your reins, sending one last Armin’s way, before kicking off.

But not without sending one last glance behind you in the direction that Titan had run.

You still couldn’t believe what Section Commander Hange was suggesting.

After the expedition for the retrieval of Eren Jaeger and Ymir, with the success of only retrieving Eren, everyone had been left in dire sorts. Namely, and specifically for you and your friends, you all were reeling from the betrayal you’d all suffered from three people you’d thought had been close comrades and people you could trust. Having to hear about Annie from a nameless Survey Corps and then to witness with your own eyes as both Bertholdt and Reiner betrayed you all, it had almost been too much to bear. The goal of saving Eren and Ymir had provided the necessary distraction and the sight of seeing Jean alive and well had been encouraging enough to put your entire focus on the mission – it had allowed you to push away your hurt and feelings and focus on the task at hand.

But now? There was nothing distracting you. You’d been assigned cleaning duties that morning, and honestly, you were finding it hard to keep yourself on task without letting your mind wander. The betrayal, Ymir leaving with Reiner and Bertholdt… and now this? The possibility of the Titan’s, the same Titan’s you’d sworn to eradicate and have been actively killing since you’d joined the Survey Corps (and even before that), were actually people?

That’s what Hange believed.

That’s what she told Connie – that it was very likely that the people from his village, including his mother, father and siblings, had all been turned into Titan’s.

The same Titan’s you’d all just killed trying to rescue Eren.

Everything felt different. It was one thing to know that people could transform into Titans, like Eren or Annie, and a different thing to think people were being turned into mindless Titans… that you’d murdered.

You just couldn’t fathom it and every part of you hoped it wasn’t true – but realistically, in the back of your head, it felt like it was. At this point it was no longer logical to argue for sound logic – if anything, everything you’ve experienced has taught you that nothing is the way it should be.

A knock on the door pulls you away from your thoughts, head slowly glancing over your shoulder towards the door of the room you’d been cleaning lips parting in surprise when you realize it’s Jean.

Despite his fall, he’d been pretty unscathed–just a mild concussion. A few days of rest and he was okay, and ready to join you and the rest of your friends on the mission that was being set up for Eren to plug up Wall Maria and of course, trace down Bertholdt and Reiner. You were relieved he wasn’t too hurt, nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises to show for it, and so the sight of him manages to bring a smile to your lips – despite everything – turning to face him before making your way over to him.

“Jean?”

His eyes meet yours, and his lips part, as if to say something before hesitating. Your eyes widen momentarily when a soft blush floods his cheeks, before he’s tucking his chin into his neck and glancing away from you; “I understand you were the one who helped me after I got knocked off my horse.”

Eyes widening, that hadn’t been what you were expecting him to say. If anything, you had expected your topic of conversation to be around Hange’s theory as it seemed that’s what anyone (those who knew) were talking about nowadays. Also, you hadn’t told Jean that you’d been the one to help him given how dazed he’d been when he’d regained consciousness. It just hadn’t seemed important, so… mildly confused, your head tilts; “who…?”

“Armin told me,” he explains, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Stressed that I should thank you and that he was really worried when he found you and me.”

“Oh,” you flush slightly, glancing at your feet. Of course Armin had been the one to say something – you could only imagine what you’d looked like to Armin when he found you. Seconds prior to that, you’d thought you were going to die, so you figure you’d looked rather worse for wear and that was putting it mildly. “It’s not a big deal. I wouldn’t leave you behind no matter what, and thanks to Eren, we made it out alive.”

“Still,” Jean stresses, pulling your gaze on him with a blink. “Thank you. You could’ve died. And that’s twice you’ve saved my life now.”

Biting your lip, you’re unable to stop yourself from the small smile that curls on your lips. You shuffle on your feet, fiddling with your fingers as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, shaking your head. “It’s no problem, Jean. I… I don’t want to see you get hurt or… anything bad to happen to you for that matter either.”

Tentatively, you meet his gaze, the air thickening as a bout of awkwardness floods the room. It was quite vulnerable what you’d confessed, but honestly, you couldn’t be bothered to care at this moment – you two had nearly died. He might as well know the truth. Who knows when your life might be threatened like that again. Or his… which is a thought you don’t even want to give attention to.

“O-Oh,” he breathes, shoulders faltering as silence falls over the two of you. Then, a moment later, he gathers the courage to speak. “Me neither. I–I–! I don’t want anything bad to happen to you either,” he confesses and you can't deny the way it makes your heart start and your stomach to erupt into butterflies. “I was really worried when I heard what was happening to you… And-!! And the rest of our friends of course!” It’s added as an afterthought, his words stumbling slightly as he turns to you.

You falter slightly at that, swallowing thickly. “Me too,” you nod, “with you and um, Eren and Mikasa and everyone.”

There’s a pause, both of you unable to deny the disappointment that floods you both at the mention of your friends – something in any other circumstance wouldn’t, of course, disappoint you. You just… liked the thought of Jean being concerned for you.

Thinking of you.

It was weird and oddly selfish, but you’d hoped Jean would express the same kind of focused attention on you that you’d been trying to give him.

But it’s clear he wasn’t. At least not in the way you wanted him too. It was enough he’d come to thank you, when in reality he didn’t have to. Regardless of anything, it was sweet.

“Well, I should…” you trail when a moment of neither of you saying anything passes, gesturing over your shoulder, “...finish.”

Jean starts at that, taking a step back; “of course, I’ll let you finish. But… I'll see you at dinner?”

“Yeah,” you nod without hesitation, mustering up a smile, “see you then.”

He steps back, offering a small wave that you reciprocate with a small one of your own and a smile, before letting the door shut softly behind you. Pressing your back against the door, you press a hand to your chest, feeling the way your heart patters madly against your chest, pumping loudly as your skin feels hot and your body feels tingly.

God, just what was wrong with you?

Why did Jean make you feel that way?

And why couldn’t you get rid of this disappointment that he hadn’t expressed his emotions in a way you’d hoped?

You were friends. But not the only two. Of course he’d been concerned for everyone else – it was silly of you to think he’d only ever be concerned for you.

But, still, your mind screams – it wasn’t that he hadn’t been only concerned for you, and rather that you hoped that in some way, maybe he’d thought of you a little more than the rest. Gods knows he’d been on your mind the entire time the two of you had been separated… and you’d hoped he’d felt the same.

It seems you’d been wrong.

#aot #aot x reader #aot imagine #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein #jean kirschtein x reader #jean x reader #eren jaeger #eren jeager x reader

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